Til Death Do it's Part

by

Vere D. Lee

As a little girl I was enthralled by this amazing pop star, Kissy-face Jay. I could tell he was sugar personified, the soft and powdery kind because he had no rough edges about him. His eyes shone so bright that hardy I could ever see his pupils, while matching in radiance, his gossamer lips causing the most acute and marvelous smile. But what really made him such a heart throb, to my now stalling heart, was his voice, I could just hear it now, his cords strumming whispers of poetry that made me flutter capriciously upon the most heavenly cloud. I especially went berserk at his autograph signings, sure the lines lasted for hours but it was all worth it when I got to see his countenance at a very personal distance. My whole soul just felt like melting in his arms where he would take me away and go get married somewhere on a picturesque tropical island; how fantastically I would dream, that's until the organizers begin to escort me away, but not before I declared my undying love. Of course, he just smiled. Oh, it was so joyous just being hopelessly in love. He never made me feel lonely or let go of my heart.

But these tears that are reluctant to run down my face are not tears of nostalgic joy, but of anguish. These tears burn my mortal soul even when I sleep. Here's hoping this could rid a guilty plight, even if that can not be so. Those who would know my legacy, knows that I'm completely sorry– with every atom that makes up the composition of my body and every part of my invisible being that makes up my mortal soul, I am truly, and wholeheartedly, sorry. I didn't mean to kill my love. And those who not know of my legacy, here it is, in my own words.

I wasn't the only one who loved Jay, the whole world had an uproarious reaction. His fame persistently unprecedented. Many called him the greatest entertainer of all time at still a child. But as he grew older the level of fame from its apex plummeted. And only after a year after this 3rd album released the world placed him back well into obscurity. Pending his glorious return, I had to live a real life with real people occupying. I was happy, sure, I birthed three most precious darling children two girls and a boy. And I had a husband who murdered himself in cold blood; not because he was sick, or proving to the world that his life was in total despair, he did it for me. I amassed a huge amount of debt, and collecting insurance money became the pragmatic solution, to him, even when I told him it wasn't. After that normalcy seem to escape my adult life.

While laying in bed one night an almost dreaded feeling came over me, I said 'almost dreaded' because it was not of dread I felt, it was more like a cocktail of grief, self-loathing and an overwhelming omnipresence for companionship. And just like that I started to ruminate about Jay. Even after two decides where we would both be well into our thirties, I still felt a passion for him like no other, however, this feeling wasn't the same altitude as it was when a child and yet sometimes it ebb to that level. I suddenly wanted to know where he lived, what does he do now, and how could I be next to him, for real this time; actually being with him. I found it easy to procure his address with only a few hours of research over the internet. He lived in a gated community some two hundred miles away, this news didn't serve as a setback but a break through. The initial plan would've permitted me to leave the kids with some sort of nanny and I guess, ironically enough, use my husband's insurance money for the trip. But that plan soon stalled as I started wondering what was his disposition of a perfect woman. I wanted to be his 'everything gal,' because if he had someone already close to him, he still would want to be close to me. I needed to do more research. Frankly I needed to know everything about him in order to transform myself into his perfect woman, but first I had to dye my hair blond because I knew he liked blonds.

My actions perplexed myself, of course I'm speaking in retrospect because at the time I was compelled to do any erroneous thing in order to get to him. I would treat my research like a second job, after work, trapping myself in my room feverishly pouring through many interview transcripts. My kids basically had to raise themselves, they did a hella better job than me. There just wasn't time for anything else– I took extremity and knew that the only reason I breathed was for him. I'm astonished to think that now but those feelings all to real. While studying I looked for patterns in the things he liked. And would stage dramatic reenactments of his real life experiences so I could relate. After what I assume was three months and what I assume was hundreds of hours of research I finally felt comfortable enough to encounter him.

