𝑨𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆𝒔

     Every time I sit on the window sill in my large bedroom, I think of toppling over and landing in the dense garden I’ve spent the last five years grooming. The picture is so vivid I can’t get rid of it. I’m lying on the garden floor, my neck and arms contorted, and my eyes wide open, looking into the void. And of course, I am surrounded by a pool of blood too.

     I don’t know why I’m having this morbid thought of ending my life when I have everything I can ever dream of at my age. I’m married to my childhood sweetheart. I’ve known Jeffrey since grade school.

     We grew up in the same neighborhood. We were best friends until my parents relocated to Prince William County. I hadn’t seen him then till we met again years later in Fort Worth, Texas. We bumped into each other in a small restaurant. At first, I couldn’t make him out. He’d changed so much. Until he mentioned my name and gave me a smile that I immediately recognized, I hadn’t known it was him.

     We hugged each other so tightly that everyone in the restaurant stared at us, but we weren’t bothered. The thought of seeing my old friend again after so many years was overwhelming that I didn’t care who was watching us.
 
     We sat in one of the booths, where we talked for hours. He told me he got into Harvard, finished, and was working in his father’s company. I also told him about my life after we relocated. It was only when he got a phone call that we parted ways, taking each other’s phone number. Time went by swiftly. We went on several dates, and I remember vividly when he asked my hand in marriage during one of our dates.

     I’ll never forget that day. It was the happiest day of my life. I remember everything that went on. It was Tuesday evening. We’d agreed to go on a date earlier. I even remember the dress I wore. My best friend Ella helped me in choosing it. It was a black bodycon dress with a black choker and a black purse. I’m obsessed with the color black, while my friends find that odd. I don’t mind them. We all have different tastes.

     After I said goodbye to Ella, I drove myself in my car to the restaurant we agreed to meet. My makeup was subtle. I didn’t want to do anything fancy. I just applied lip gloss, a little eyeliner, and powdered my face. I rolled and tucked my long apricot hair in a bun. I didn’t want the cold air blowing it. It usually gets very messy when the air is violent.

     When I arrived at the rendezvous, an immaculately dressed doorman told me Jeffrey was waiting at the far end. He gave me directions to his booth, and I walked quietly to his table, trying hard not to be noticed. But it was difficult when my high heels were clicking with each step I took.

     I attracted attention unintentionally. I sat slowly after I reached his booth. He was sipping from a glass. I saw a bottle of Chardonnay nearby. He offered me a small smile and said, “You look ravishing.”

     I blushed instantly, unable to contain his compliment. Jeffrey had gushed over my beauty several times, but the way he said it tonight was different. I sighed and said, “Thank you.”

     We talked about trivial things. Truth was, I never had the slightest inkling he’d propose to me tonight. Jeffrey is elusive at conversations, and when you least expect it, he takes you by surprise.

     We continued to chat. I giggled when he said something funny. Then he asked me what I’d have, and I told him I’d have what he’d have. He chuckled and beckoned a waitress who scurried to our table and took down our orders into her notepad.

     She reappeared minutes later with a tray and laid a ceramic plate in front of me and Jeffrey. She walked away, and I uncovered the plate. Initially, I didn’t believe what I saw. I blinked. Were my eyes deceiving me? I stared at an Avon Aquamarine silver ring that sparkled in the moonlight. My eyes widened, and I brought my hand to my lips. I couldn’t believe it. It felt like a beautiful dream.

     Jeffrey said, amidst my shock, “It’s yours only if you want it.”

     As the memories trail off, I lift my slender fingers and look at the ring Jeffrey had given me years back. He’s the perfect husband. I’ve always known he’d be perfect when we got married. It wasn’t a mistake marrying someone I’ve known since childhood, and I have a feeling I’m not going to regret it.

     But ever since our fatal accident, things changed. I can sense it every time I see his face. He blames himself for the accident. I don’t know why he’d think it’s his fault. Maybe it’s because we argued before we settled in the car.

     I can’t remember what exactly we argued about, but I know it wasn’t anything serious because he has told me that several times, and I believe him. When our Land Rover plunged into the pole, I jerked forward suddenly and hit my head against the dashboard. I had forgotten to wear the seat belt in haste. I lost consciousness the next second.

