It Is Better To Have Never Loved At All

They say that it is better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all. But they aren’t the ones standing on the 15th story balcony, ready to jump.

I first met Katelyn on a rainy day in July. I was on my way home from work as usual when I saw her walking along the side of the road, soaked to the bone and shivering. I pulled my car off the road and got out, but she didn’t stop walking. She just kept going, her head down and her feet quick.

Splashing through soggy grass and mud I jogged after the girl. I even called after her, but she didn’t stop. When I caught up to her I placed my hand on her shoulder and she spun around, startled. Blinking up at me she was the most pitiful thing I’d ever seen. I almost had to laugh at the dirt on her face and the hair strung across her eyes, but I resisted.

“Excuse me, ma’am, are you lost?”

Frowning, she answered defiantly, “I’m not lost.”

“Then where are you?” I asked, testing her half-jokingly.

She struggled for an answer before finally replying knowingly, “I’m right here.” She turned around then and started to walk off.

I watched after her for a few seconds before deciding to follow.

“You know, if you’re trying to get somewhere, I can take you...” I said to her back. Crossing my arms around myself I shivered as well, the icy rain was still drizzling down and I was long-since soaked to the bone.

“I don’t need your help.”

“Hmm,” I noted, still following. I was silent for the next couple minutes after that. “You know, it’d be a whole lot quicker if I drove you. Not to mention warmer and dryer.”

“No,” she answered stubbornly.

“Just tell me where you’re going!”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She kept walking, tucking her head down a little further.

“Then you’re running...” I said slowly, suddenly interested in her story.

“I am not running,” she repeated, putting the emphasis on the word ‘running’ as if it were distasteful. “I’m walking.”

I had to chuckle at her stubbornness. She really didn’t want my help, did she? “Okay, so you admit it. You are ‘walking’ away from a problem, are you not?”

I could have sworn she paused for a half-second but she just kept walking without so much as a reply back. Still I followed her, now out of sight of my car and really wishing I had a coat. I considered turning back and just leaving her be, but something about her wouldn’t let me do that. I couldn’t help but trail behind her.

“Please let me help you,” I pleaded. When she didn’t reply I walked in front of her, blocking her way.

“You’re in my way,” she stated, staring at me hatefully. I didn’t answer. She side-stepped and tried to go around me, but I cut her off again, arms still folded across my chest. I stared down at her and smiled challengingly. She gave me a death glare.

“Why won’t you just let me take you?” I asked suddenly, really frustrated that she wouldn’t accept my help.

She sighed and took a step back, staring now at the ground. “Because... if I accept your help then I’ll look weak.” She said this quietly, almost regretfully, and stared down at her feet, probably expecting some sort of mocking joke.

I sighed. “Look lady, I have no idea who you are. I don’t even know your name! I’m offering my help, you’re not asking for it. No one else will ever have to know. And it doesn’t make you weak... just smart.” I added.

She didn’t reply but rather kept her head down without moving. I stood there for a moment, unsure now of what to do. I reached out and picked up her chin, bringing her to look at me. Shocked, I stared at the tears streaming down her already wet face. Since when did she start crying?

She blinked a couple times and turned her head. “I’m sorry. I just... got caught up for a minute there.” She wiped at her eyes, but it didn’t work much with the rest of her being wet as well. “Um... yes, I would like you to take me, if you don’t mind of course...” she said picking her words carefully and slowly. She avoided looking at me as she spoke.

“Um... yeah. It’s not a problem...” I said, still taken aback by the fact that she was crying now. I desperately wanted to ask why, but that would be rude. Together we slowly turned back and walked the distance to my car. I opened the passenger side door for her and she climbed in, grateful for relief from the rain.

Getting in myself I immediately turned the heat on. “So where are you headed?”

By now she had stopped crying, but she still hadn’t said anything. “Um...” she was silent for a few moments then sighed. “I don’t even know. Just somewhere. Away.”

I blinked down at her and shrugged. “Okay. Somewhere.” I started the car and pulled back onto the road. I drove for a few minutes in silence, going nowhere in particular.

Finally she spoke up, speaking softly. “Thank you.”

I looked over at her and nodded dutifully. “It’s my pleasure.”

“I, um... I guess you deserve some kind of explanation, huh?”

I mentally nodded my head but decided not to say anything.

“Please don’t laugh, but I ran away from home.” She paused here and looked at me to make sure I wasn’t laughing. I respected her request and didn’t laugh. In fact, I didn’t really think it was a laughing matter anyway.

“Why?” I prodded carefully, hoping it wouldn’t be taken rudely.

She paused again, searching for words. “I wanted a... new start,” she said finally. Deciding to expand upon this she added, “My husband died a few years ago... and I still haven’t gotten over it.” I didn’t say anything and she continued. “I guess that makes me seem really pathetic, huh?” she asked, chuckling nervously and staring out her window.