I arrived immediately to his location, but the folly due to haste left me without a single clue on how to approach him. Dammit! How could I missed such a glaring detail, while packing, taking the flight then the cab ride over, I never once considered this certain circumstance. I stood just outside a black predominant steel clawed monster that gated me from his community. I almost lost face but gained enough composure to enter the premise with my motives undetected by means of simple deception. All I did is approach with a honestly cute smile and the gates opened like I said 'open sesame.' At the time I made light of this incursion; but what if the quiet turpitude of a murderer laid within me? Now that wouldn't be too funny at all.

The hollowed streets practically echoed with my first step. The quaint little houses, that are all lined up in rows, had there already bold colors enhanced by the bastion of sunshine. This place looked immune to the wickedness of man; or man's pestilence simply stalled and stored until focused into one malevolent act of violence. Violence is not the reason I'm here now however, I just wanted to take a tour, truly enamored by the houses, I though myself adrift; but then I looked straight I headed for Jay's house, identified by the address that's drilled into my head. I possessed no intention on acting on my sub-conscience, and yet, as if I ceased control of my limbs my legs started to haul my body ambiguously to the door. At such extent I'm baffled, but at a greater extent terrified, anything that progressed beyond this point would be catastrophic to fully realizing my love. I thought I convinced myself with extraordinary reasoning, but my hand instead raised and rang the door bell. Upon sudden bewilderment of my madness, I dashed off to the side of the house hoping of no spectators. I wait, hiding around the corner. Hearing the door open, I figured a unique opportunity arisen and I'd be foolish not to take it, I exercised the pinnacle of my cautiousness by moving half my face just over the corner, so a single eye could gaze upon him. It only lasted for a second, and my heart froze with fear the whole time, he still looked amazing and I'd re-smitten by the bountiful glory of love.

After that momentous lapse I managed to escape his property undetected and moved two hundred paces away with one blink. Still my brain retard any valid ideas. But then, as if God pulled the marionette strings as I saw a house for sale. Immediately I knew it would be mine, it was perfect, despite it's location being a tad out the way and despite containing one less room than my previous dwelling and despite having to go delinquent after a few payments, it was still perfect. I took out a mortgage, and the kids arrived in no time. The grandeur of this plan didn't need to be budgeted for there's no monetary value on love. I had it all worked out the second I seen that house: I could play a role, a desperate housewife with her husband dead, who has kids but still feels lonely. That's the most convincing role I could play. It's uncanny how my real life almost mimicked this character, however I'm more complex than that bubbly blond bimbo with a 'good HS education' I impersonated. Even with an exceedingly convincing cover I still needed a way to make first contact. A brilliant idea involved me and my littlest girl staging a bake sale, as opposed to my first idea a house warming, the former gave me chance to give him a sweet treat. I wanted to set up preferably where it coincided with his propensity to tinker with his car, for weeks at this time I would finagle myself in such a way so I could gaze upon him hidden and unbridled. And it's also from this location that I noticed no one but him would go inside or outside the house, unless he kept his whole family in a dungeon, I was beginning to suspect that the entrapment of loneliness has gotten him too.

I sat on the lawn along with my little girl and four plates of sweets. Three filled with store brought pound cake cut into squares, decorated with frosting by my girl so cutely but just tawdriness. The real treat stacked upon a decorative plate full of fresh baked shortbread cookies. I directed that no one to eat not even a morsel, for these cookies contained a special ingredient pass down many generations, adored by my husband with his first and final bite.

I knew that day felt special but to my complete astonishment he never walked outside. This is of course opposite to what I had anticipated, I thought I knew his patterns precisely– the question of his absence thew me into a frenzy, where it lead me to do something I didn't think I would consciously do. I grabbed those damn cookies and marched down the streets in my flats.

I knocked on the door balancing a plate of shortbread cookies in one hand. I'm entrenched with my character so much that I'm completely deprived of any trepidation I had last time. How ever I would engage him I made it quite clear to myself that he would not know of my love. My love is so pure and absolute, its almost devilish, surely weariness would fall upon him.

