Say Hello to the Broken-Hearted (2 page)

“Hello!” He raised his voice over the music to get
the attention of the bartender who was otherwise distracted or more so lingering in a cloud of sad memory.

“Yes,” She looked up with a sudden fright, “
How may I help you?” She caught his eyes, which if she had known would have been avoided, as she had just made yet the biggest mistake of her life.

Suddenly the ground
between them had shifted from beneath their feet and his eyes were only three inches away from hers. Steadily he searched the depths of her soul. Only to see blurred silhouettes of tattered emotions and secrets concealed within a temple with walls of a light brown paint that screamed eighteen years of life’s indifferent journey. It is clear that she had suffered recent pain, and the scars of the wounds have not fully healed. Nevertheless, he could see the majesty of this woman that a queen would crave for. If one should remove the thorns and water the petals, she would become the new forbidden tree in the Garden of Eden that only God desired to eat from, and whosoever else tasted the wine from her lips would have sinned and be due to eternal condemnation. However, his heart was ready to be smelted, and it did not matter if his flesh would be scorch with the flames of hell. He wanted to sin, he wanted the last drop of her wine to touch his tongue before he gasped for the last breath as his temple withers away in the sour wind that the desert of fire brings.

“M
ay I have a Dragon Stout please?” He asked. Usually he would have asked for a lighter beer. He didn’t fancy drinking too much alcohol. He never saw the point or the need to get drunk then have to throw up dinner over it. But tonight has taken on a sudden and unexpected turn which was enough to make a sixty year old virgin priest fornicate in a confession booth.

“What’s your name?” John asked in an attempt to break the tension and open the way for the well needed and equally desired conversation.

“I am Karla.” She responded as she fetched the cold beer from the refrigerator, “And what’s yours?” She asked as she opened the bottle and handed it to him, avoiding every attempt of his second hypnosis.

She didn’t think it was right for a girl to have libidos straight down to her wet panties at first glance
, and certainly she didn’t want him to see her tipping on her toes and clinching her legs a second time, especially when his focus was less oriented on the eyes, and more on her physique to paint a permanent picture in his mind.

“My name is John. That’s a cute name.” He replied with a short smile and a twitch. “And what’s your last name Karla?” He went on.

“Are you related to Kevin by any chance?” She avoided the question by asking, “You resemble him quite a lot…”

“Maybe I am related to him.” He responded, “Why do you ask, are you by any chance his girl
friend?”

She laughed at his response. That’s the first time he saw her laugh, and it was like drinking coffee under the Christmas tree while listening to the season’s carols.

“Kevin is my cousin.” She affirmed “So your answer is a definite no, he is not my boyfriend!”

He hastily took a sip of the stout in his hand, but
it was as if his body was a dam that haven’t had rain for a decade, and it would take more than a drizzle to return life to the habitat. He took another huge swallow of the alcohol, however it was not sudden enough to reduce his palpitation and return steady ground under his feet. A shock of disappointment, disbelief and contempt fluctuated through his spinal cord, which stimulated just about every sensory neuron in his body. He couldn’t run. There wasn’t the adrenaline for that. Besides, the tectonic shifts under his shattered world would proclaim more euphuism to the force of gravity. The first gist of the tipsy sensation from the alcohol had just touched his marrow and boosted his confidence enough to prolong the conversation under a moderate tone and eloquence.

“Wow!
somehow it’s hard to believe that you and Kevin are related…how close of a cousin are you?” He asked. Somehow, he wished he could have altered his resemblance to his brother. At that point he preferred not having a brother. But it had become clear without words that the two were cousins.

“You are his brother, huh
?” She asked for confirmation.

“Yes, we are brothers.” John opened with a hard look and steady eyes.

“Okay then,” Came out long and subtle.

The disappointment was mutual but it wasn’t strong enough to make
wet and cold the sparkling sensation that was gently and slowly devouring every space inside and around the temple of the blue-bloods.

“It doesn’t change
anything.” He uttered, took two steps back with his gaze fixed on her then turned around and walked out of the store.

More people started
showing up at the party. It was even more uncomfortable than when he had just arrived. He wanted to leave as it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain his composure and suffice simple thoughts over the constant chattering and increasing loud Reggae music.

He drank the last of the stout and edged to leave
, but to the right of him he saw two graves on the patio and went to seek composure in its isolation.

As he sat by the head stone he found enormous fascination with the shr
ubs that grew wild by the graveside, and how marvelous it was that these little life forms could grow and blossom in between the stones that sheltered the earth like armor.

“That’s my father’s grave.” The voice above him declared.

John read the note on the headstone.

“R
.I.P Karl Steelburg. Gone too soon but not forgotten.”

“I am sorry. What happened?” He asked and offered a seat.

“He died just as I extended twelve years. I arrived at the hospital shortly before he died. He looked into my eyes and placed his palm on my cheek and said.”

‘Happy birthday Karla.
I love you. All I have is yours”

The sad reminiscence caressed her face and the dead memories had resurfaced and rendered her restless and susceptible. He felt a thr
ob in his heart that was commanding him to embrace her. To tell her that comfort is once again here after so many years of grief and pain, and that he wasn’t here to take his place but he would wrap his wings around her and care for her like a father, a brother, a cousin and a lover if she wanted him to.

