she had written him a ‘dear paul’ letter, just to change it up. “but my name’s john!” he exclaimed when he found the letter on his bedside table. but maureen didn’t hear him. by that time she was gone.
she’d had a bad run of johns.
things always started out okay – they always did. she would politely laugh at his attempts at humour, and he would go walking with her. eventually, she would stop laughing and he would stop going.
maureen saw the end before they ever did. she would see the softness in their eyes. she wasn’t sure if it was an apology or just a reflection of her own softness. maureen’s mother had always told her that she was an insipid form with no hard edges, like a ball of clay. things came to an end, as everything inevitably did in maureen’s life, when she could no longer stand to see that look, like a mirror.
maureen avoided mirrors. when she was a young girl but old enough to know better, she would break the mirrors that she found, much to the horror of her highly-strung and superstitious mother. it wasn’t that maureen was revolted by her looks, as she was far from unattractive. maureen’s downfall was in her regard – glances held for a moment too long – and in her movements – her hand brushing another’s arm gently but too purposefully.
when her latest john had introduced himself, she had laughed without him knowing why. she had laughed casually and tilted her head to one side, looking him up and down. then she had looked into his eyes; seeing nothing but their startling clarity and absence of softness, she had accepted his invitation to go for a drink.
in the weeks that followed, maureen surprised herself. this john was just the kind of man she thought she’d never deserve. with him she was wittier, smarter and, so she thought, freer. but she wasn’t able to refuse any of his demands for fear of disappointing him. he lifted her up, above the pettiness of her previous existence. it wasn’t long before maureen felt those old, familiar arms pulling her back down to where she truly belonged.
he had become like all the johns from before. in some unknown way, maureen had disappointed him. she noticed it at once, her usual sign. she would have been sadder were it not for the invisible arms that encircled her. it felt like an embrace.
after she had written her letters and left the johns behind, she would find herself waking up in bed, staring at the same sunrise, the same world. it wasn’t the loneliness that got to maureen, but the repetition that was seemingly neverending.
one morning as maureen awakened, the sunrise seemed impossibly bright and she could bear it no longer. the familiar arms that had felt like an embrace were now choking her. she stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, forcing herself to look at her reflection in the mirror. she saw dishevelled hair, a mouth open and gasping for air, two large green eyes. the eyes looked back at her and she felt herself calming, her breathing becoming normal.
looking deeply into those eyes, maureen knew what she had to do. she went back to her room, took pen to paper and began to write. her words poured out easily and after a long time of furious writing, she was finished. she carefully placed the papers on her bedside table, crawled back into bed and fell into a deep sleep.
when she reawakened, maureen looked at the sun, now low in the sky. it gave the trees and rooftops an otherworldly glow. her gaze drifted to her bedside table and to her writing. she absently picked up the papers, still staring at the world outside, a smile playing on her pretty mouth.
“dear maureen,” the letter began. reading the words that had been scrawled so hastily, having waited a lifetime to be given form, maureen felt relief. this was the person she should have broken up with long ago. at last, she was free.
