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Carla's Story

When the trumpet stopped playing she knew Albert had finally died. She had placed it in his nose two days before. She had made a plan, she had accomplished it. Placing the party trumpet in his nose had been her first idea. The kidnapping and all the rest had come later on. It's easy to kidnap someone you know so well and whom you know so much about. And Albert had been willing to share so much about himself. "Oh,what a mistake!" thought she, while peeling the potatoes. Potatoes were the only thing she couldn't have lived without. People she had learned to deal without (Albert not being the first, nor the last, of the series), but potatoes...she just couldn't bear the thought. It had all started when she was 11. She was on a schooltrip. Her goldfish had decided to commit suicide just then. She could have overcome the grief, if her mother hadn't decided that her first approach to death was as important as keeping the fish in the freezer and displaying it on the kitchen table when she returned. That red fish corpse had been so revealing about life, the universe and all that's in between, that she locked herself in her bedroom for three days. Talking to her invisible friend: MrMonkeyDude. That was MrMonkeyDude's second appearance. His first one had been when Angela Lewis had stolen her favourite pen in 4th grade. MrMonkeyDude was cool. I mean COOL. He was the bearer of unthought thoughts, unspoken words, unrevealed truths. "Angela Lewis is a bitch and a thief" had been his first words. And they carried with them all the unfelt feelings she was hiding. From the fish episode on MrMD had been a clear presence. He was there to sort things out. He was there now, checking the potatoes. Albert had made two mistakes in his life. The first had been to have her fall inlove with him, the second had been to fall for her. She was very old fashioned about love. Love had to be mostly made of suffering. Torturing oneself being the only joy to be found in it.

She sat near Albert for a little while. She stared at him closely, the surprised look on his face. She took the party trumpet from his nose and played a little tune on it. Everything was peaceful. MrMD was taking care of the potatoes, she had now time to think. And, as it usually goes, she thought about when she first met Albert. She had seen him from across the street. He was walking up and down, probably waiting for someone. He had been kept waiting, she could see that. And she could see he was going to wait for a long long while. In a mixture of disappointment, anger and apprehension. She would wait with him, on the other side of the street. She could wait, she was in no hurry. She never was in a hurry. Why would she be? She had MrMD to take care of things.

Having an invisible friend is easy. Especially if you decide to share the same point of view. Let's face it, MrMD was much more than an invisible friend. He was there, no matter what. She had had a happy childhood and when you've had a happy childhood it's hard to blame your faults on the fact you've had a troubled life. She had friends, a dog and all the Barbies she could dream of. Where was the crucial bit, the turning point that had signed her for life? It is also known that when you've had a happy childhood you're totally unprepared to face problems. The point is, no matter what your background is..tragedies do interfere, and badly i might add, in one's life. Was it a rainy day? Was it a sunny day? It sure was 18 years ago...
She was seven back then. Seven is a complicated age. Most of us have been thru it, some are still stuck there. 7 is the age of learning, reading and writing. And tho it takes you 45 minutes only to get to the end of a normal 10 words sentence (and hardly ever understand it), you feel -so- powerful. You CAN read, if you wanted you could probably read every sign on the street. Safe in this knowledge you start taking things differently. Six years old aren't just a year away, they're a whole world behind, a world made of words, sounds, dots, commas, syllables. It was then that -it- happened, in this universe that revolves around you and no one else, coz you're the best, let's face it. Those were the days of endless games and speedy chats with Mark. Being both 7 there wasn't too much space for words, they understood each other perfectly. Mark was a boy, she was a girl. It made little difference back then. Mark had to move. One day. Suddenly. "Move what exactly?" She just didn't get it. It was when he stopped coming over that she understood something was wrong. And it was when different people started living at Mark's place that things got totally out of hand. She couldn't accept it. He couldn't leave her like that. They had plans, things to see, stuff to do. She stopped taking this being seven all too seriously. She realized shit happens, and when it does it seldom asks for your permission. No more "I'll conquer the world" fantasies. Now it was all up to "Who will disappear next?". She felt so hopelessly impotent. Things were decided behind her back and she couldn't stand it. Two days before her first murder she decided she was gonna take care of it. If people had to disappear from her sight, and life, she'd take care of it. She'd do it herself. She'd decide when, where and how. No more sneaking.