He opened and probably didn't expect to see a woman of my delicate features. I wore something light, clumsy I dare say, but not trashy. I smiled so much to hide what my heart wanted to do which was leap from my chest, and when I spoke it almost escaped through my throat. I purposely dropped the first cookie I wanted to hand to him, I did this because when I bend forward surely his eyes must've been transfixed to my busty chest, I caught men so many times looking while I did this by accident. He looked as though blushing once I stood up again, I smiled, and insisted I throw it out, if he had a garbage can, but he resisted, and took the dropped cookie, I thanked him and give him another one and told him that my daughter would be out for the bake sale all day, he smiled so beautifully but his undeniable eagerness to close the door in my face left me perplexed. Surely this was odd, so I wondered if he felt it too.

Given my previous accounts you would suspect that I'm capable of almost anything to acquire my love. And your suppositions would be correct. I had to think far beyond to ascertain my next plan. I only hoped no one got hurt by it, but truly everyone's safety lied in the hands of God as my next action is to induce a black out. I traced all of the community's electricity back to a single source, when the darkening of dawn came to, I not only turned off the power but sawed-off the power lines. The vibrations of grinding through them brought on a lunacy about me which I utilized to saw with abandon. I then ran in the almost pure darkness to my own home, cautious not to be noticed and hopeful this stunt would be fruitful. I first call out for my children they gathered around me with little trepidation, because my eldest one had an idea this was to happen. I grabbed a previously placed flashlight and headed outside. I then made a direct path to Jay's house and once at front of his door I suddenly began to bang in a panic fashion, begging for his immediate help. I could feel his presence heavy behind the door intensely choosing between the pestilence of man or the good peace keeping of death. By some graces, the door opened. In that instant I knew my plan worked! I had to stay in character however, so keeping my true love for him still remained my primary goal. I thanked him, under the flashlight he looked tepid and remained quite distant from us, but under the night I never stood more than a few steps away, closing the gap as the night went on. I was infectious, a helpless being quivering in his arms, I needed him, as much as he needed me, I could tell based on how his eyes flicked in the candle light. Everything happened so rapidly but I could still read him, or assumed to read him, every move I made lead to my previously determined outcome, sometimes even more so. And when the kids went to sleep I lead him, ever so gently, to exactly what I wanted that night. We layed completely naked in his bed, the darkness only seem to cloth us, his black silhouette outlined his cute chubby belly. The whispered we shared were so heavy and drawn out that I could hardly understand him. However, the one question that I think he posed to me came along the lines of his former celebrity and certain lines he didn't want to cross. I knew exactly what he meant before hand and already had an answer for him, since it was so dark I had to use my most reassuring voice. I told him that my parents didn't raise me on pop culture, that of course seemed to thrill him, I placed my hand on his, he grasped it then pulled me in closer. Really at that moment I didn't know what to expect, my heart pounded like it was in a drum battle with his own, it would thump just after his thump matching every bit of intensity until the two became a nosy jumbled line of rhythm. The way he touched me indicative of the joy I must've brought, and the way his silky smooth tongue ran along me almost as if wasn't there; this sensation not only curled my toes but every nerve receptor in my body. I could recall every action that night in vivid detail, so much so I could reenact every moan. But this account doesn't serves that purpose.

Over the months we became intertwined, our arms locked whenever we walked, our lips touched every time we talked, and every time we made love our souls would erupt. We spent most of our time together, accept for a few hours a day when he locked himself in his study to work on his novels. I mainly let the kids stay in the other house, their old enough to take care of themselves and I trust they'll come right over if anything happens.

For lack of a better term Jay was soft or docile I should say, I could bring the man out of him sometimes but his bashful disposition rectify any attempts if otherwise. Everything went perfectly, but I started to lose all patience. Comparatively, I mean when I met my husband we were so enthralled by love that we didn't even last three months before he asked the question. But Jay's love felt even stronger than that, but after eight months not a single proposal. So why didn't he ask? I had a tendency to wonder in such circumstances, but one night while his arms tightly surround me in a bask of shadows that danced in the candle light, he tried to put me in the mood, but I nudged him off because I just needed to ask:

"Darling, do you not want my hand?" Presently the warm grip from which he held me retreated back to his person. He started to move like a robot with a glitch, twitchy and as such his words lost so quickly being replaced with stammering. Surely this is what he tried to avoid, it was enraging to watch such a self destruction. I was rendered helpless in obtaining my answer. Eventually I said forget it and turned over with most of the bed with me.

