Melinda

This short story was based on Cafe Writing's May/June project, pick three. I actually ended up using all the words as they seemed to flow flawlessly into my story... I don't know if I like the ending, so that may change.

arouse, morning, nerve, women, men, beauty, admire, nowhere

These days she felt as though her love life was headed nowhere. She had impeccable beauty and many men to admire her, but she was used up, empty inside. No matter who she was with she could not seem to arouse any passion, and eventually she quit dating all together. Awakening in an empty bed each morning was depressing, but even more so was the string of one night stands that brought her no pleasure at all. Conquests without victory, that’s all they were.

Women were jealous of her beauty, her long silky raven tresses, intensely vibrant blue eyes that entrapped the soul of every man looking into them, and a killer body with never ending legs and more curves than a country road. Thus, she had few women friends as they found her exquisite beauty intimidating and could not shed their jealously of her long enough to cultivate a friendship.

Despite her beauty she was extremely insecure and shy. At social gatherings she panicked and froze, could not carry on a conversation to save her life. People mistook her shyness for bitchiness or arrogance and avoided her. She eventually started turning down the few invitations extended as she could not manage to muster up the nerve to attempt conversation with anyone. It was almost physically painful for her to do so.

She began to despise her beauty as many men would harass her, trying desperately to gain her attention, lure her into their beds. She tried to ignore them but they were persistent at best, the worst of them verging on the cusp of stalker. For this reason she hardly left her house anymore, and when she did wore baggy sweatpants and sweatshirts to hide her figure, her hair up in a pony with no make up on to minimize her beauty. She often wished that she could be invisible as she went about running her errands or during the day at work, then the men would not swarm around her like flies to rotting cherries.

She was 38, a virtual old maid. The few women she did associate with occasionally were now married with children and she had little in common with their suburban soccer mom lives. The all marveled at the fact that a woman with her beauty had not married and secretly wondered what was wrong with her. A woman that gorgeous, not married by 35, surely had to be defective in some way.

Most days she felt defective; stunning on the outside, black and foul inside, nothing but a gaping void where a soul should be. Ironic that something so worthless and empty would be adorned with such pretty wrapping. She wandered through her pointless, lonely life, wondering what it was all for, as clichéd as she knew that sounded. Existential angst seemed to be all the rage these days, everyone rushing about seeking fulfillment, a purpose for their existence. Yet she held out no hope that crystals, yoga, transcendental meditation or any other trendy New Age ideals would bring her peace or enlightenment.

No, she was beyond repair, a hopeless case. She was 38 and nothing had changed so far, no great epiphanies had visited her in the long lonely hours of the night. She peered into the mirror each morning, looking for some semblance of a soul in those intense blue eyes, and found nothing each time.

On her 40^th birthday she put on her most beautiful dress, curled her hair into ringlets, applied her prettiest make up, donned her most expensive jewelry, and jumped from the bedroom window of her stylish 14 story uptown apartment building. Her mother and father attended the funeral, along with her three women friends, and an ex boyfriend she had dated in high school. No other mourners attended, the funeral procession was four cars long, including the hearse. When her parents went through her things two weeks later they found this poem…

Please don’t mourn me

I have finally found peace.

Please don’t cry over me

For all my tears have dried.

Please do not be angry with me

For I truly have tried,

To live this life as I knew best.

My beauty was my blessing,

But also my curse, my bane,

In the end it drove me to the grave

Death the only cure for my pain.

'Melinda' Copyright Patricia Schoenberger 2008, all rights reserved worldwide.