It was a sunny day outside. She was torn. Should she get out and enjoy the sun, or just second that sleepy feeling spring always brought with it? She turned on her side and went back to sleep. She woke up to find out the sunny day was still out there. She put on her shoes. She always slept dressed. You never know, a nuclear bomb or the guy from the gas company. The situation was pretty tense all over and it is a well known fact that you can't deal well with things, for better or for worse, in your pajamas. She watered the plants and got out. There was no one in the street, and it was weird. Usually on fridays the street was packed with people. But was it friday? It could've been any day, but she was sure it was, at least, thursday. She wasn't fond of watches. Time passed anyways, some times faster than it should, most of the time dragging every single minute. There was no point in checking how it went by, you could just experience it.
"Oh", she said, with sudden relief.
She spied someone peeing at a street corner. That was reassuring. She always met someone peeing somewhere. Life was back to normal. She should go buy some steaks. MrMD had woken her up with a craving fur steaks. She now had it too. That would've been taken care of. Later. She had her walkman and headphones. No tape in the walkman and surely no batteries. Walkman was a good excuse for her absent minded way of looking around. And she could talk to herself. She had chosen to live near a park. She LOVED the city, but living near a park gave everything another dimension. A city is the ideal place to commit a murder. She didn't like the word "murder". It gave her act of love a total different meaning.

"Loving someone so much as to kill him", she would've answered that, if anyone had ever dared to ask. But no one ever did. All that stuff about Eros & Thanatos were true. Plenty of books proved so.

She sat on a bench, the day turned out to be not so shiny. People often stared, it was her policy to stare back. People don't understand. Someone, taken as a single individual, might understand. But people don't. No, they just don't get it. Coz, on the whole, society is too structured, too built up. And if society thinks that killing someone is bad, then it's hard to convince it of the contrary.
"And society is contraddictory", said she.
Death penalty. Killing someone. But that was an act out of hate. Her act contemplated LOVE. Love as a first condition. She looked up. Clouds were gathering up in the sky. She closed her eyes, opened them again. Did so for six times. The clouds were changing shape quickly. She tried to follow the patterns, but the clouds were too fast for her. She closed her eyes and kept them shut. She started thinking seriously, as seriously as you can when you're sitting on a bench in a well kept park. The true meaning of life was in the fast changing sky above her. A moment it is all blue (or grey), the other it is cloudy. It changes suddenly. And she could hardly understand, or approve, of sudden things. Changes happened quickly. But she needed time to settle. She suddenly opened her eyes. MrMD was beside her, holding her hand. She smiled and squeezed his hand back.
"Some things never change", she thought.
And relaxed.