For the next few days we didn't even speak on it, really we didn't talk at all, it's incredulous to think if the person of my dreams walked in I wouldn't even brother to turn my head. With great love found, but was it lost in such an instant? No, my love for him still burned like the fiery pits of Hades, but what the hell was he hiding? His suspicion weighed on me until provoked to take more of a dramatic action. Well dramatic because I wasn't just going to remain statuesque as my love existed in squalor. So when the most opportune time arrived, I sunk into his room and riffled through his things, I had to be quick for even the most opportune time still left little for missteps or follies. While looking through a closet I never seen opened before, I seen the word Eno Aguarious or something like that, but the reason I took notice of it because it was decorated on a page with graffiti. I moved with even more haste, I wanted to find even more but the window where I could escape without being noticed was closing, I just had to get out.

I looked up the appellation on the internet and up came a personal blog, like a a diary but on a website. At first glance the writing looked encrypted in terms of not leading to who had authorship. But in my perusal pursuit I started to get an idea, it was completely astonishing. It described before hand of an anguish that could not be cured by human means, as such like common oblivion only knowing the shadow's veil. But then he wrote of an arrival of pure joy that he described as a meticulous beauty that rescued a decrepit heart. My eyes started to confine my tears, by the passion transcribed, I could tell he really did love me, a lot.

A few nights later he woke me from that moment just before sleep, when my mind was at rest but my body being sensitive to every stimuli. It was by means of a whisper as he sung my name, it startled me a great deal, my legs began to swish about, trying to awaken my mind from the black void. His falsetto now took on a deeper register as he told me to brace myself, truly something of a great magnitude weighed on his chest. His words hit me like ice cold water, and I could remember this in great detail, "I can't marry you cause I'm already married." My first impulse aligned itself with complete astonishment of course, followed by the flow of indignation, how long was he planing on not telling me this? But then a placid- extraordinarily more logical answer became to thought, he was probably getting a divorce and did not want to thrill with trifle theatrics. He was always so thoughtful like that. Even if it got him in trouble. Trying to overcome the initial shock of bewilderment I tried to ask, without my voice shaking so much, when is the divorce. She obviously wasn't there so there's no way she could love you as much as I do. Listening to him after his announcement would only lead to more vexing questions. The bottom line being this other woman becoming so sick and his sicking sense of loyalty... he took his vows seriously and if wasn't for my intrusion he would've been fully faithful. I really couldn't look at him the same anymore. I thought he was mine, all mine! Like a private and their treasure. But now I could feel someone else tugging on his heart, pulling him away from me. This lady –identical to a vulture of a loving heart that couldn't stop drinking his blood. I felt faint, I wanted to sleep but feared the nightmares. Yes nightmares. I started to fear a lot of things that night, but more particularly fearing the penalty for murder.

When I checked his blog a night later you would imagine my absolute thrill, especially when I wasn't talking to him at the time. In it he didn't mention me by name, only calling me his baby and sweetheart. I took the news well, he said, then hoped for the love that we once shared to turn back to full strength. But the hope he wrote of was the damped kind that only grew at the bottom of pessimism.

Later that night he surprised me to dinner, well very surprised me because that would be the first time we actually been somewhere together. I though he was a bemused hermit, but on this night he portray himself as a different man. There roared this sharp confidence about him I noticed the second he asked me to dinner. Even if we wasn't on great grounds his eyes made up my mind for me. His peculiar smile, in which I never seen before, brought on a jubilant air around him, filled me with felicity, causing us to both giggle and act foolishly out of character. We wanted to do so in the restaurant, but that place stood stolid like a rock, even hushing us when we took our seats. Jay however had a swanky comeback that caused dilapidation but wasn't rude, ending the matter with both of us trying to contain our hysteria. He ordered me a fine lobster dinner and I drank what I believed was the most expensive champagne, truly a dinning experience I dreamed of. We had to push our chairs together because sitting three feet across the table seemed too far.