However, impulse wasn’t enough to make him lean over and hold her hand. He was more so afraid he would embrace her for the wrong reasons that would result in a rush of blood to his dick, stimulated fro
m just the scent of her perfume.

“I remember whe
n I was younger. Whenever evening came, I would wait by the road to see him coming in the distance from work. As he turned the corner, he would always shout,

“Karla, where are you!!”

“In sudden fright, from the excitement of hearing his voice, I would drop my dolls and run to greet him with open arms. Shouting, ‘Daddy Daddy Daddy!!!’ He would lift me above his head so I could touch the sky and wave at the wind as he spun me around and melted me down to the embrace of his warm hugs and kisses to my forehead. That alone was worth much more than the lollipop candies he would exchange with me for smiles he called butterflies.”

She tried
to hold back the tears but couldn’t. She tried to stop talking but that wouldn’t help.

“Sometimes I beat at his chest
and scream hate at him for not being here for me, especially when I need him the most.” She subtly uttered as the tears flow.

“I have suffered so much already.” She sobbed, “How am I supposed to love? How am I supposed to know happiness for Christ sake!
How am I to make it in this life, if the one that was supposed be here to hold my hand and teach me how to, is right here lying in this grave? He never talks to me whenever I ask for answers! The rush of warm air and subtle chills is just not enough sometimes. They are just mere reassurances that he is there and not here.

The clouds turned grey. Sudd
enly it began to rain. The oversaturation of pain and fossils of grief was again too overwhelming to bottle. As the rain came down heavier, she anticipated a shoulder from his temple, but upon realizing that the doors wouldn’t open for her to find comfort inside, she walked slowly back to the store, shivering under the wet and cold garments.

John remained
seated on the grave. The isolation got stiff and suddenly he felt like he was in a cemetery. A wind of indifference filled the atmosphere and gripped his lungs inducing a pain sticking palpitation in his chest. Maybe it was a warning not to get close to his cousin by any means. But how could he possibly heed such a warning, when he was already trapped and enchanted by her beauty?

She was indeed splendid. You could see the city of Paris in her eyes. If you touched her lips it would drag your thoughts to the cherry blossoms found in the Washington garden. She wore her hair short and relaxed.
For most men that would be an imperfection, but in his eyes it resonated her majestic beauty and orchestrated a symphony of her phenomenal exquisiteness. The rest of her body was a seductive hypnosis.

Chapter 3

The
sun peaked and enchanted the land with its midday rays. The morning had promised showers but that was a mere deception to John. He had woke up at eight and attempted to walk to Mahogany Hall. The sun had given its reassurance and so he made haste to reach the promise land while the day remained dry.

His mother had i
nquired about the reasons of wanting to visit there. As she found it peculiar that he wanted to make a second visit, in less than forty eight hours, to a place she was almost certain only degenerates and the likes of them lived. It wasn’t a usual thing to do, but he had lied to his mother that he was going to see his cousin, Andrew Steelburg in order to obtain music for his personal computer. The truth had acidified his stomach which left a wrong uncomfortable sensation throughout his body. Nevertheless he continued to tread his journey. Somehow he knew he was headed in the right direction.

As he walked at a mod
est pace downhill, he would break the veins of the ferns and pick the leaves one by one. As he gazed out, his thoughts chattered away.

“You like her, don’t you?” He asked.

“Yeah, she is cute.” He tersely added.

“She is so much more than cute and you know it.” He asserted.

He took a sip of the ginger tea and met his eyes steadily.

“You
are right.” He replied and turned his gaze at the black two thousand and four C class Mercedes Benz that approached the sidewalk of the coffee shop for a drop-off.

The driver of the car was Andre
w Steelburg, Karla Steelburg’s brother. The color of his unbutton tuxedo matched that of the C Class. It appeared he was on duty.

He maneuvered out of the driver seat, and then made a slow three sixty degrees turn to ascertain that it was
safe. He quickly made his way to the back door adjacent to the sidewalk and held it for whosoever deserved such prestigious gesture.

To their audacious
surprise, it was Karla that was in the back seat of the C Class. She held on to the chauffeur’s hand and braced to a stand. Her sophistication had earned her a congenial distinction in society. She fashioned a red ballroom dress that had thin straps padding her shoulders which traveled the distance from just about where her inter vertebral disk was located to the circumference of where her breasts began. The red carnation threaded from polyester emphasized her slender curves, and screamed the words, “sexily exotic!!” as it gently caressed her toes and poised a tease as the wind slowly frilled the frontal split that tapered to the peak above her knees.

She stepped on to the side
walk about eight inches from the table from which they sat.

Karla
Steelburg wasn’t aware that they were devouring every bit of her sweet serenity, or did she? The remaining ginger tea in the flowered enamel pot had instantly gotten cold. It was the only physical proof that a spontaneous reaction had not occurred. There was a distinct thermodynamic shift in the equilibrium of the isolated environment which had been induced by her presence.  It’s as if nature, heat, light and everything else in the universe gravitated to her beauty in asserted hope of attaining stability and a simple state of tranquility. Yes! It is her that makes the world goes around. She raised her head to the heavens and gave an exotic smile, as she slightly sniffed the petals of the rose which complimented her sophisticated attire, then made her way down the catwalk to the neighboring laundry cleaners.

“…
She is indeed exquisite.” He uttered under a compelling tone which was enough to melt the ice.