How to plan a murder.
Find someone stupid enough to trust you. Avoid doing it in a rush. Use whatever you fancy. You have to be comfortable with the "weapon". Her first murder had been a disasterous experience. She wasn't to blame, unexperienced hands cause great troubles. She was 12, and teen-agers aren't reknowned for being analytical. Teen-agers just live by the moment. And you can't do that when u're committing a murder, you can't allow yourself to be an airhead...unless you wanna get caught. Her bestfriend had been her first victim. She had known Lucille for 4 years. She had started to count on her. After Mark had moved she spent a year all by herself. Her parents were very worried. A 7 years old who spends all her time locked in the bathroom filling and emptying the bath tub while talking to herself ain't exactly normal. It took them 6 months to convince her to get out of the "damn bathroom" and 6 more months were spent trying to convince her to get out of the house. That serious look in her eyes was so difficult to bear for them. Eventually she did go out. And she met Lucille. They became bestfriends. They shared the same ideals, both wanted to work in a supermarket when they grew old. They shared Barbies, pony tails and roller skates. Things were going just fine, the way someone who took things so seriously as she did, would've hoped they'd go. They were there for each other. No one else was allowed in their friendship...or at least that's what she thought. Apparently Lucille didn't share the same views on this. That was a shock for her. Building a friendship takes time and good will. Differences are allowed and welcome, most of the time. But she had always been strict on certain things, and being replaced surely wasn't something she could overcome that easily. She gave Lucille some time, to understand what she was losing and run back to the secure walls of her friendship. Waiting just wasn't her thing, tho. When she couldn't wait any longer, she finally faced Lucille. They spent a whole afternoon together. The phone started ringing. Lucille got up and answered it. It was one of her new friends. Her tone was different, childish and too happy. She started fidgeting in her chair. Getting more and more nervous. This sudden metamorphosis in Lucille's behaviour irritated her. This 12 years old, dressed in a pink blouse, talking like a 6 years old, but wanting to look older, wasn't her bestfriend. She stood up and walked towards her. Smiling a fake smile.
"I really need to go now." she whispered to Lucille.
Lucille nodded. Held the microphone with her hand and said:
"I'll call you soon."
She rushed out of Lucille's house.  Rushed to the street's corner. Rushed in. Rushed up the stairs to her bedroom. Who was this new Lucille? Whoever it was, she didn't like it at all. She decided to take the situation in her hands. She had to kill her. For herself. For Lucille. Nothing painful. She would've invited her over and killed her with the hairdryer. Instant death. The plan was to be acted the following wednesday. She saw Lucille twice before then. They went out together, Lucille made a pathetic attempt of including her in her new life. Fact is, she didn't want to, she wanted things to stay the same. She wanted Lucille to be her bestfriend, she wanted to be Lucille's only friend. On wednesday she woke up feeling more selfconscious. Calm. Lucille came over at 4, they were to study together. At 6.15 they decided to try out her new hair dye. She washed Lucille's hair. Put the dye on and waited with her on the edge of the bathtub. They were having fun. But things had been set, she couldn't go back. At 7.12 she told Lucille to wash her head and dry it. She was going to go downstairs and make some popcorn. At 7.14, as planned, she'd push Lucille in the bathtub and she'd die from the combined shock of water and electricity. At 7.13 the phone rang. It was her mother telling her futile stuff. For far too long. She hung up at 7.16. Rushed upstairs. Lucille had dried her hair and was now going thru their old pictures. She had to think quick. Think fast. MrMD told her to follow him in her parents' room. She followed him. He handed her a pair of rollerskates. She nodded. She had Lucille wearing them in no time. She pushed her down the stairs. Then stared at her for a while, laying, at the foot of the stairs. It had worked. Her parents found her sitting next to Lucille, in shock. But the look in her eyes should've told them better.

The feeling of loss, the unacceptable sensation of being out of control. It's like carrying three boxes, one on top of the other, trying to spare yourself an extra journey, and ending up with three boxes on the floor and having to start all over again. What was MrMD if not an extra hand on things? Where two eyes can't see clearly, four might just keep everything under control. And she needed to be in control, she needed to know exactly who, where, when, what was going on. It had happened once, she had let off, relaxed and  BANG  someone had stepped out of her life, had been left behind. And, as they say, you have to learn from your mistakes. Her biggest mistake had been to think things could take care of themselves and proceed nicely even without her constant supervision. She wouldn't commit the same mistake twice. MrMD was necessary, he was there to keep her sane. What she had learned from Mark was that, no matter what, you need a soulmate. Someone to share with, to laugh with, to support you, to kick your ass when needed... And MrMD was all that, and more. He was eternal, unmovable, uncorruptible. He was the one thing that kept her going. She was responsible not only for herself, but for him too. He depended on her, and she depended on him. She needed that, she needed to know she was needed. She thought Lucille needed her at first, then realized most people count on themselves to get thru life.