After dinner we made love that night, and I swear by the good graces of God I seen the doors of heaven peer open. This sudden intensity caused my body convulse as if my bones wanted to jump from my skin– I needed to hold on to something– anything that could grab on to because this feeling ravished me with exacting joy. Afterward everything around my body went numbed, but a pulsating sense of pleasure still persisted. The strength of our intimacy unquestionable. I needed this man for the same reason he needed me, to fix what previously thought to be forever broken. Then that strong convulsive feeling arose again but I was still susceptible from the last one so this felt even stronger. The wonderment of this feeling could only be summed up as an intense sexual experience, by the likes of which I would never feel again. I said I wouldn't go into details of this type but this being so amazing it needed to be documented.

But as I laid there panting and such in his arms, a less than savory urgency compelled me, and yet I still can't explain, without a doubt, what came over my will, but killing was the only thing I feel.

When I awoke I remained determined by death. Jay and I back on good terms again, but something remained amiss. It was like whatever he done wouldn't rectify this egregious error. If he wanted to take his vows literal, so would I.

I had arranged for us (the kids, Jay and I) to all go to the restaurant together, this indeed would be the first time we all went out to together so it served as the perfect cover. Now, since I'm the one who owned the four door, it was vital that Jay drove my car. While driving a few blocks out I announced that I forgot my purse, the genius in doing so at this precise distance because it's not too not long for me to walk back, and too short to practically drive back. Even when Jay insisted I vehemently said no, for the reservation where too important.

That's when the unthinkable happened. A driver decided to run red light killing Jay and my two eldest instantly. My littlest one, survived, but is barely holding onto the strings of life. She's strong but how long can she really last? Even right now my hand quivers as I write these words, how many dreams did I see cut short? The emptiness that filled my insides became a longing one, a feeling that is now common place by the fire. I seen the cold touch of death and it has no mercy, no conscious at all; it is as sudden as a scudding rat, stealthy as a raven lurking in the night. Everyone is at the verge of death. I began to weep for many days, I could just feel my soul falling out of my body with every tear that poured from my eyes into a pool of sorrow that formed beneath me.

You would think after this intense battle with death I would, count my blessings and focus my attention on my daughter and throw away these trifle notions of murder and by all means try to live a mundane and God fearing life. But after the tremendous amount of sadness, came this abhorrent taste of what I could only describe as bitterness. Instead of being grateful for one's own life, this scruple taste remained prevalent. What could contribute to such a torrid feeling? Revenge! Not for me but for Jay. Indeed it was her doing that entrapped him within loneliness, how long did his soul burden it? And she is also responsible for obstructing what little love he had. Dammit! It was even her fault that everyone close to me died! She killed my aspirations for murder because now I just wanted her fucking dead. The whole reason for that trip, the reason I got out the car, all an attempt to procure her name. If only I've killed her sooner, then me Jay and the children could've lived a picturesque life, happily ever after the end. But this wicked evil bitch of a person just couldn't die prevented my happy ending and replaced it with an aperture of nothingness. She wasn't going to ruin my life any longer. I riffled through Jay's things and found the marriage certificate I prayed I find. Also while looking I found a key that lead to a safety deposit box where I found Jay's .45 Magnum, the perfect bang for his revenge. It's like a sign for me to kill this lady— not in cold blood but everything pointing to justice.

The gears of her death churned the second I found her name, and I will not sully my account with that phrase. I used it to find out where she lived, it lead me to a nursing home. So I disguised myself as a staffed nurse and pretended to have a pillow for the lady in 22b. I did this of course after I staked out the home to make sure I blend in seamlessly. What I had with me was not a purse but one of those giant nurse's bag which easily held the pillow but unbeknownst to everyone under that pillow lied steel death wrapped around my hand.

