Forgotten

This is the story of the girl in apartment C21. It's not too long, and I promise I won't keep you longer than you wish... just something to think about.1

Her name was Maria, and she fell in love with me. Being the gentlemen I was raised to be, I had to decline every offer passed my way. She was barely a day over 20, I was 31. Her eyes were adorable, a soft green that accented her tan skin. 2

Her face was framed with a golden hue of blonde, almost honey colored. She always smelled like apples, and her clothes were neatly ironed. Once a week on her way to the laundromat, she stopped by my loft. 3

'I'm heading down to do some laundry, ya' wanna come?'4

'No, that's okay. I've got some work to do. Thanks for the offer, though!'5

'You work way too much, but fine. Bye!'6

Like clockwork, she knocked at my door every Thursday evening. I somewhat expect her knock any moment now, but there's no way that could happen. She's gone now, and there's nothing to do about it.7

I always did my laundry on Friday morning, always using the same machine. I knew she would be in class that day, no chance of bumping into her. I planned my days around hers, avoiding every last clash we could have. I regret that now.8

My wife thinks I'm crazy for re-telling this story, but she'll never understand. Maria and I had a connection. An unspoken pact held between are hands. Eventually it ripped, and so did I.9

I found out after her death that she was an orphan. Both her parents died when she was a child, and her grandmother was the only family she had. Her nana passed away two days after she did. 10

I remember the scene well. An empty hospital bed, an empty IV bag. An empty heart. I loved Maria back, I know I did, I just wish things had turned out different. When Maria hung herself in her bathroom, I disintegrated into ash, a pile of useless mush.11

I know it's not an interesting story, but it's my story. I've lived with this ghost for five years, my wife never knowing about Maria. We were only dating when Maria finally ended her life... I'm surprised Sarah hasn't pieced together the puzzle. I have a box, full of Maria items. Photos, newspaper clippings, 2nd semester schedule, hairbrush.12

You can call me obsessed, you can call me crazy. I even saved the rope she used. Perhaps I should stop telling this story though, since you all seem to be slightly depressed. It's mine, however, and it's not that interesting.13

Until, of course, I follow in Maria's footsteps, and read about my life from my wife's point of view. A last farewell, one final goodbye. 14

My name will be forgotten - and I'm fine with that.15