She knew, right then, she had to kill him. How could he even dare think he could leave her like that? How could he even think he could live without her? Hadn't he thought about what he was doing? And if he had, hadn't the truth blinked in front of him in HUGE pink letters? She started shivering. She couldn't get herself to cry, and she didn't want to. She felt desperate for a couple of minutes. Then her truth, the only truth, cleared her mind. She couldn't live without him. He WOULDN'T live without her. The mere thought of him getting over her was unbearable. Then the doubt. It grew. "But was he ever inlove with her?" She closed her eyes and sat down. She had never thought of it in that perspective. She didn't look for hidden meanings. Her life was complicated enough as it was. Her mind went back to Lucille. It wasn't an exclusive friendship for her. Had Lucille ever said so? No, she hadn't. But it had seemed obvious to her. Coz she looked at things thru her eyes. But Steve. Steve had said he loved her. Are there different or hidden meanings in those words? Not for her. She had meant it. He hadn't. That was the only difference. But a difference that made Steve's life look unworthy of being lived. At least in her opinion. His didn't count right now. His opinion had made a difference before, it wouldn't interfere any further in her life. MrMD held her tight, then nodded silently. He knew that was the right thing to do. And so did she. She reached for Steve's CD player and broke it on his head. Steve fell on the floor. Dead. She laid next to him, held his hand. All his CDs were neatly stacked. She ran her finger thru them. Massive Attack-Protection. She had bought it for him. She laid silently for over an hour. She couldn't believe the way it had ended. She felt sorry for him. For herself. There are good moments and bad moments. Even the good moments were spent thinking about the worst. But when the worst arrived, she wasn't prepared. She didn't have the means to cope with it. The only getaway was to eliminate the problem. Then why didn't she feel better? Why was she still tense? She couldn't bear the thought of having been fooled. He had played with her feelings. Killing him wasn't enough. She should've erased him from her life. In a fit of anger she kicked him. Fool.

Killing Steve had meant killing the whole meaning behind her murders. It had broken the spell. She had killed for revenge. And that wasn't allowed. She couldn't get herself to leave his apartment. The sadness of having lost. He had left her before she could kill him. She sat on the bed. Steve laying at her feet. What had happened? How could he have fooled her? She suddenly spoke to MrMD.
"Why did this happen?"
MrMD was there to give her the answers she couldn't find. He stood silent. She finally let herself go. She cried for what seemed, even to MrMD, a long while. She had committed another mistake. Emotions had confused her. Irrational emotions. Being overwhelmed by your insane and untamed emotions always turns out to be a mistake. To the hell with being spontaneous. He didn't want her to be spontaneous. It scared him. It didn't scare her. Maybe he was scared of his feelings for her. Or maybe she was just looking for an alibi. For a more decent option than the one that seemed to be the answer. He DIDN'T love her. The truth was too painful to be considered as one of the possibilities. It just couldn't kick in. She had thousands of unanswered questions, of unreachable answers. MrMD picked the CD player from off the floor. It was still in one piece. And working. He got a CD and played it. She looked at him and shook her head. He knew she needed an answer. But he couldn't find one. The whole situation was messed up. Steve had the only answer. And he had denied her the right to hear it. The person laying at her feet wasn't the same person she had fallen inlove with. Fallen for. Fallen inlove WITH just didn't sound right after what he had told her. For a start, the person she was looking down at was dead. She suddenly felt violated. How can you share so much and still know so little? Misplaced trust. Yes, that too. But if you don't trust the person you're inlove with, then what's the point? How can you get to know someone if you don't share? She had been willing to share. She was ready. But all that she had said had been totally misunderstood. Or just not kept in consideration. Love ends. She was there to contraddict that statement. But even if it did, ain't it considerate to respect the person you're dealing with? He had broken all the rules. She knew it. And so did MrMD. Yet she couldn't get him off her mind. The moments they had shared. The expectations. All gone in a second. She couldn't forgive him for not even wanting to try and fall inlove with her. He had quit. Or had he not liked what he had learnt so far? She froze. MrMD finally spoke:
"How can you not like potatoes if you haven't even tried them?"
That was an answer. An answer she liked. He had run off before even being able to try the potatoes. She stood up, took MrMD by the hand and walked out. He had been a fool. Case closed.