I now stared down her room number as I step in, there's like a small hallway that would only take a few steps to clear, my eyes couldn't wait to look over that corner wall. Finally being revealed who this wench was: she was old, bitterly so, her skin as if forming the most intricate of mazes. The first startling observation wasn't her age but her state, she slept or simply laid with her eyes closed, either way the best opportunity presented itself. I walked directly to her for some reason, like on a balance beam, one foot behind another each step I could feel her life would soon be taken. I prep myself by swiftly placing the gun behind the pillow, a few more hollowed steps I'm in close range, Then the other most startling thing happened, as she slept I ascertained her sweetness. Surely she's not capable of causing the amount of decrepitude I described in my life. I'm positive I had the right person, however, something about this didn't feel... right. As I stood there struggling between life and death– she woke up! I could see her eyes peer open so slowly, but I was fast, the gun and the pillow quickly vanished behind my back. I'm certain so very certain that indeed she didn't see my true intent. I looked forever into her black irises so deep that I could see a pale blue line circling them. When she looked at me she wasn't at all the slightest bit scared, and why would she, I'm just a nurse after all. She continued to stare at me, at first I just stood completely frozen, then bellowed a high pitched good morning. I tried to pretend to attend to something on the floor, hoping that she wouldn't notice me, hoping that there was a path out. But then something as soft and as sweet as her voice unhinged me. She called me over, I didn't want to move, I didn't want any of this to happen anymore, what would this lady say to me, I was sure she didn't see me or is my paranoia truly unreasonable. I stood back to my feet, while down there tucked the gun back in my bag, I looked into her eyes again, I needed to look into her soul again. Their as sorrowful as the night that just escaped, empty like a canvas yet untouched with an artist brush. I remember, as I approached, looking particularly at the corner of her eye, it was their that something seem to gather in a small translucent ball, then it broke like a damn dam and rushed tears like a river down the side of her face. This was something completely unexpected, my heart in which once trampled uncontrollably now regain a steady beat as I stopped wondering and anticipated whatever came from her mouth. Her words were very clear to me and I didn't have to strain my ears at all to hear, like she was actually talking to my soul, she said: "My husband has passed, I have no reason to live anymore, please kill me." Now I know I just said I anticipated anything she was going to say, but I only wrote that because this was truly jarring. Did she know I had the means, reason and cause for doing just that? My good conscience would've jumped to that fatal conclusion. But I stayed riveted in place pondering her words, the sardonic nature of which wasn't realized until further thought. Her macabre soul only accentuated the magnitude of its reliance of her husband's own, she was dying of a broken heart.

I said nothing and slowly hid my gun behind the pillow ensuring she didn't see one bit of the black steel and lead bullets that awaited her. I found my self able to do it, on her crying face I placed my pillow, she didn't resist, then the mussel deep within the cushion. I slowly pulled the trigger, thinking about all the people she killed, all the people she hurt, her own pity– her head then exploded. The pillow made the clap of the gun sound like lighting in a jar, with the added benefit of reducing the splatter of her brains on me. I stashed the gun back in my bag leaving the bloody and mangled pillow behind. People knew something big happened but couldn't pinpoint their hysteria. I slipped out the building and into my car already driving off before I could put the keys in the ignition.

The feeling I could contribute is one of relief, the deed was done after all what else could a feeling like that be contributed, I didn't welcome exceeding joy or exuberance, it was a deed that needed to be done and now its over. But as I sit here writing to what regard would be the final chapter of this tragedy, a slow yearning of compunction that, for a few days, I tried to shake of as dealing with a heavy loss, but this feeling in particular nibbled at my conscience so swimmingly, of course in the most negative way possible. Something like guilt weight on me like a suite of heavy armor fulled with concrete, it prevailed day after day without any struggle without even sometimes a second thought, it festered itself in my brain.

I dreaded any reason to think about this question because I already knew the immediate answer: did she really love him more than me? There lied the gun, I pressed the mussel so precise to that very spot of my brain I mentioned earlier, the spot where my guiltiness prevailed, the spot where I wondered if my love was just pretend. I remembered being surprised by the coldness of the steel even after it bath in the hot sun all day and how deep the score must be on my forehead. I just needed to know the answer. Then the needed urgency to die I hope my daughter joins me soon– bang!

My love is false because my heart still beats but it doesn't bleed with love. And I will rot for two scores behind these prison walls for the murder of my love.