Ruined (21 page)

“You, for instance, at a young age, realized the same things that I have described. Consciously, and subconsciously. The lack of a mother in your life more than likely allowed you, or well…
caused
you to subconsciously look at your father in admiration. You grew up wanting to sexually attach yourself to a man that reminded you of your father. Older. Protective. Able,” I took a slow breath, exhaled, and reached out with both hands, slowly, and held Kelli’s fists.

She opened her hands and held mine in hers.

“You’ve heard the expression, ‘we play the cards we are dealt’ before?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Does that make sense to you?”

She nodded again.

“Well, baby; we’re normal. Considering all things, were on the upper threshold of normal,” I stopped and chuckled.

“There’s nothing
wrong
with us. The atmosphere we were raised in, our parents, their involvement, or lack thereof, it’s what causes us to later be the people that we are. Realizing
who
we are, embracing it, and allowing ourselves to be who we are
naturally
is healthy. Some people fight their entire life to try to be someone or something they are not. The result is someone that lives an extremely difficult, unhappy life,” I took another drink of my coffee.

“When I talk about this, it’s kind of upsetting. Every time someone asks me. I’ve talked about this, not to this degree, but about it, several times. People don’t understand - parents, primarily - about the importance of being involved in the upbringing of their children. They’re too quick to give up, divorce, cheat, allow their children to see them with their respective
mistress, whatever it may be…and these actions by the parents cause a change in the development of their children. The children can’t do anything about it. Parents always say, ‘Oh, the kids are young, they won’t understand’. Well, three years old is the beginning of the phallic stage of psychosexual development. We start developing, psychologically, when we take our first breath. The oral stage is from birth to about two years.” As I spoke, I began to get angry, so I stopped.

“Well, we can’t change the fact that your mother and my father, for all practical purposes, were absent since birth. So,
we are who we are
,” I said, and exhausted what little air was in my lungs.

“Make sense?” I asked.

“Actually, it does, now that you’re done. I have more questions, though,” she said, still holding my hands.

“Okay, baby, what are they?” I said, softly.

“What are your thoughts about love, in general? Do you think love is real? Do you think it exists, or can exist in all of us?” she asked, squeezing my hands and looking directly into my eyes as she did.

I was both pleased and shocked that she asked this question. I intended to answer it with what I believed to be the correct answer, but it may not be what she
expected
to hear. Although my answer was already formed, I wondered what she expected to hear, and what she wanted to hear.

“The effect that I have on you causes you to have affection for me,” I placed emphasis on the ‘e’ and the ‘a’ in the two words.

“The affection that you have is emotional. In my presence, you feel good. You feel influenced by my presence. Your heart, when you’re around me, no longer feels heavy. You realize that there is a difference in being alone and being together based on how you
feel.
In my absence, you feel a want or a desire to have me near you, because my presence allows you to relive those feelings that you do not have in my absence. The void of those feelings, the good ones, to most people is described as
pain
. When I am gone, you feel pain. Being around me is some affirmation that I exist; that those feelings that you
believed
you had, the last time I was in your presence, but now are absent, exist as well,” I paused for a moment, and looked up at Espresso A Go-Go’s disco ball, which hung from the ceiling.

A thousand broken pieces of mirror formed the ball. Little broken pieces of a reflection of what was below the ball looked back at me. I studied the ball as it rotated slowly, the reflections changing as it rotated – every piece of mirrored glass a little different from the one beside it.

“We are all different people. We all need different things to be pleased. I believe, and I may be wrong, that we are, as your little book said,
broken
. We should find someone that is what we
need,
someone that is broken in the same fashion, and see if affection develops or exists. If and when it does, most people describe it as
love
,” I said, still looking at the bottom of the ball.

“Love takes determination to develop,” I paused.

“Love requires courage, persistence, and maintenance. Love just doesn’t lie there with us as we live our lives, and engulf us, providing us with an assurance that it exists.”

“Love is developed, and it is never perfect. We, as people, are flawed. Therefore, love is flawed. Most people live their lives trying to find the perfect person to provide them what they believe to be the perfect love. In my opinion, people should find someone that provides them with affection, someone that makes them
feel,
then develop and maintain the perfect love. That is the closest thing to real love that could ever possibly exist,” I took a sip of coffee, and continued to speak.

Kelli was looking intently into my eyes, and for this entire morning seemed content with listening to what I had to say. I felt that she had asked questions that were important to her, and that she felt she needed answers to. She was hearing what I had to say, and offering little to the conversation, so I continued to express my beliefs.

“We settle in a relationship for a person that provides us with comfort. When someone makes us comfortable, we tell ourselves that it is love, and it isn’t. Love can, for most people, be found around every corner they turn in life. This isn’t love, it is settling. I refuse, as should all people, to settle,” I paused and thought. I looked back up at the disco ball.

“People believe that they fall in love, and they begin a relationship, which turns to marriage. Eventually, the relationship falters, stumbles, and they tell themselves they’re out of love. Like it has run out. There is no more. The tank is empty. If that relationship were provided with maintenance, if it were provided with the attention that it needed, affection would redevelop, and with that affection the effect of love would, without a doubt, follow.”