Love is the strongest feeling. But then again, so is hate. Hating was her answer to being hurt.

Walking back to her place she bought some flowers. It was raining. She had always loved the rain. Walking under it. The sound of it. The smell of it. She read it as a good sign. Rain washed away the terrible sense of having committed a mistake. She stumbled over and fell on the pavement. It was late. No one was around. She didn't move. Her clothes got more and more wet. She was cold and strangely happy. A hand appeared as if from nowhere to help her getting up. She took it and accepted the help that was being offered. So unusual. The stranger got the flowers from off the floor and handed them to her. Smiling. She stood there enjoying the rain. And this stranger. His eyes were beautiful. And so were his thumbs.
"Is everything ok?" he asked, unexpectedly.
"Yeah, why not. Falling wasn't planned, but it turned out to be quite cool, actually." He laughed.
"Wanna go sit somewhere and tell me about it?"
She thought about it. And then some more.
"No, thanks, I'd better not."
It was too early for her. She had to go thru a long and painful mourning period. Settle down after the sudden change of events. She needed to analize, dismember and rethink her actions, her whole life. Was a necessary process. Unavoidable. If her answer was unexpected to him -as it was to her-, he didn't show it. He gave her a last look and walked by. She suddenly felt alone, sad and relieved. She didn't wanna kill someone with those eyes. And those thumbs.

Why do people expect to know exactly what you want? What you need? What they had to offer HAD to be what she needed. She didn't need it. She wanted something else. They had the power to make her feel inadequate for their inadequacy. Another bad book. Another waste of time. Another impossible love story. Two different endings. She liked neither. "Who's that girl/ running around with you?". Could've been anyone. Someone from the past? Future? Her needs. No one could guess them. They weren't obvious. No one could assume they knew them. She could've shared them. Gladly. Once they were out, ignoring them wouldn't have been enuff. You give some, take some, forget some, forgive some. She couldn't trust herself sometimes. Giving up some for someone else's benefit. Was she able to do that? Did she want to? What happens if you commit a mistake? If you stop where you shouldn't? If you walk-by too quickly where there's lots to see? Is there a second chance? And, in case of extremely thick people, a third one? If there's a time and a place, will there be another time and another place? Is perfection of this world? Is deception? Was true love referred to someone? Or to a situation? Was it a once-in-a-lifetime experience? Or could it be repeated? Were there reruns in case you missed it the first time? Did she miss it? The ambivalence, the doubt. The need. The fragility. Take a chance, take two. Stop a second.
Regrets? Just pure curiosity. The game of the could've-been was painful. But she was, more or less, happy with the what-had-been. Asking herself what would've happened if was just out of curiosity. Mindyou, we're constantly leaving out something by choosing something else. Now, that was scary. But that was living. Meeting people. Seeing things. Losing people. Losing things. Part of the process? Sometimes it was just carelessness. But of all things, she would've spent some time looking for him. They had crossed each other's path. One day. Too busy? Too distracted? Too taken? Was all in a look. Brief, but intense. Long and touching. Exciting, yet chaste. They had walked in opposite directions. Towards home. Towards someone else. Long gone, yet present. True love? Hopefully not. Who could say, tho? She couldn't. She was curious to find out.

MrMD was home cooking. She went for a shower. The familiar smell of potatoes helped her feeling finally back on track. She sat at the table. It had been a long day. It was gonna be a LONG month. She had disappointed herself and, most importantly, MrMD. She had been driven insane with anger.
"I'm sorry."
"You had to do what you had to do."
"I did what I, irrationally, felt like doing."
"You did what you had to do."
He knew, better than she did, that this episode would've changed things.
"I was naive."
"You were spontaneous."
"I shouldn't have been."
"Honey, it was easier for me to understand this act of love than all the others."
"I met a guy tonight."
"I know, I was there."
"You were?"
"You didn't need me, so I didn't interfere."
"I'm tired of being hurt, tired of being in control."
"You're not."
"I am."
"If things don't go the way you want 'em to go..."
"Do they ever?"
"You can't plan the rest of your life."
"I can't?"
"You can either follow a recipe step by step and something will always go wrong -The picture never resembles the result...Or get what you have and make the best of it."
"Scrambled eggs."
"It'll get better."
She went to bed and slept. Dressed.

