I put the bag of groceries down on the passenger seat, fold my arms over the steering wheel and lay my head down low. I haven't seen her in five years, not since she climbed aboard that train and disappeared into the wilderness. Nobody could get a hold on her, like she'd completely vanished from the face of the earth. That day Genevieve Roberts had been the one who got away.
Over the course of years I had my share of one night stands but nothing to serious. Just the usual fuck-them and leave-them routine. Losing their numbers afterwards, feeling little to no remorse about their emotional state. Margo on the other hand informed me countless times how it isn't healthy and that I'm supposed to move on with my life, rather then moping around over somebody who clearly don't deserve me. What does she know?
I've tried to move on, God knows I've been trying, but I simply can't seem to forget about the one who got away. It's a mere coincidence that I've decided to go to the grocer today of all days. If it wasn't for me arriving late last night at my sister's, I wouldn't have been at the market, fetching a few needful things for her and her husband. If I hadn't offered to help out when I got the news, I wouldn't have been here either.
When I arose this morning from an amazing slumber, I've felt more like myself and above that, proudness engulfed me. Not only am I proud of Margo for bringing a healthy baby boy into this world but also about the fact that she actually married her high school sweetheart and stayed around long enough to see where it would take them.
As I'm sitting here with my head slumped against my arms I can't help myself as to feel upset. A pang of guilt shot through me like an arrow. Even though I fucked around (thinking that it would help) I still couldn't seem to get her out of my head. The memories of her had sprouted into a full ass garden within my mind space.
How could she be engaged? Had the memory of me already been stripped from her? Had she even thought about me in that manner? Missed me the way I did. Then the most painful of questions surface, did she even truly love me or were her affection only based on sex? Had her core been throbbing for attention? Genevieve Roberts never stroked me as that type of woman. She never gave off the prostitute vibe. How many men had she been with after the train ported this station years ago, or had this Kyle fellow been the only one? I feel sick to my stomach thinking about her in that light. It's even worse then speaking filthy about another somebody behind that person's back.
I don't know how long I've been sitting here, trying my utmost best to push the memory of her to the back of my head when her voice reached my ears. I looked up and saw them loading their groceries in the trunk of a fancy black car. I still have the same golden Corolla that I've always had. The same vehicle that gave her a lift from school. The same one that drove her to Stellenbosch the morning before her graduation.
As she climbed into the passenger seat her eyes bored into the depth of my soul, but the usual sparkle had completely vanished from her peepers. A sorrowful expression lingers behind her brown orbs. I noticed how a lone tear tumbled downwards; quickly she disposed of it before her fiancé could notice it. My heart sunk into the soles of my feet as the knowledge floods me; I am the reason behind her heartache.
I know that I've fucked up majorly, but secretly I've always hoped that she'd come around and give me another chance. I never thought that we'd run out of time. I never thought that my fucked up actions would scare her into the arms of another man. After a few more minutes I pull out of the parking lod and made my way home.
As soon as I enter their house, my sister looks at me inquisitively, a warm baby bottle at hand. I slumped into the kitchen and pour myself a shot of vodka. "Simon, could you kindly give Junior his bottle?" My sister asked as she handed the bottle to him. Once only she and I remained, she takes a stand beside me and asked: "What's wrong? It looks like you've just seen a ghost." I snorted half-heartedly at her remark before throwing the liquor down my throat, welcoming the burning sensation and poured myself another.
She placed her hand softly upon mine. I shift my gaze in her direction, losing myself in questioning eyes. "I've walked into Genevieve at the supermarket," I answered in a low distraught tone. Margo lifts her hand in a dreadful manner. I took the opportunity to pour myself a third shot. A befuddled Simon stood in the doorway, with a feeding Junior; lying in his arms. "What happened?" I swipe the glass off to the side. The sharp splintering aftermath of glass shattering on the tiled floor didn't bother me as I lay my head down, snaking my fingers through my hair penetratingly as the image of him with her came to mind.
"She's getting married," I whispered mostly to myself but the deathly silence makes me believe that they've indeed heard my statement. A crying baby piped up as Simon accidentally removed the milk bottle from the boy's lips. Margo rushed forward, cooing the infant as she took the baby from her husband bewilderingly. "Don't cry baby, Mama's right here," she said tenderly. Margo leaned in closer and whispered something in her lover's left ear, something in the line of him being kind and considered towards me. Who gives a fuck! God damn, how could she have forgotten about me so easily?