New Creation: A Short Story
There was a time when everyone wanted to be with me. That was a long time ago. Every night it was a different girl. Now my bed has remained empty. I have changed. Before Katrina came into my life, I was desirable. Before she brought me to my knees, I was unbreakable. Before she left me, I was fearless. I am not the same man I once was. She did not love me. I understand this, but I loved her. She is gone now while I remain here. I am fine.
It has been a month now since Katrina left me. I pace across the hardwood floor of my one-room apartment, the room that we once shared. I tread upon this old, faded rug beneath my new leather dress shoes. Snow is beginning to fall outside my window. Fall has inevitably turned to winter. The room is cold. Chill air seeps up through cracks in the floorboard. The sky seems darker than it was before. I shiver slightly. I’m waiting for my date. Someone new. I’m trying a dating service. I hear everyone is doing it. I want to meet someone new.
I was too busy for Katrina — too busy living my own life. She was fickle, ever-changing, restless like the wind. She had no patience for me. I told her that one day I would be there for her. One day, when I was satisfied in my work and everything went according to plan, we would be happy. She needed to understand this. For a time, I had my own life to lead, a career to manage. She did not wait for me. She was not around when I came home from my long days at work, the overtime, the weekends, the holidays. She was out all night, out with her friends. I was moving up. I had a career to pursue. I did it for myself and I did it for us. We were going to settle down someday. Then it would be just the two of us. But first, I had to make something of myself.
The off-white walls in this place are bare. My antique bookshelves accumulate dust; my fridge holds nothing but leftovers; unread classics pile up on the kitchen table. Left to this desolate solitude my mind fitfully turns over my life spent with Katrina.
She was softer when I first met her, almost childlike. Her young brown eyes found a place in my empty heart. Seated at the bar, her long black hair falling down past her shoulders, my eyes traced the outline of her hard, lean body, her soft, determined face. She was with all of her friends. She was well loved by all of them. I was sitting beside some of my co-workers, having a few drinks, sharing a few stories. She briefly glanced over at me and I met her dark eyes for the first time. She saw right through my confidence (brought on by the beer) as I separated myself from everyone else and offered to buy her a drink. I sat down beside her and felt the rush of my heart as my eyes were captivated by the immeasurable grace of her design. She looked at my mask of self-assurance, my public identity, my calculated, masculine words, and she smiled and accepted my offer. After several more drinks, the hour was late, and we went back to my apartment. I could barely afford to pay rent at the time. This changed after she moved in.
We were poor. She was only a waiter. I was a personal banker. I was absorbed in my work. I was trying to make sales, trying to meet my quota. I was tired. I was not sleeping well. I was run-down, my health was poor. I could not talk to her like I used to. I could not go out with her like we once did, but she still wanted to go out and we could not afford it. I started spending more time with my old friends. We were catching up. I was slowing down, getting older. Work was stressful. I was getting behind, making mistakes. But she did not listen to me. She did not want me to explain it to her. She was already out the door, out with her new friends. She was out every night living in a dream, leaving me behind. I was paying the bills. I provided for her. She chose not to stay with me. I would have given her everything. She had no desire for me. When I needed her most, she was not there. When I needed her faithfulness, she went out with somebody else. When I needed her steadfastness, she left me. I wanted her to share my burden. I wanted her heart next to mine. I wanted all of her. But we both made mistakes. I’m looking for a new partner now. I’m looking for her replacement. I am fine.
The snow is falling heavier now. This should not concern me. With vacant eyes, I’m staring out my window into the sheer white obscurity, taking in the confusion of lights and dark buildings rising up out of the winter haze. I’m still unable to transform myself into the man that she wanted, still unable to compete with the attractive and successful variety of single men inhabiting every street, still unable to lift myself out of the noise and chaos of a hostile city.
Since the day that she left me, Katrina has not given my mind a moments peace, never ceasing to invade my waking thoughts with her magnetic presence. She was beautiful in her time. My mind revolves around her dully, unable to conceive of anyone greater than her. But I’m moving on from her, getting over her, outgrowing her. She is gone now. I am fine. I accept this. Soon, she will vanish from my frustrated dreams. A new girl is coming over tonight. We’re taking the subway into the downtown core. We decided to try a new bar that opened up recently. We’re going to hear some live music. It will be good. I have not been out with someone new in a long time.