She woke up suddenly. MrMD gasped. Jealous. She had been jealous of him. Jealous of the fact he wouldn't have suffered from their break up. Jealous of the fact he'd have allowed someone else the time, the effort, that he had denied her. He would've let someone else slip into his life. He would've given this someone the chance to know all about him. To take it seriously and not run away. He would have respected her, defended her from being hurt. He would've loved her, better, he would've meant it. He would've shared the same things he had shared with her. Those hands. His eyes. His lips. His smile. His sleep. His weird habits. Someone would've shared all this, and more, much more. She turned and twisted in the bed. Kicked out Steve's favourite pillow. His favourite pillow. He had had time to pick his favourite pillow. Choose his favourite side of the bed. They had shared habits. That must've meant something for him. No, it hadn't. "Somewhat fun." That's how he had summed up all the time they had spent together.
"How was the game?"
"Somewhat fun."
"Did you like tonight's episode of the X-Files?"
"Yeah, it was somewhat fun."
Somewhat fun. Somewhat. Clearly undefined. Yes, but not really. What? What did that mean? Was she placed in the "fun, but pretentious" category? She didn't know him. She didn't want to know him. He hadn't known her. She still couldn't place the blame. And that made everything more painful and complicated. Had this complete stranger been the greatest love of her life. No. Had she idealized this person so much she had seen a prince charming where nothing but a jerk stood? Maybe. Beethoven-Au claire de lune. That had weakened her knees. She could relive the important moments. Go thru them in her mind. Him playing the piano over the phone. An unexpected call. Staring at him asleep after a night spent chatting. How could anyone place that under the "Somewhat fun" category? Maybe she did take this being inlove thing too seriously. No, she believed in it. It had a meaning to her. It was important. So important that she had killed for it. So important to keep her thinking for some time.

There's no need to argue anymore
I gave all I could
But it left me so sore
And the thing that makes me mad
Is the one thing that I had

I knew, I knew I'd lose you
You'll always be special to me

And I remember all the
Things we once shared
Watching tv movies on
The living room armchair

But they say it'll work out fine
Was it all a waste of time
Cause I knew, I knew I'd lose you

You'll always be special to me

Will I forget in time
You said I was on your mind
There's no need to argue
No need to argue anymore
There's no need to argue anymore

That was it.

The key to solve all this was in her hands. Was in a phrase. "Had this stranger been the greatest love of her life? No." And he wouldn't turn out to be. She had thought this over for too long. So long he had gained too much importance. She was still hurt. But that was her pride. Giving him too much importance was a mistake. She felt haunted. Obsessed. Now it had to stop. He was dead. He hadn't cared. She could live without him. Those were all facts. She needed to regain her sanity. And there was only a place where she could find it. A supermarket. The supermarket. Sainsbury's. She got the trolley and walked thru the aisles. The smell, the colours, million different things to choose from. Heaven.

