My True Love

My True Love - A short story by LJ Kundananji

Someone asked me: “Have you found your true love?”

I was bewildered by that question, because I thought she was the one. When the realization that I had simply dreamt all of it hit me, I simply answered: “I don’t know."

“I can’t help feeling the way I do ’bout you,” she said, her eyes glistening with tears.

“I’m sorry,” I said determinedly. “I do not feel the same way….”
“But why?” she implored with desperation. She quickly grasped my hand and clamped it tightly with her long, thin fingers. Tears were now visibly streaking down her face.
I smirked. How naïve she was! She thought she would soften me with all those tears? Did she think I was born yesterday?
“I’m in love with someone else,” I said firmly and coldly. I knew I had to be straight with her. I did not need to beat about the bush. A besotted girl like her would look for a loophole in anything I said and use it against me, and she would blubber relentlessly till she won me over.
This revelation seemed to stun her, and perhaps infuriate her at the same time. I felt her tighten her hand around mine, and her big, round white eyes bulged out.
“Who’s she?” she hissed incredulously, possibly thinking I was just making it up.
“Veronica,” I said with a sly little smile. “Veronica Kongola.”
“Really?” she pushed her face closer to mine, her eyes beginning to bore me to the point of discomfort.
“Yes, really…I’ve been seeing her for a while now….”
She suddenly started shivering. I could feel her hand quivering, but yet she held on.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, pulling my hand out of hers.
“Don’t do this to me….” She pleaded, breaking into sobs.
She looked so miserable that I was almost touched. But I had made my heart as cold as stone.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I took one step backward.
“Charles…I love you….” Her words escaped from her trembling lips and hit my ears with an eeriness that unsettled me for a brief moment. No girl had had ever told me those words in such a direct manner before. I almost believed her. But I was not so stupid. There was no way she loved me. Whatever she felt for me was nothing more than infatuation—sick, childish infatuation.
“But you hardly know me, Charlotte,” I chuckled. “We’ve only known each other for three days. You don’t know where I’ve been, what I’ve been through, what I’ve done….”
“I don’t care about that! All I know is that I love you!” having said this, she flung herself at me and hugged me tightly. “Don’t leave me, Charles!”
I grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her away from me. She stumbled backwards and collapsed to the ground in a heap, crying like a baby.
“I’ve had enough of you!” I shouted, feeling a sudden surge of anger. “Leave me alone! I don’t want to see the likes of you ’gain!”
“I’ll die without you, Charles….” She blubbered. At this moment, she just sounded very silly.
“Go ahead, die!” I said as I walked away, my hand clenched tightly in a tight fist. “You’re just a very silly little girl—grow up!”
“Charles please!”
But I ignored her and plodded on. I soon burst into a trot. All I wanted was to get away from this crazy girl.
I soon reached home. I burst into the house with a look of annoyance across my face.
“Charles, is that you?” my mother called from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” I responded.
“Come help me prepare supper.”
I froze, thought for a while, then said:
“I…I…can’t.”
“Why not?” she sounded alarmed. I had never turned her down before.
“I’ve got some things to do—I’ll ask Peter to help you.”
“That’s…okay….”
I thumped to the bedroom and burst in like a maniac. I found Peter on his computer. He started upon my entry.
“Mom needs your help in the kitchen,” I told him after flinging myself onto the bed.
“I heard what she said,” he said with a frown.
“Come on—help me out!” I hissed. “I’m feeling a bit too despondent at the moment to help her out.”
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, detecting a strange element of anger in my voice, which was so unlike me.
“Nothing worth talking about,” I grunted covering my eyes with my arm. He shrugged and walked out; leaving me sprawled on the bed with an upside-down smile across my face.
“Good grief!” I barked upon recalling what had just happened. How extremely silly Charlotte was, thinking she could win my heart with her relentless blubbering. And where in the world did a girl fall in love with a guy she hardly knew?
To a large extent, I blamed myself and my niceness. I had met her three days ago at the market. She had been struggling with a heavy basket of fruit. Her long frail arms hand looked as though they would break off. In a very helpful gesture, I offered to help her carry it. I felt no attraction to her whatsoever. All I felt was pity. I carried the basket all the way to her home, which was only ten minutes away from the market. Upon reaching her there, she expressed profuse thanks and stated that it was a miracle that Samaritans still existed. With that I promptly walked back home with no intentions of having anything further to do with her.
Imagine my shock when she came home the following day—yesterday—asking for me! And when we had sat down, the two of us, on the porch, sipping at some lemonade and admiring the setting sun, she declared shamelessly that she found me very attractive and had fallen in love with me. Too shocked for words, I just graciously thanked her for expressing her feelings and told her that I would get back to her. I escorted her home promptly afterward. She was going on and on about herself and all that she had accomplished in her life. But I hardly heard a word she said. I was engrossed in thoughts of how I was going to get her off my back.
Not wanting to give her any false hopes, today, I decided to go and tell her where I stood on the issue. The outcome, as you have already seen, was hardly pleasant.
“Spoilt little girls!” I suddenly blurted out, laughing deeply. “They watch too many soap operas.”
I chuckled to myself as I drifted off to sleep. For one thing, I was really glad it was over. I would not let anything get in the way of me and Veronica—my one and only true love.