     I didn’t think hitting my head would be that profound, but it turned out it was. I woke up later with amnesia. I couldn’t even remember my name. Worse, I couldn’t remember my husband.

     I still have the look on his face in my head when I asked him who he was at the hospital after I had woken up from the coma. His face had gone pale suddenly, and he just looked into my eyes.

     I felt terrible I couldn’t remember who he was. The doctor assured us a familiar environment would trigger my memory, and he was right. Within two months, I was able to recollect some of our memories.

     I had to take mandatory leave from work till my memory was intact. I don’t know when I’ll return to work. There’s so much I don’t remember. To be frank, I’ve lost all hopes of returning. I’m simply home alone when Jeff heads off to work. I mostly sit on the window sill to contemplate, read a book, or watch my neighbors. Tonight is no exception.

     As I sit on the sill, the thought comes to me again like always, but I brush it off. I shouldn’t be thinking of death, but that’s all I think about these days. And I don’t know why, or I am just lying; I know why, but I don’t think that’s the reason.

     I’ll never do anything like vaulting over the window sill and landing on the garden floor. I’m afraid of falling, and I love Jeff too much to do such wickedness to him.

     Instead, I sit there and watch the idyllic neighborhood. I didn’t carry a novel with me tonight. The paperback I’ve been reading is placed face down on the nightstand. I left off on page forty-five. I can keep track because the book has an interesting storyline. I’m a voracious reader. My love for reading increased after the accident. I sometimes get lost in the world of fiction.

     My eyes move across the tree-lined street. I see two lovebirds taking a stroll and giggling. The place is quiet, and I can hear them. A smile forms on my face. Jeff and I used to do that when we got married, but I feel distanced from him lately.

     Although I was able to retrieve some of the vital memories about us, I still feel part of me got lost after the accident. I feel incomplete, and I don’t know why. Perhaps, that’s why the morbid thought of committing suicide settles in my head when I come near the window sill.

     A door creaks. I glance up. Tim pulls a trash bin into the backyard. Tim and Anna are a married couple. They’ve been in this neighborhood for as long as I can recall. Maybe five years. Two. Three. . . I wish that accident hadn’t occurred, but I believe everything happens for a reason, so I’m not going to question the inevitable.

     I look at Tim. He brings the trash bin to the far end of the backyard. Light spills from their bedroom. Upstairs Anna walks to the window. She’s about to close the fluffy curtain when our eyes meet. I smile at her, and she smiles back, then she waves. I wave to her and then watch her drape the window.

     When she’s gone, I shift my eyes to Ms. Gillian’s porch. Her lights are out, so I’m sure she’s sleeping. Ms. Gillian strikes me as odd. At age seventy, she has no help. She lives all by herself. Over dinner with her when Jeff is out, I learn so much about her, like her daughter who has been missing for ten years. The police have lost all hope of finding her when her trails went cold, but Ms. Gillian believes her daughter would one day reappear. I pray so, because I like her. She reminds me so much of my grandmother.

     What I don’t understand is why she lives alone. I have told her to get a live-in maid to no avail. I’m sure she’s a loner, and it baffles me when people decide to live in solitude. Well, I guess my fears aren’t someone else’s fears.

     A cold breeze brushes against my face. I shiver, pulling my cardigan closer around my slender body as I yawn loudly. Strands of my hair start moving wildly, and I tuck them behind my big ears.

     My deep blue eyes are sleepy now. I’ll call it a night. As I turn away from the window, I see a shadowy figure behind the bark of the tree by the street. It’s the second time I’ve seen someone behind that tree. Is he staring at me? Oh God, he’s looking at me. My brows pucker, and I’m about to shout Jeff’s name when the door to the room opens. Jeff walks in clad in his nightclothes, his dark hair tousled.

     I would have acknowledged his beauty if I were not so scared at the moment. My lips are apart, and I’m ready to call Jeff to join me, but when I turn my head frantically to look at the tree-lined street again, I find nobody behind the tree. He’s gone? How? Slowly, I close my lips and turn to face Jeff. He stares right at my face, as if I’m a stranger.