Every day she'd walk to school alone. Her heavy backpack, her coat, her hat, her gloves. She had always loved shoes. She spent the whole journey looking down at them and watching 'em walking with her. Right. Left. Right. Left. She was fascinated. When you're a kid going to school is always thrilling. Before the homework filled nightmares, before the complicated crushes. You meet up with all your friends, write some, read some, but mainly, you learn how good it feels to have people around. And you learn to appreciate being alone. She liked to be alone, she couldn't stand being left alone. It seems a little difference. But it isn't. Right. Left. Right. Left. She had spent so many mornings staring down at her feet, that she had never seen what, soon after, would've been her gateway to happiness. MrMD had helped her expanding her mind once more. It was a wednesday, she'd never forget it. She had a new pair of bright red shoes, they looked so fine. MrMD suddenly pulled her sleeve. She lifted her head and there it was. A supermarket. She had been in one before, but nothing never looked so magnificent as this supermarket. Sainsbury's. She stood there, without moving. Her eyes lightened up. She had to go inside, see what it was like. She forgot all about school, her classmates and even her new pair of bright red shoes. She grabbed a trolley (it is pointless, as we all know, going into a supermarket without a trolley). Revolving doors. Such luxury. First aisle was fruit and vegetables. Such abundance. She went thru it, checking out names, checking out prices. She picked up some apples, and a potato. They had potatoes, how could she have not loved this place?  Second aisle was dairies. She liked milk, but what she loved about milk most was the fact it always came with cereals. She started going around looking for 'em. She found 'em soon after, near the bread. A whole aisle filled with cereals. She liked the names of cereals. Cheerios. What's better than that? Cheerios, she kept repeating it in her head. She liked the sound, she liked the feeling of it in her head. She was in heaven. She knew it, as well as you know it's not going to be your best day when you wake up with your hair all hanging on the right. She kept going, aisle after aisle. The supermarket was crowded, but still fairly empty. You always have to pick the right time. Crowded supermarkets aren't as enjoyable, unless it's Christmas eve. She checked her pockets. She had 7 pounds. She could buy something, that was good. Just walking around is ok, but going thru the whole process (looking for what you need, choosing it, buying it) was so much more fulfilling. She spent two hours in there. Simply going around, learning by heart where everything was. She skipped school that day. She skipped it again, and again, and again. Every time she felt something was not in the right place, she'd go there. She knew where everything was, she knew nothing bad could happen there. It kept her in touch with reality, but in such a way she didn't mind.

When she met Dave she was 17. He was 24. She wasn't mature, but then again, he wasn't either. Now he had been -the- man in her life. The guy to compare all the others to. Unfortunately his girlfriend shared her same opinion. But wouldn't share him. Terribly unreasonable. She met him in a supermarket. Cereal section. In front of a box of Cheerios (talk about meant to be...). They got to talking and found out they had lots in common. He described himself as dull. She would've defined him anything else but dull. She never understood why it takes people so long to fall in love. When she got out of the supermarket she already knew she could've walked right into a church with him. They saw each other every single day. His girlfriend wasn't an issue. Three months later she became one. He finally got his courage up and told her all about Lisa. She didn't overreact. She knew they had something special. And she knew this something special would've worked out a way to bring them together. The more time they spent together, the more she felt that maybe things could have worked themselves out. She knew him. She didn't think or assume she did. She just did. And she knew he knew her too. And she knew he wouldn't have taken advantage of her, he would have not betrayed her trust. She felt at ease with him, coz he didn't feel at ease in small confined spaces either. He was neurotic just as much as she was. That brought them together. And finally separated them. If there ever was anyone she should've killed that was Dave. And that's why she didn't. She didn't like Lisa, the reasons are simple to figure out. But she liked Dave, she loved him. If it was Lisa he wanted, he had better go and get her. She could've waited. Or just surrendered. Either way, she would've let go. The good thing about being a kid is that you forget fast. Your life's based on anything that catches your attention for more than 5 minutes. Your emotions are simple. And you forget easily (unless it's Angela Lewis weíre talking about...). Getting over Dave had never been an issue. She knew he was one in a million and he'd always be. How do you get over someone so special? You simply don't. You just accept the fact he's not for you and move on. They kept in touch. She couldn't explain why it was so important, but it was. When your life turns into a cheesy drama, you usually look back at the good ole times. Dave was always in the picture when she did.

Having to share all over again. Same stuff, different faces. She was too tired to go thru that. Someone new. A whole new person to like, to get to know better. Little disturbing things to accept. She couldn't face it right now. She didn't have to. Fortunately.

