It was funny when David asked me, ‘Why do you always sit in the yellow chair?’ The color, I wanted to say, reminded me of the joyful times in our relationship. Yellow is the color of contentment, optimism, and sunshine, all things I had wished for and wanted in my life. That day, however, as I walked away, yellow only stood for remembrance.
I glanced back at the butterfly now fluttering its wings. Within seconds it took flight, hovering in front of me, and then flying away. I took it as a sign. It was time for me, too, to fly away.
When we reached the end of the driveway, the taxi was parked there waiting for me. The driver loaded my luggage into the trunk while Max and I hopped in the back seat.
Did I really know who David was? Truly understand the person underneath the handsome exterior? At times he seemed like a tortured soul and other times, a savior. Like a knight in shining armor, he had entered the hotel that day and swept me off my feet. He whisked me away, far away, into his world, to his ‘little slice of paradise’ as he always referred to it.
I gazed over my shoulder and watched as the glass house faded away further into the jungle. As I turned back and looked at the road ahead of me, a quote I once saw came to mind. Forcing a half smile, I recited the words in my head.
‘Sometimes, you just have to write your own damn fairy tale.’
40
David
‘Look, I’m an angel,’ she says. Twirling around with her arms open wide, she waves them in the air gently by her side. ‘See my wings, watch me fly.’
‘Be careful,’ I say, ‘you’re standing too close to the edge.’
‘Why, oh why, does time pass me by? Why does my love not want me to fly?’ Whispering the words in a heavenly voice, there’s a distant look in her eye. She’s the saddest, most beautiful angel I’ve ever seen.
I watch as she whirls and floats through the air as a trumpet sounds in the distance. One last twirl, her figure unravels as she slowly fades away.
I open my eyes and blink at the ceiling. My limbs feel numb. I’m hot and sticky, drenched in sweat. My head pounds loudly thumping in my ears. I must have been dreaming, but it felt so real.
She was here with me, back at the house, the house I built for her.
I had given her everything I had but it still wasn’t enough. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew she was the one. So innocent and so pure, I had to protect her while I could.
I think back to that night when I first met Slim. He introduced me to someone he thought could help, a kind, little Indian lady with an herb garden and a knack for brewing tea. He said her blends might help cure my ailing wife.
For a while, I thought they would help calm her, help ease her pain. But unknown to me, behind my back, she started mixing her own blends. She thought she’d do it her way by formulating her own tea to make herself better.
At first, I didn’t know what flowers and herbs she was using. But then that day, that ill-fated day, I still can’t shake it from my mind. The day I found out she had been mixing angel trumpets in her tea.
“Angel trumpets?” I asked, alarmed when she first told me.
“Yes, darling, the beautiful bell-shaped flowers that grow along the pathway. The pretty one’s that hang upside down.” With a tiny spark in her eye, she smiled.
In full panic, I looked at her in horror. “They’re deadly.”
Her eyes fluttered in a cloud of confusion. “How could something so lovely be so lethal?”
I remember that she had become paranoid and was hallucinating. She kept seeing things that weren’t there. At first, I thought it was caused by her illness, but tragically, she was slowly poisoning herself.
My beautiful, sweet, Susan ripped from my life too soon. We were meant to be together forever.
There’s a sound coming from outside, from out on the deck—a scratching-like scraping of a chair. From where I lay, I can see the curtains are drawn. One of the glass doors is slightly ajar, the bottom of the curtain blowing in the breeze.
I glance up at the clock on the wall. Val must be outside enjoying the last rays of the sun before it sets. For a moment, I wonder why I’m here in the living room and not in bed.
The last thing I remember is drinking wine with Val out on the deck. Maybe I passed out from a few too many. It wouldn’t be the first time. My head is still hurting as I make a mental note never to drink white wine again.
My mouth is dry and a bitter taste coats my tongue. What I need right now is some water, a glass of cold water. Then I’ll be ready to clear the air and be honest with Val.
As I move my arms to hoist myself up, I can’t. There’s a clanging of metal, something cold, hard tugging on my wrists. Blinking my eyes, I see handcuffs and chains. I’m shackled to the arms of the futon.
Is Val playing a prank? Is this a little game gone wrong? But then I tell myself no, it’s not something she’d do.
“Val,” I call out, hoping she’ll hear me. As I twist and turn, I become more frustrated by the second. I can’t believe I’m chained to a piece of furniture.
“Hey, Val! Are you out there? This isn’t funny. Can you please come in here and help me?”
The curtains move and she appears.