Warren placed two more cups of coffee on the table beside us, and quietly walked back behind the counter. I looked around the coffee shop, and noticed that it was still empty. Afternoon s here had a lot of foot traffic in and out, but not many people sat here and drank coffee. It wasn’t infrequent that we would be the only people actually in the store when we were here in an afternoon. I looked at Warren and smiled. He smiled and shook his head slowly side-to-side as if it were no big deal.

“Other people, for some reason, settle for someone that was substandard to their requirements for a lover. These relationships, from the beginning, are destined to fail. Inevitably, when a codependent woman is involved, she tells herself that she will never find another man to
want her, to take care of her, or to love her. She ends up spending a life of agony in a relationship with a man that mentally, emotionally, and possibly physically abuses her. The fact of the matter is that she could easily find someone to love her, but for the reasons we talked about before, her psychosexual development in a non-typical family setting, has left her with no self-esteem. This lack of self-esteem tells her she can’t do any better.” I took a drink of my new coffee.

I picked up the two empty cups and
carried them to the trash. Kelli sat at the table, relaxed, with her chin in her palms, and her elbows on the table – looking at the empty chair where I was sitting as if she were in a trance. I walked back to her side of the table and placed my hands on her shoulders. She reached up and grasped my wrists. As I massaged her shoulders she moaned lightly.

“Erik, all of that stuff was great to hear, and I wish I would have written some of it down, so I could remember it. But, really, like you always do, you talked a little above me, and in huge circles. Do you believe in love?” Kelli asked, turning her head around to make eye contact with me.

I released her shoulders, and walked back to my seat, thinking. As I sat, I looked back at the disco ball and took another drink.

“I think this, Kelli. I think that
I
am in touch with who I am, at least more than most people are aware of who
they
are. I am quick to admit my character defects, and I know my strengths. Again, I am human, so I am flawed. We all are. I think we should all be honest with ourselves, and know ourselves well. We should not try to be someone that we aren’t,” I paused and thought.

“If we are honest with ourselves about
who
we are, and what we are capable of, and what we aren’t capable of, we
should
find someone that is compatible with us. That doesn’t mean that they are a certain height, or hair color, or have a particular physical attribute. The outer physical attractions help, but they don’t fit a particular mold in regard to
who
a person is. Now, when we find that person that is compatible, we should attempt to develop a relationship. With that relationship, over time, comes love. A love that is developed and maintained.”

“Two people that are compatible with one another can build a perfect love, but it takes both people to build and maintain it. Have you ever seen what a heart looks like? An actual human heart?” I asked.

Kelli nodded as she looked into my eyes, waiting to hear more.

“It doesn’t look like the heart that we have all drawn since we were kids. The heart that we all draw, the heart that’s on
all of the cards at the store - it looks like a “V” with two semi-circles at the top. A human heart looks like an upside down teardrop of sorts. Small at the bottom, and large at the top. The heart we
draw
represents love. The human heart represents
life.
If we take two human hearts, and touch them together at the pulmonary artery, it forms a perfect shape of the heart that we always draw. The representation of
love
. It takes two people to have and maintain love. It takes two hearts to make love. And Kelli, to answer your question, I believe love exists, and I believe that it is developed between two people, the joining of two hearts,” I stopped and smiled. Proud of my explanation.

“Do you believe that we are compatible?” she asked.

“I certainly do,” I responded.

“Do you believe that we could develop a love for one another? Do you think it’s possible?” she asked, her face expressionless.

“Possible? Yes, I do, baby girl,” I responded, waiting for her next question.

She nodded her head and extended her arms across the table, holding her palms up. I reached out and held her hands. She sat, with her hands engulfed by mine, and closed her eyes. As
Bright Eyes, First day of My Life
played over the stereo system, she sat motionless. 

And her mouth formed the shape of a smile.

KELLI.
The blindfold had been over my eyes for a long time. Probably more than thirty minutes. Maybe an hour. When everything is dark - really dark, you lose track of things. I wasn’t sure which direction I was pointed, where doors and windows were, or what time it was. It wasn’t much different at first, but over time, my hearing had become more sensitive - and I was hearing all kinds of things that I normally wouldn’t hear.

Erik had brought some things to my house, and we were playing around. He brought me in my room, and asked me to lie on the bed. When I did, he told me that he was going to blindfold me. I have never been blindfolded before, and it was really dark. Darker than night time. So dark that you can’t see anything at all.

He asked me to lie still on the bed, and I did. I heard him making some noises that sounded like the metal on a belt buckle, and I thought he was going to whip me, but he didn’t. I was pleased that he didn’t, because I do think that is something I would really have to be in the mood for.

He wrapped something around each of my wrists, and told me not to move, and not to feel them with my hands. They felt cool on my wrist, but not like metal. Then, he put something on my ankles that felt the same way. I heard the metal noise kind of like a belt again when they got tight on my ankles.

I decided after he got done with my ankles that he was going to tie me up in some way. When he came back into the bedroom, he pulled my arms out to the side, and up toward the head of the bed. My legs were still at the bottom of the bed, but they were spread quite a bit. He did ask me if I was comfortable, which I thought was nice.