thebitterguy

A lifetime ago, when I first went to Carleton, I fell in love. As you know, those last four words are the start of 88% of life's great stories; those are the dramas.

The comedies start with two people hating each other and end in a wedding; dramas (or tragedies) start with two people in love and end with a funeral. I avoided the funeral, but still.

Anyway, I fell in love. It was one of those wonderful relationships. It had ups and downs, much like a roller coaster, and tended to alternate between euphoria and nausea, just like a roller coaster.

Now, in the course of the relationship, I performed many of my great blunders, like joining the naval reserve, flunking out of university, and being a general dick, as most young men who are in love are wont to be.

But, overall, it seemed to be doing well. One summer (10 years ago) I went to visit my beloved in Quebec city, where she was serving in the naval reserve. While I was there, things got odd. She said she didn't love me, I said she did, and nothing really got resolved. Then, she came back home for a couple weeks, we had a sitdown talk (and where I gave what I thought was a good speech, you'll see what I mean in a minute), and I came to the conclusion that all was well and good in the world.

I started my final year of Journalism school (with yet ANOTHER professor who hated me; seriously, I can be a dick on occasion, but this is a bit much), and she went off to serve on a ship for four months. I sent care packages and busied myself in my studies. She sent a letter; or maybe a postcard. I can't really remember. It wasn't much.

The care packages were really good. They included cookies, a set of the four Heart Quest books from TSR which were a strange hybrid of Choose Your Own Adventure books and harlequin for young girls (and, God, I'd like to get THOSE back, if only for the collectability). I also sent a mix tape which had Sting on it, as young men in love are wont to do.

Today, I would be suspicious at her silence. Then, I simply assumed she was working hard at doing her sailorly duties. So, she came back for New Years. I suggested we get together for NYE, she declined, begging off to be with family. I went out and drunk up with friends (I miss some of those guys, honestly; it was a better NYE than the next year's, where I helped someone move before moving myself to TO). The next day, she came by to pick me up to go to her parent's for dinner. She did seem a bit distant, but I was fine.

We drove out to her family's house, she stepped upstairs after giving me my Christmas gift (a copy of some unauthorized X-Files book) and I spent some time chatting with the family. I don't recall if, at the time, they were distant or evasive to me. I'm sure that, knowing now what I knew then, they probably were. They were likely tiptoeing cautiously. I was oblivious, as young men in love are wont to do.

At some point, I realized she'd been upstairs with her Grandma for a while. I strolled up there, and saw they were sitting on her bed, engaged in a womanly chat, in hushed tones. I strolled up the stairs, and Grandma held her hand, whispered something to her, and got up and left. I came in. At this point, something resembling awareness kicked in. Some sharpness of senses or ability to detect my surroundings woke up.

I walked up to her, and she stood up, and put the palm of her left hand on the side of my face. As all domesticated animals, young men in love included in them, are wont to do I nuzzled her hand. She then stabbed me in the gut with a knife. Twice. The knife was curved, like the dagger of an assassin, an inch wide at the base, tapering off to a point, the double sided edges razor sharp. There was a hand guard that looked like onyx, it was so dark, and the handle was wrapped in red leather. The pommel was a simple sphere. Shock set in quickly as I tried to hold my entrails in with my hands and my mouth struggled to ask "why?" I fell to the ground, in a pool of my own blood and organ fluids.

Actually, no, she didn't do that. I kind of wish she had. It would have been cleaner.

"Where did you get that ring?" I asked, pointing to a piece of jewelry on her left ring finger. "From Dave," she said. A heartbeat later. "My fiance."

Well, slap me with a hog and call me bacon. You can just GUESS my reaction. If my life were a movie (starring someone much better looking than me!), the background would have shattered like a funhouse mirror and I would have just stood there in blackness. But no such luck.

It turns out she'd been seeing this guy, on and off, while she was off on Naval duty (I think she mis-understood something about helping her fellow Seamen). I yelled for a bit, got a ride with her sister to a bar a few of my friends were at, and began the drinking.

Sweet, sweet liquor.

{edit: sorry if you see this twice. It didn't update correctly.}