(This week’s edition of A Creative Space features the end–the epilogue–to the very first novel I wrote called Wild Cherries. If you weren’t here last Monday, I call this my “practice novel” lol. It’s a women’s fiction story, and it will never see the light of day other than here. You can catch the prologue or Part I of this creative endeavor HERE. And now, I present Part II!)
Beginnings and Endings: Part II
…and he loved her forever. But this is not a fairy tale. Even though his love for her grew every day, the man did not live happily-ever-after with the beautiful young woman. Their road still ended.
He let her go one June afternoon a couple of years after that first Wednesday evening encounter. He let her go instead of telling her that he was tired and broken and beaten and didn’t want to lose her in the all-too-big world and feel the pain stabbing at his heart. But he didn’t tell her this. Instead, he said nothing and did nothing. And so he was left with nothing.
Why did he do this when his heart longed for her more than ever? Perhaps there was too much pressure to conform to an image or way of life. Or perhaps it was just poor timing. Maybe even it was the work of Fate. Most likely, though, it was something much more simple: cowardice.
A year passed after that June afternoon. Mired in pain, he desperately convinced himself that the June afternoon hadn’t been an end at all, that there were still miles for them to travel. He hoped. He was ready to end the pain stabbing at his heart. So he went to where he thought she’d be. But on that July evening when this time he went looking for love, it did not find him. Instead, he found the beautiful young woman, but through the windowpane he saw her in the arms of another man. Still desperate to avoid acknowledging the finality of an ending, he convinced himself there could still be a chance. So he sought her out the next afternoon. Once again, in a crowded room he found her in the arms of the man. Then the undeniable ending moment came that same evening when he watched the young woman in the midst of a jubilant group of friends, wearing the same smile of hopeful innocence he saw on that first day he met her. In that moment, standing out in the cool night air, looking in on the warm glow of friendship and laughter, the man found his ending as the young woman was discovering a new beginning.
He tries to stop pretending that the beautiful young woman is the one lying next to him. But he cannot. He lives each day with the young woman in his heart. She dwells in every song he hears and every book he reads. He sits alone at the end of the road they traveled together, weeping with regret. He knows what he has lost and what he is now left with. His story is not the fairy tale that should have been born from that magical moment. His story is just an ordinary tale of boy meets girl, boy loses girl. He let it turn out that way.
And so just as that story has an ending, this column too must have an ending today. (Thank goodness, I know, some of you are saying.) It may seem as though I should have some uplifting thought with which to leave you in order to reassure you. Or I should try to find some way to give this man a happy ending. But I don’t and I’m not. Covering up sadness with false smiles does not get rid of it. Only Time can work that magic. And it may take awhile, but sometimes the sadness of an unexpected ending can turn into a beautiful unexpected beginning. Not for everyone. But sometimes.
So as this week’s column ends, I’ll begin once again to stare at the cover of the book that I want to begin but haven’t for fear of the ending. I’ll think of the man in the story whose fears left him only with the emptiness of an ending. And I’ll listen to a great Youth Group song, Daisychains, and be reminded that when we do encounter endings or fears of unknown paths down the middle or regret over mistakes we’ve made, at least there’s a song out there in the world that understands exactly how we feel.
For weeks I’ve had your pretty face hanging in my brain.
It’s suspended like the reflection in a windowpane.
You hang just like a ghost over city streets.
Now you’re gone.