It was a terribly hot afternoon on the day that I set off to see Veronica. She had just returned home for a two weeks break. She was at University, in her final year. I had completed my tertiary education some two years ago, and was hunting for a job. I had lost my first one when the company I was working for closed after suffering financial ruin. But at the moment, things were looking quite glum. At least there was something to cheer me up—the fact that I was going to see my lovely Veronica again. I carefully concealed the red rose flower I had picked from my mom’s garden in my jacket pocket.
With a beaming smile across my face, I walked up the front steps and knocked on the door. After a little moment, there was the sound of footsteps walking towards the door. It slowly opened and there in the doorway, in all her splendor, stood Veronica. She was toweringly tall in her high heels. Her elegant, pink dress reached all the way down to her feet. Her long, wavy hair hung enchantingly over her face. She stared back at me with ivory white eyes that left me breathless.
“Hi Charles,” she greeted with a smile. Cute little dimples appeared on the sides of her mouth.
I stood in silence for close to a minute, admiring her from head to toe. Finally, I reached out for my pocket and pulled out the rose.
“My lovely princess,” I said as I handed it to her.
“Oh, you’re so sweet…Charles,” she said, her eyes beaming.
“Not as sweet as you are.”
“Oh Charles….”
A little while later, we sat on the swing in the shade of the eucalyptus tree. A cool breeze was blowing—adding all the more to the romantic atmosphere. I was having the time of my life. We talked about a lot of things for close to an hour, all the while playing with the flower in her hand.
Finally, she looked up at me with a serious expression on her face and said:
“Charles…there is something I need to tell you….”
“What?” I asked with eager anticipation. I rested my chin on my hand and stared at her dreamily.
“I don’t know how to put this….”
“Go ahead,” I encouraged.
“Um….” She hesitated; a stressful look appeared across her face. She handed me back the rose. This gesture alarmed me greatly, and I felt panic grip me.
“What’s…the meaning of this?” I stammered. Veronica stretched out her hand and stroked my cheek. A tear slid down her face from her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Charles,” she said in a trembling voice.
“What do you mean you’re sorry?” I grasped her hand and pulled it away from my face. I gently squeezed it.
“I’m in love with someone else,” she said, a little smile appearing across her lips.
My body instantly went limp with horror. I goggled back at her with a gapping mouth.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated.
I did not say a word, as I was struck with shock—I just stared back at her like a statue.
“Speak to me, Charles….”
I bow my head to conceal my tears.
“Is it because I an unemployed?” I asked without looking up.
“No…no,” she said. But I knew she lied. I had known her for so long a time that I could tell when she was lying.
I suddenly looked up with chilly red eyes. She looked away to avoid my gaze.
“Look up at me,” I said, turning her head by the chin to face me. In her eyes, I saw fear—the fear that emanates from realization of betrayal.
I stared at her dress and the golden chain around her neck.
“He bought you those, didn’t he?” I asked with a vulgar tone.
Her eyes bulged out and she nodded painfully. I winced in pain.
“It’s nice to know your love can be bought,” I said with a chuckle as I got to my feet. “And from the look of things, I could not afford it.”
“I’m sorry Charles….” She repeated. “But I love him and it’s not because of the money.”
An intense nostalgia suddenly hit me.
“Don’t lie to me….” I said sharply. I could feel my face beginning to sop with tears. I shuddered all over and pulled myself together. As I was too proud to blubber and go down on my knees, I simply said:
“Have a nice life….” After that, I slowly turned and walked away. I did not look back.
As I walked away with a miserable, low stoop, I remembered Charlotte and how I had turned her down some three weeks ago. It is amazing how your perspective changes when you have been rejected: small things once insignificant start mattering, and suddenly, you start thinking differently about the things that you once abhorred. At that moment, it suddenly dawned on me that there was only one girl in the whole world who loved me for the loser I was; one girl who did not care whether I had money or not; one girl whose love came without a price tag. That girl was Charlotte.
I averted my steps and hastened my pace.
“I’m sorry Charlotte,” I said, “I love you…I just didn’t know it.”
A few moments later, I was banging on the front door of her house.
A big man came out. He stared at me with a cold expression.
“Can I help you?”
“Charlotte….” I stammered. “I’m looking for Charlotte….”
A frightened look came across his face, then it turned mournful.
“You don’t know?” he inquired, raising a brow of surprise.
“Know what?” I asked in alarm.
“Come with me.”
He led me to the back of the house. We walked to one corner of the yard where, under a small tree, stood a tombstone. I glanced down at the grave with a gaping mouth, my mind insane with shock. I drearily lifted my eyes and stared at the tombstone, and when I read the words thereupon, I almost collapsed:

“Charlotte Chikondi
1989 to 2009
May Her Soul Rest in Eternal Peace”

The rose in my hand fell to the ground. My eyes flooded with tears, and I fell on my knees and wept bitterly. The man placed a hand on my shoulder.
“How did she die?” I asked, sobbing heavily.
In words full of anger that seemed to be directed towards me, he said:
“She died of a broken heart.”

 

My True Love
© Kundananji Creations 2009

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