“Nah,” I replied, glancing over at her. “Everyone is different. It doesn’t make you pathetic at all.” Her words pushed me into silent thought for a few minutes. “He must have been a really special guy,” I noted, keeping my eyes on the wet road in front of me.

“Yeah... he was,” she agreed sadly. “He was the first person to ever believe in me. Even when my parents, my siblings, my friends didn’t.”

I nodded, slowly piecing together a vague picture of what must have happened. “Um... I don’t mean to be rude and change the subject, but do you want to stop by my house? It’s about dinnertime and I’m kind of hungry... not to mention soaked to the bone. I can find you some dry clothes while we’re there as well, if you want...” I looked at her with pleading eyes and a hopeful smile.

“Yeah... that sounds good,” she laughed, wiping a strand of wet hair away from her face.

Two minutes later I was standing in my kitchen, putting a big pot of soup on the stove. “So, what’s your name, anyway?” I asked her, suddenly realizing we hadn’t introduced ourselves.

“My name is Katelyn,” she smiled.

I nodded, smiling back. “I’m James.” Finishing with the soup I started down the hallway to my bedroom, leaving her in the kitchen. I returned a minute later with some clothes in my hand. I tossed them to her saying, “Those’ll have to do for now until your clothes are cleaned. Hope you don’t mind...”

“Oh, no. Thank you! Um... where’s your bathroom?” she asked, looking down the hallway for it.

“First door on the left,” I pointed. “There are towels in the closet beside it if you want to take a shower.” She nodded and disappeared down the hallway.

I sat down at the table, waiting for the soup to finish. She sure was an interesting character. I felt bad for her. I guess she felt the need to be “strong” and refuse my help because she felt pathetic for missing her dead husband. I couldn’t help but wonder why he’d died, but I knew that was one question I couldn’t ask. It wasn’t my place to know.

She returned ten minutes later, hair in a towel and wearing my clothes. I laughed at the sight of her. My pants where so big that if it weren’t for my overly-long shirt she couldn’t have worn them. She looked at me and blushed, then laughed nervously.

“Is the soup ready?” she asked, looking longingly at the stove.

Suddenly remembering the soup I jumped up and went to it, immediately turning off the heat. I cringed and stirred it, but it was all stuck to the bottom of the pan and looked a sickly shade of grey. Katelyn came up behind me, laughing. I looked at her pathetically.

“Do you have any bread?” she asked, helping herself to my refrigerator.

“Um... yeah...” I said, following behind her and wondering what she was doing. She stood up a minute later, grape jelly in one hand and peanut butter in the other. She grinned at me and I smiled back, grabbing the bread from the counter.

So that was how we spent our first meal together. We ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and talked endlessly about our jobs and lives thus far. I learned then that her husband, Peter, had died in a car accident one day while driving to work. It was so sudden and unexpected that she had never really been able to get over it. Deep in despair she spent the next years of her life holed up in her house, mourning over her dead husband until she couldn’t take it anymore and she just got up and ran off.

We began to form a mutual bond of friendship that night; one that would prove to last us. Gradually, day by day, I helped her to recover from the past and to learn to enjoy life again. And by two years later we were saying our “I do’s” and moving into a new house. It was the happiest moment of my life. And, as Katelyn often told me, it was the happiest of hers as well, apart from her first marriage.

Of course, we still had our quarrels, mostly due to her stubborn nature, but we didn’t let that get between us. We were inseparable. Or so we thought.

Now today, looking back, I almost wish I hadn’t have met her, though. I wish I hadn’t ate that first peanut butter and jelly sandwich with her. I wish I hadn’t loved her.

No, that isn’t right. I wish she hadn’t loved me.

Because if she hadn’t have loved me those years ago, she wouldn’t be standing on the 15th story balcony right now, ready to jump.

“He died... just like my first love did all those years ago...” she yelled into the wind around her. “I loved them both, and they both left me! I am not meant to love...” Flashes of a horrific car accident slipped their way once again into her mind. Side-by-side, pictures of both my car crash and her first husband’s lined themselves up. She shook her head then, refusing to think about it again.

“I’m so sorry...” she whispered, shutting her eyes. “I never should have loved you...” Taking a step she jumped off the balcony and was soon lost to the traffic below.

I turned away, not able to see the rest.

“She should be joining us soon now...” Peter said, looking at me sadly. I nodded painfully. It was a hurt that we both shared, but yet a selfish happiness at the thought that we’d both be rejoined with her. But the means to the end were not satisfying, even so.

Whoever said “It’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all” lied. It’s not worth watching the ones you love go through so much pain.