The mask killed you not I

Understanding you was one of the hardest things for me to grasp in order to love you correctly. I remember it was late autumn when we had met, and the chill was rolling in with winter, and neither of us could stand the cold. I met you at the airport. You were supposed to be going abroad with your friends, and well, I was trying to escape my life.

We were at the same coffee shop when we had small talk, and I learned your name was Mel. Your flowing silver hair drew the attention first as your waves fell down your shoulders in a metallic ocean of sterling.

Then my eyes caught yours, and the glimmer of blue reminded me of a bright, warm day in the sun, with a cool breeze to keep the heat away, yet leaving me with comfort. As your lips moved, I held onto every syllable, and you spoke about a travesty between friends and a broken heart. Then you asked me to go to Europe with you, and I was so struck by your abrasiveness and directness that I said yes, and you handed me a ticket.

I recall when they told us you just had brittle bones, but we both knew the truth about your ailment. Going to Africa was a fun endeavor, and our time together will always be cherished in my heart, for once you were the reason it would have a beat every morning. We bought a unique headpiece while visiting a village on our tour through local, welcoming tribes that used our currency for survival, as tourism was one of the few ways this tribe survived during hardship.

The headpiece we had purchased was intricate in design, and its smooth wooden exterior still smelled of leadwood as it had been freshly shaved just today. I could tell by the mask's worn nature that it hadn't been truly crafted today, but maybe even a century ago, for it looked that ancient as it had become a valued antique, and now we bought it at a hefty price that we would later use as our future mantle piece.

I can still smell the lemongrass conditioner you used to wash your hair with and the rosemary body wash that always gave your body a beautiful fragrance of desire and impression, for if you entered a room, not only would your aroma catch the crowd, but you just being yourself sent everyone into a hypnotic gaze as they listened to you speak. You were such an overtaken free spirit; it was beyond me that you chose to entwine my life with all those years back in the airport.

The new mask sat in storage for a few years until we decided to rent our first apartment together, and it was one of the most monumental times of my life. Our apartment came with a gas fireplace where we mounted our mask with its two black eye holes open, tracing the room. We didn't know at the time that it was watching us, but we did love it because it was the first financial decision that we had made together as a couple.

Our short time together was one of, if not the, happiest moments of my life, and I hope you know how dearly you were loved by me and how deeply your loss has affected me emotionally. I can't be the same man I was with you, and I'll never have another love again because I'm far too old and far too much in love with you to ever move on.

It started one night when I found you by the elevator at the earliest hours, just staring at the mask as if you were in a trance. I had waved my hand before your face, and your eyes never even blinked. I had to slowly escort you back to our bed and tuck you in, where your eyes closed, and you went back into a steady sleep.

I remember feeling so odd, for we had been together for so long now, and I had never witnessed you sleepwalk before, and seeing you do it then sent unease racing down my spine. The next day, you were normal and hadn't remembered the incident. I shrugged it off, and we went about our lives like there wasn't something seriously wrong going on.

The next night, I found you up again in front of the mask with unblinking eyes and a jaw-dropping, silent scream on your face. I thought you were having some kind of stroke as I tried shaking you awake. All you did was turn your head to me, your jaw to your chest, and you stared into my awestruck eyes with incredibly wide eyes.

I carefully grabbed you, first turning you away from me, and I took you back to bed, where I tucked you in, and our night resumed as normal, and our morning was full of lost memories. I watched you carefully throughout our time together, and nothing else about you had changed.

Then the third night, I remember waking up to your piercing scream as if my soul were on fire, and I leaped out of bed, sprawling across the floor, tangled by my own feet, as I stumbled into the living room, where you were on the floor, still screaming for your life. The thought of you still looking how you did makes my stomach turn as your leg was popped out, shattered in some places, and distorted as if it had been ripped up backward and twisted out of the socket.

I leaped into action and carried you as you passed out to the car, where I drove as fast as I could to the emergency room, where I told them she had been in a car wreck and her leg was crushed. They took me for my worth and decided not to question me any further, but to take me back to surgery. Your leg was in a full cast, and with X-rays taken, the doctor came back with the answer being how brittle your bones are and to be careful of future accidents.

We were discharged after a few days of being stuck in the hospital, when I could finally take you home and get you as comfortable as I could. I sat you up in bed with all of our pillows after propping your leg up, and I wheeled in the TV on our rolling food tray. You were so pampered by my hand, it was a thousand times better for you than the hospital, and I even took time off work to care for you at all hours of the day.

Then night fell, and I felt you shift out of bed, and I followed you limping on your one good leg to the living room, where you stood and gawked at the mask before I watched it physically hurt you. Your knee popped out of its socket, and your lower leg lifted up to your hip as your hip and your femur shattered.

There was no way I was going to spend fifteen minutes waiting for an ambulance when it only takes me thirty minutes to drive to the nearest ER, and I sped there, I kid you not, without being pulled over once and after running more than one red light, but I made it to the hospital. The same doctor as before saw us again and reprimanded Mel for not being more careful with herself, as you wept against my chest, knowing the same truth as I knew, and it wasn't that you had brittle bones.

I took you home in a wheelchair, where luckily our apartment was on the first floor, and I made you another nest in our bedroom. At this time, I took the mask and threw it into the fireplace, making sure it turned to ash, and I thought all was done with, and we had just rid ourselves of our issue. I was wrong, as I noticed the mask back on the mate, with its black sockets, staring at me from across the room.

I was horror-struck as I chucked the thing out my window and watched it land by the trash cans by our curb, and waited until the trash man came, and I carefully made sure to see that mask getting taken away, its eyes never leaving mine once. Honey, I promise you I thought we were safe after that, and no more was to be done to you, as one night I watched you walk on two broken legs to the living room, where you once again stood before the mask.

I recall a force blocking me in the doorway of our room as I couldn't bear witnessing your torso rotate in a 180-degree angle, and I couldn't stand to see the blood that spewed from your open mouth, staining your perfect teeth red, and your chin soaking in red. You fell limp to the floor, and I could do nothing more than call for help as I tried to reattach your mangled body.

I was the one arrested and charged with all charges for your murder. I know you don't know that, but even so, I paid a price for your death and what that mask did to you. All of our stuff went up for auction, and the mask got sold to some other hopeless family, and I am currently sitting at your grave as a free man of seventy years old.

I miss you, Mel, and visiting you for the first time in a few decades has made me the happiest man alive. They won't let me sleep here for the coos have gotten involved now, but I can stay with you all day, and so I do with a bottle of whiskey, which you hate, and a pack of cigarettes that you hate even more, and I curse that mask every day I have breath for the destruction and misery it brought down upon us.

I will never forget our times together, nor will the thought of each hug and kiss go neglected, for I think about them as much as I blink. You have always been and will always be the light of my life, and I will be here with you until I take my last breath.