The main difference between the heart and the brain is that the heart is a muscle, the brain isn't. The heart can stretch, flex. A broken heart can, with a bit of exercise, go back to its usual self. The brain can't. The brain soaks up everything and stores it. Why is it so hard to regain trust in feelings that caused great pain? Becoz the brain knows where the tricky part is, it remembers the risks that are being taken. While the heart pumps in and pumps out, the brain's left with bits of this and bits of that to give a meaning to. And learning, or simply understanding, sometimes is the hardest, and most ungrateful, thing to do. Things hardly make sense. Some things more than others. At the moment all seemed blurry and confused. She had a slow metabolism. She moved little steps or giant leaps. Sometimes took five steps back just for good measure. It was never a straight-to-the-point process. She envied people who could just turn the page and move on. Her pages were all crispy, messy and thickly written. It's a virtue to be able to order events and emotions, store them and move on. A virtue she didn't possess. Her brain cells were overworked. Tired. Exhausted. Answers she needed weren't always granted. And when they were given they often lead to even bigger questions. It takes alot of energy to heal. It took way too much energy to forgive. Why would she trust anyone else? Was it for the infinite fulfilling feeling love brought with it? For the constant thrill? For the moments spent planning? For the despair only love could bring? She hated cheap love songs. She couldn't have thought of her life without all that. But right now she needed sleep, rest, a vacation from strong feelings. She needed to find a way to stop her brains from overworking. She decided she'd think nothing else but simple thoughts. Blue squirrels on pink meadows. That would've kept her busy. That would've kept her away from this terrible feeling of loneliness

She ran into Joseph soon after she had killed Steve. She spent a whole month working it over in her head. She realized what was still bugging her was the sense of failure. So much effort, both physical and emotional, and such a poor result. It was a loss, but neither big nor great. We all commit mistakes. This wouldn't have been her last (it surely wasn't the first). Joseph didn't play the piano, that's what she loved most about him. He had that clumsy aura about him. He was an architect. He was an artist in a way, yet down to earth. She couldn't help but comparing him to Steve. Being able to play the piano was one of the goals she had set for her old years. That, a house in the country, a million cats and being alone and bitter to the world. Steve surely could play, but, as it turned out, that's where all his passion went. She didn't have keys and she wasn't well tuned. It could have never worked out. She was standing outside an hotel when she met Joseph. She was fascinated by hotels. A place where they do their best to make you feel at home. What's better than that? A supermarket, but that's a whole different story. He was fascinated and invited her for a drink. She accepted. There was something about Joseph that made her trust him. He didn't play the piano. They sat in a pub. She had what she always had. And so did he. They didn't talk much. They didn't need to. He asked her to marry him a week later. She enjoyed the thought. What would've Steve thought of it if he was still alive? The thought made her laugh. And then laugh some more. It was too early, it was rushed into, it was crazy. She accepted without a second thought. He had taken a risk. He had been daring.

The days after he had proposed turned out to be as hectic as she didnít like them to be. MrMD was in a frenzy. He was excited. She couldn't understand if it was good or bad. She had never thought of a relationship that could last. She had never thought someone could love her so much as to want to share his whole life with her. She was scared, yet excited. She had always seen her relationships as tricky, as complicated and with a certain ending (and not a happy one either). Marrying him would've meant proving herself wrong, going against every scheme she had set up. Yet, she felt she needed this overwhelming happiness she was feeling. She knew MrMD wouldíve looked above her shoulder, would've always been there. But she was trusting Joseph to do the real tough job, she wanted him to help her relax, help her enjoy it for once. She looked distractly in the mirror and the image that was being sent back to her was smiling. It was unusual. It was crazy. She stopped for a second and hoped Joseph knew what he was doing. She hoped he wouldnít turn out as everyone else. The only thing Steve had taught her is that people change, unexpectedly. This made her even more weary. But no, he wouldn't take over. Steve was dead and that's the way it had to be. He wouldn't have spoiled this moment too. She wanted to live it, entirely and freely.

The doorbell rang. She rushed to open the door. It was Joseph. He had brought her flowers. She liked flowers. She smiled and kissed him. Closing her eyes. She had never done that. Closing her eyes wouldíve meant losing touch with reality, would've meant letting herself go. But it felt ok now. She knew she could trust him. She knew nothing about him. But it was enough.