The mirror is cracked and faded in the corner. Dust covers its once clear, reflective surface and it seems grey even in the bright light of the sun. It stands, abandoned by everyone but time. I dare not look in it. for fear of seeing a reflection of the mirror in myself.
He bought it for me. Years ago. I could’ve sold it, dumped it even, when he left me. The strongest reminder of our terrible ending could’ve been gone forever. He knew how much I loved it when I saw it, I told him it was almost as beautiful as he was. He grinned at me, but said we couldn’t afford it. Next week, there it was in the corner.
“Lets just be friends.” Friends. Did he seriously think it was going to work? He acted like he did. Giving me new mobile numbers, leaving messages on my machine. I could barely keep my current friends, let alone accept him as one of them. I couldn’t stand to look at him or any of the people who knew me as half of ‘Frankie and Gerard’. Always the second half. I couldn’t even stand to look at myself.
The apartment is in disarray. It always was before he moved in. He couldn’t stand the clutter and made me move it all. Tidy it up and start afresh. It was easier, nicer, bigger without my crap strewn across the floor and every other surface. And he would make sure I kept it in check. Then he left. And I fell back into an old abyss.
I always thought, it’ll get better. Eventually I will get over him and move on, I knew in my heart - it had to be true. I would find someone else, throw the mirror out and my apartment would become clean again. I would have a reason to sort it, and myself out. Love would find me.
Years seemed to fly by. But their pace was slow and tedious, harsh and painful. One day I look back and it seems to be merely a week after our first anniversary; the next it seems as though I never even knew him and he was merely a beautiful dream I once had. A perfect nightmare that will haunt me forever. Clinging to my retinas, soul and heart.
Eating away, chewing on my insides and burning any hope away in my mind is the fact he gave up. He simply abandoned our relationship, and eventually stopped trying to contact me altogether. It was as if I had been put through a shredder. Every inch of me stung, burnt and froze at the same time when I realised it had been a whole month since the last message on my phone or the last text on my cell.
Hey Gee, it’s Frank. I just calling to check up on you. I haven’t seen you in ages and it feels really weird. I’d better see you soon or I’ll start to miss you.
Gerard. Frank here. I was wondering if you wanted to meet up sometime. Call me back.
It’s Frank again! Do you wanna grab a coffee from the Starbucks around the corner from our old apartment? I know you love it there. It would be great to see you.
Hey. Are you ok? How have you been? Up to much? It’s Frank by the way. Well… I hope to hear from you soon.
Gerard? Have you changed your number or something? Why haven’t you called me back? I really want to see you. We have loads to catch up on.
I hope you get this Gerard. It’s Frank. Again. I- I really want to know how you’ve been. You’ll make me worry if you keep on blanking me like this.
His fake, nervous laughter filled my ears for the millionth time. And I steeled myself for the next and final message:
I’m not going to call you again, Gerard. I hope I haven’t got your number wrong and this is all a misunderstanding. If you get this and you want to see me you know how to contact me. Good bye.
Every time the crack inside of me, threatening to spill me over the edge, would grow a little wider when I heard that message. While I could never call him back, his messages made me feel good, like I could pretend he cared for a while longer. But then he gave up on me again and that’s what was so soul-shattering, that I also gave up on him.
Years have passed. Three last Monday since we broke up. The same length of time we were together.
Frankie and Gerard,
Hope you have a beautiful 3rd anniversary! I can’t believe it’s been a whole three years!
Florida is so awesome. We’ll write again soon telling you more.
Missing you both!,
Mikey and Alicia.
Xx
For some reason I have to pick up the phone. Heavy in my hand, it almost feels warm from the sun but cold from lack of use. An alien shape in my hand. And I do it. For the first time in over three years I dial the number that I so desperately wanted to.
My breathe comes in quick, sharp bursts and my lungs seem to sting.
It’s ringing.
Tension fills me. My head seems to be spinning and saliva fills my mouth.
“Hello?”
“Hello? This is Mr. Matthews, who is calling?”
I slam the phone down as tears stain my eyes and rip apart my vision. I collapse on the floor. I did it. I called the number I had memorized all those years ago. I did it. And he’d changed his number. We had given up. Broken beyond repair, but then again we already were. I knew that.
‘Frankie and Gerard’.
Two loose parts. Is he still jagged and torn? Or has he found another half?
I glance into the mirror. My eyes are blood-short and rung in dark circles. My lips are cracked and pale. I look sick, unclean and verging on dead. I’m not even a shadow or a ghost.
I’m worth giving up on. I’m cracked and faded in the corner. I’m covered in dust and seem grey, even in the bright light of the sun. I stand, abandoned by everyone but time. I am absolutely nothing.
And old croaky voice fills the other end of the phone.
