The first time we met, I remember being overwhelmed by how stunning she looked in her red and black salwar. My car filled with the sound of her studded glass bangles clinking away as she spoke animatedly, clearly undaunted by the fact that we had just met. The remnant traces of mehendi adorned in an intricate design filled her palms.
In a moment of courage, I ask for her hand, claiming to know the secrets of palm reading. She surprised me, humoring my ploy and laid her hand into mine. Words choked in my throat as I struggled to speak. By some fluke of instinct, I wrapped my fingers over hers and held it tight, in silence. The music switched to a beautiful melody, one that became ours. She looked away, into the passing scenery outside the car. I could feel her smile.
The passenger seat where she used to sit, in my modest Suzuki has been replaced by Miss Jack Daniel and Miss Marlboro in the Italian leather seat of my black Gallardo Spyder.
I had planned this night, the clothes, the stretch of freeway and the view of an eighty foot fall into the gorge below. I figured, if you haven’t lived a life worth any mention, you might as well at least die with a puff. I imagined the headlines would read:
“PLAYBOY MILLIONAIRE DRIVES TO DEATH IN ITALY”
Speed cameras flashed disapprovingly at my insolence, as I flaunted their limits.
She might as well see the news and shed a tear.
I can see her standing at that sidewalk again. Her arms outstretched and waiting. But, not for me anymore. Her arms wrap around someone else. And as much as I hate to see his face, I find myself wanting to. I wanted her to find someone else and be happy again. But somewhere inside, deep beyond the folds of guise, I hoped she would wait for me to walk back into her arms. I guess that makes me selfish, but then who isn’t.
“Are you happy now?” she asked me over the phone in disgust, a few days after I had broken her heart.
“Yes”, I lied. Who was I kidding?
“And…how is your new job?”
“Awesome!” I reply, thinking to myself, What job?
She had moved on and she was trying to explain,
“I don’t know how to explain this to you…”
I cut in, “You don’t have to.” while my insides screamed, Yes, please explain. Hurt me with the words I know you are going to tell!
The car was reaching its destination. I took the last gulps of the whiskey and flung the bottle into the air. The sound of it smashing into smithereens drowned by the rumble of the ten cylinder engine.
I had even failed to see her on her birthday. I promised her a handmade gift and I didn’t even go to see her. She gave me everything and I gave her nothing.
She wanted to only be with me and, what did I do?
Empty promises smashed away like empty bottles of whiskey thrown into the air from fast cars.
I could see her black curls flailing in the air, her smile unfading. She was mine once. Her lips spoke only my name, once. Her ears could behold my voice alone and her arms could embrace no one but me, once.
“Why?” she asked me the night I said the words; “What did I do wrong?” I couldn’t stand the sight of her crying.
You are too good for me, you deserve someone better; I wanted to tell her then, but I didn’t.
I sucked in the fumes from my cigarette and flicked it into the night. The spot I had chosen came up fast. I could see the traffic sign in red, marking my exit. I closed my eyes and breathed in the sweet misty air, one last time. I gave the car a last surge of life and rested my head onto the leather.
We fell through.
The wind growing kinder as it brushed away the tears that clouded my vision.
Her face, her eyes, her neck, our music and her lips whispering in my ears,
But… I didn’t have a Lamborghini, never did. Nor was I a rich playboy. Not even a poor one for that matter.
All I ever had was her.
I wish I could end my breathing and show her what she always meant to me. But, I can’t.
All I can do is dream of a glamorous death and maybe write of it. For to die, is a luxury beyond my reach.