Key to Happiness

(Spoiler alert: this is the cheesiest thing I have ever written.)

“That girl makes my world,” he said to no one in particular as his head hit the pillow for the first time in four days. Between driving across the country and making sure she wouldn’t hurt herself, he’d only been able to rest half his brain at a time. The sleepless days weren’t all bad. He’d gotten to take care of his loved while unpacking the boxes in his own head. As he collapsed into a deep sleep, his mind took him back to her arms.

She’d slipped up, and called him early last Thursday morning. College stole her from an abusive family, but no level of education could renew her mind. After waking up outside her apartment with a cut on her cheek, she realized that she’d hit rock bottom, again. He was the only one who knew her well enough to help her rise. At least she had the sense to call him this time. Then again, he’d made her promise to call.

As soon as he heard her sobs on the other end of the line, he began throwing clothes into a large, brown bag. By the time he’d promised to meet her, he was already ten miles out of his small town. He had to get to her. He had to see her smile. Within four hours, he’d crossed three states, his keys rattling and heart pounding with each acceleration.

Finally, finally, he pulled her into his arms. “Don’t worry, my gorgeous lady. I’ve got you,” he promised. He led her inside, wrapped her in a blanket, and turned on her favorite sitcoms. He loved to see her slip into the television world and empathize with every character she met. It was as if she held a unique key that allowed her to escape the gross realities of the world into a beautiful fantasy of scripted lives.

Cheesy romantic comedies and Disney movies kept him company as his love faded in and out of sleep. He was scared to let her go in case she had the urge to hurt herself again. She was withdrawn and lighter than she usually was. He asked her if she’d been eating regularly, but she wasn’t coherent enough to respond. The bruises lining her arms and legs answered the question for her. At least he was around to take care of her now.

The situation was not unfamiliar to him. In fact, not three years had passed since their roles were reversed. He knew her fog was not a sign of weakness. It was quite the opposite. With every blink of her beautiful, amber-speckled eyes, she fought against the demons in her mind. The pain of battle stained her cheeks even in the deepest sleep. “There are twenty-three types of tears,” she once told him, and she knew them all. Her entire life swam through the teardrops as they accumulated in streaks. Rivers. Beautiful rivers spelled out the secrets of the universe, as she knew them. He could not imagine more pure tears. She’d done nothing to deserve this.

Slowly. Slowly, she regained her strength as he held her hand. He knew she’d cleared the potent fog in her mind as she lifted her head to smile at him—her key pendant imprinted on her face. Next to the healing cut, the shape resembled a shooting star pointing at her newly dried eyes. They’d passed another trial as they hurdled through time and space together. She was the key that unlocked his world.

Young Love Died

In a grand mansion, on a regal bed, an old man lies alone.

Trinkets and memories line the wall in smiles—both real and pretend.

He lived his life like he was supposed to. He did his honorable duty.

Tired and alone, he closes his eyes for what he hopes is the last time. 

Pain shakes his body, and fear paralyzes him. 

Fear. Sixty years had passed since he last felt fear.

Only a boy, he felt invincible.

The world tore him down, but he persistently beat fate.

Nothing could go wrong in those days. He was a boy.

They told him nothing comes to those who wait, so he waited.

He watched her smile and dance. He watched her shudder and cry.

Her tears burned hotter than the fire that danced in his hands.

Beautiful, he said. Strong. Perfect.

She cried on his shoulder, smoldering the skin underneath.

He would carry the scar on his march to death.

Time went on as they hid from the world—from the monsters.

Meshed together, he told her. With nervousness. And fear.

I love you. I need you.

Sixty years later, he lies alone in an empty bed.

His wife and children shuffling through the world she once danced in.

Fear grips him as he feels himself    slowly      drifting         away.