No Longer With Me

Love is the worst cunt in the world, for it provides the happiest and most celebrated of emotions for a limited time only, and then rips it all away quite suddenly—even when one expects love to withdrawal, the definite act of doing so still comes at a shock. For the first time in my life, I know how it feels to be stripped of the affection my Married Man drenched my heart with for two full years. Forever and ever again, the memory of what used to be is all I own and all I may cherish, for my Married Man passed away Saturday, June 11. We never even said goodbye.

In fact, I was unaware of his death until I read this morning’s obituaries, though the pass month’s events were enough to spark my gut instinct into believing my relationship would soon change dramatically. May 16, 2005, Baboo went into the hospital for a pre-planned surgery to fix both the hole in his stomach pouch and a hernia caused by the hole. Three years before, he had a gastric procedure done to aid in gaining control of his weight for medical reasons that particularly spawned from the heart attack he had while in his late forties. Mr. Married Man assured me that everything would be fine, though he also warned that the surgery could result in death should something go wrong during or after the procedure. Instinctively, I knew he would probably not make it, though I had no reason to believe such a thing; it was important that I stayed positive and convince myself Baboo would be back on his feet in no time.

Before the day of the operation, Baboo told me something he often said, “Alisha, the only think that can keep me from calling you is death,” though he displayed more emotion that time than any of the previous declarations. May 14, 2005 was the last time we spoke to one another, though I called the hospital multiple times in effort to talk to him. Every time I talked to a nurse on his ward, she always gave me his wife’s phone number and said that she was the only person who could tell me the how and why as to Baboo’s extended hospital stay. I never phoned his wife though, not because I did not care what condition my Married Man was in, but because I think it is disrespectful to her position as his legal partner in life to deal with the curiosity and anxiety of his young lover. The situation had enough stress attached to it already—her husband’s fate lay in the hands of doctors who may or may not have the capabilities of improving their patient’s health status—leaving no room for the inquiries of a young woman never mentioned by the Husband to the Wife, though she obviously knew him very well.

Honestly, I do not know my boyfriend’s cause of death, but I am all too aware of the fact he is dead. I could not believe my eyes when I saw his obituary and realized my worst fear is now a part of my reality. The few lines composing the announcement of his passing mentions the wife left behind, the grown son and two small grandchildren he adored, along with a blurb declaring Nikki, the son’s girlfriend, would miss Baboo’s presence. Nothing is included about me, his devoted and loving girlfriend-on-the-side, not that I expected anything of the sort anyway. I just cannot get over how unfinished our relationship ended up—I didn’t get to say “I love you,” one final time, and he never told me goodbye. Perhaps that’s all I need—and will never get—as my brain refuses to wrap around the idea that Baboo is gone for good, that we can no longer shower one another with affection.

He was my very best friend, the only person I allowed myself to grow close. There will never be a replacement for his position in my life; maybe the occasional stand-in but never a real replacement for the spot in my heart that holds all the love and emotion he helped me discover. God, I miss him so much…and no matter how creative I get, no sentence, paragraph, or paper could ever capture the essence of how I feel inside—so bleak, dark, and depressed—knowing Baboo is only a memory of a time in my life when I seriously needed him more than any other person. For two years, he helped me grow; he expanded my mind intellectually, sensually discovered every crevice of my body, and exposed the vast amount of love in my soul. We had many a fight and even broke-up for two weeks, but found our ways back to each other through it all.

At this moment, I can only think of the past, of my wonderful memories of Baboo, for I’ve cried far too much today by dwelling on my current state of being alone without the love and encourage my baby always lavished upon me. I cannot recall the numerous topics I wanted to discuss with him once discharged from the hospital, or the books and movies I consumed while he was away. It saddens me that I shall never know his opinion of them. Silenced forever is my Baboo’s voice; I first fell in love with his voice after all, followed by his mind. He is gone, and even though I know it, I still cannot believe it.

Love enhances life, for sure, but it cunt-fucks everything up when it quietly withdrawals from one’s company. It is devastating more so now because love lives in memory while death enters as the understudy-turned-main-actor of the role Baboo once played, entitled “First Love.”