Roses, and Beach Fires I.

love and pain.

“Emeka.”

“Sir.” The tiny figure of the boy appeared at the door.

“Coffee.”

“Okay sir.”

I remember it like it was yesterday. The excitement in her eyes, the butterflies in my chest. I was scared that it could go wrong. She could say-

“Victor, you’re sweating.” She raised her handkerchief to wipe perspiration off my forehead and all I could do was stare. She was beautiful. “It’s cold, and you still manage to sweat.” She giggled. “Old man.”

“I’m only old because I worry about you.”

Her lips curved in a smile and she paused, with an amused look, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Oh please. That’s adorable, Victor.”

She moved closer, nuzzled her lips against mine, and kissed me slowly.

“You know I love it.”

“Sir.”

I’m jolted back to the present by the boy standing in my study holding a steaming cup of coffee. I motion to the table and he drops it and leaves. He’s been helpful, especially in these aging years. I could die anytime now, and at least someone would witness my death and report it. The steam rising from the cup suddenly interests me and-

I remember it like it was yesterday. The air had a chill edge to it, the beach was lit up with several fires that hosted lovers, snuggled into each other. The sight grew a lump in my throat, and I willed myself not to tear up this night, either from the pure beauty of the moment or from the joy in. I led her down the beach, past the lovers dotting it, down to the tent at the end, closer to the shore.

When we entered her breath caught, and she turned. “Victor.” All I could do was smile. Please, I can’t say anything till its time. Just go on. She turned to look again and she placed her hands over her mouth as tears filled her eyes. “This is beautiful.’

The room was set in low blue and red lights, with white shimmering to it. The entire tent had been littered with rose petals apart from a love shaped clear space in the middle, with a path leading to it, and a bouquet of roses lying in the middle. Even after seeing it at least 50 times-in my anxiety- before tonight, it still took my breath away.

Whenever you’re ready. Whenever you’re ready.

I remember it like it was yesterday. Or maybe it was truly yesterday because I cannot seem to remember anything so well these days. I wondered what made the moment so beautiful, for her, for me. I was dazed when she held out a hand, flowers in the other, from the center of the love shape and beckoned to me. I loved it when she did that: she let her eyes glow and had that crazed look in her eyes, when she was mesmerized. We were both mesmerized.

My love, where are you?

I remember making my way down the petal-less aisle and going down on one knee. I remember bringing out the small box from my pocket. I remember her whispering, “That was bulging all day,” while I laughed and protested that it was well hidden.

I remember asking her to be my wife. I remember her saying yes.

I also remember the way her eyes widened as she stared at something behind me, something I couldn’t see. I remember the sound of the gun releasing its chambers. I remember seeing the red dot spreading rapidly through her shirt. I remember the disbelief as she clutched her chest and fell. My bride fell.

Can we? Can we surrender?

I remember looking at my hands and shivering. I remember looking back at her as tears flooded my eyes. I remember kneeling over her and touching her neck, begging her to speak to me. I remember as my speech turned to gibberish and then to shouts, and screaming. I remember turning, twisting from the men that had rushed in to hold me, to the gathering crowd at the entrance to the tent and crying, “She said yes. She said yes.” My bride said yes.

My bride. Gone.

Pure agony.

I don’t remember blacking out.

I leave the window and pick up my coffee and stir. I hate to remember.