I remind myself again that Katrina is a lost girl, a terrifying dream, a threatening vision, a destructive prophecy, a figure of my imagination damaging everything she touches. I’m leaving her now, erasing her from my memory.
To pass the time until my date arrives (she is running quite late) I examine the stacked-up literature on my table, neglected for so long. I used to read more than anyone I knew back at Cambridge. The other members of my fraternity used to call me the king of the indoors, but I showed them my worth before our time was up. Now, I’m not sure what the point of all of those years was. What do you call a man who cannot hold down a relationship? I was left with an empty feeling. Most people I come across these days do not enjoy reading. Katrina never touched a book in her life if she could help it. I used to make these impossible reading lists for myself with books heavy like cement and now I’ve lost interest in every single one.
Katrina loves someone else. I’ve met him before. Perhaps she thinks he is more of a man than me. This should not concern me. She can have him. The two are perfect for each other. I do not love her anymore — not like I used to. A month has passed. I am fine. She can go out with him. He has a perfect smile. He is the definition of handsome and charming. He is everything a girl wants, and I am not. He makes her laugh in a way that I cannot. He will make her heart beat faster and faster and I will not. I am fine. There are so many other girls. Katrina was infinitely flawed, and I know this, but I wanted her to love me.
My date is running almost an hour late now. This should not concern me. The roads must be icy and covered with snow by now. I am looking into the fridge, searching for something to eat, something to hold me over, something to take my mind off of Katrina. I can see that my ramen noodles have been left untouched for over a week. The pad Thai from last Friday seems to have melted into its own oil. I should have gone to the store, but I’ve forgotten to do so because my mind has been consumed with other more pressing concerns. In any case, I’ve lost my appetite for most of the month.
Katrina does not care about me. I should know this by now. She would rather have someone else. I have lost confidence in myself; I have fallen short of the man that I needed to be; I have lost faith in a world hoping in itself, ending in a black nothing. I am fine.
I’m watching the snow falling thickly outside my window. I feel cold in my dress pants and light jacket. The new girl will arrive any minute now. I’m changing into boots as my dress shoes are obviously inappropriate for the weather. Soon, I will walk across this ancient rug, stare into the tired, worn out patterns, relive my past failures, rub out what little colour remains with the deep treads of my heavy winter boots and I will answer the door.
She’s an hour late now. I think the heavy snowfall has delayed her. This should not concern me. Soon, I trust, she will wash away the compulsive thoughts of Katrina that continually fill up my mind. I’m either unable or unwilling to let Katrina go no matter how effortlessly she fades out of my life. I loved her once; I do not feel the same now, but I still think about her all the time. I’m in a better place now. Financially, I’m secure again. I’m searching for someone new. I need to replace her. I need to get her off my mind. That much is clear to me. I am fine.
I put my all of hope into this new girl who will soon be at my door. I want her to be humble; I want her to be kind; I want her to be wise; I want her to be gentle; I want her to be strong. I want her to love me as I love her — a new girl, a new creation of my own design. Maybe she’s not coming. She’s over an hour late now. This should not concern me. I hope she will be here soon.
I thought that I deserved Katrina’s love after everything I did for her. I no longer believe that I deserve anything given out of obligation. I understand this now. Love is a gift. I do not imagine that anyone will love me the way that I want to be loved. But I will go on seeking after love until I find someone new and they will seek after love and we will both agree that we are only seeking after ourselves, and whether we are fulfilled or have had enough, the cycle will go on, on and on, desperately repeating for a lifetime, destined for futility. Why do I expect more than this?
I’m searching for a blazing fire in the cold, a counselor in the disarray, a comforter in the trial, a friend in the darkness, a name to call upon when I am lost. I’m looking for someone new to fill the empty spaces in my heart. I am fine.
There is a knock at my door. I answer it.
