Friday evening was our three-year anniversary. I had planned out the whole evening, weeks in advance. Friday night dinner at Heffron’s, then off to the symphony. After the concert, drinks and then off to the dimly lit bed and breakfast that we both knew like an old friend. I had hoped to then spend all of Saturday and most of Sunday, wrapped up in her. It was quite a nice plan, meticulously timed down to the minute. I will never plan anything again.

I had met Amy my sophomore year in college. We had a mutual friend that set us up on a blind date, without our knowledge. Once I met her, I knew that she was the most profound person I had ever met. She was a dichotomy, an enigma, the more we spoke the more I wanted to talk with her. Her fierce beauty, her profound ideas spoken so softly that they seemed like a tremble on the air. I admit, she bewitched me. I wondered what her opinions were on everything. Did she like reading out on the balcony of her apartment, or inside curled up with a blanket and a cup of coffee? Did she like wheat or white bread? Had she ever dreamed of going to Europe just to walk along the streets and search for part of herself? But most of all I wondered if she wondered anything about me.

I keep searching in my mind, why and when had everything changed? When did I know deep down that I couldn’t live with her? That I couldn’t love her the way that she needed me to? I can’t find that moment. Was it a single moment at all? I don’t know. I feel drawn to here now, even without the love I once felt for her. I find myself wishing for the phone to ring, for it to be Amy on the line. I know she won’t call. I can’t call her. I’ve hurt her too much already. Besides, she wouldn’t answer. I heard from Jack, our mutual friend, she hasn’t been home. He figures she went to Sacramento to her mother’s, and she’ll be in touch in a few months. She’s disappeared before, according to Jack. Her last break up she disappeared for 15 months. She had gone to Iowa and worked as a waitress. I guess someone that gentle can’t bear to make her pain known to anyone, and so she ran from her problems until she couldn’t remember them.

I can’t bear the thought of her forgetting me and I cannot listen to Beethoven because it reminds me, she is now farther than the sun is from the moon. Beethoven was on the program on Saturday. During Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 in C minor, She reached over and grabbed my hand. Her touch was always gentle, but that night it felt like a vice. Her left hand was ice cold, and the engagement ring that was in my jacket pocket was molten. I looked over to her; she closed her eyes and smiled. That smile is etched into my memory. It wasn’t her general grin. This smile was reserved for special things, like long baths and making love. She reclined her head back and sat as still as she could, barely even breathing. Taking every note, every discord, that was released into resolution into her soul.

I tried to concentrate on the music, that damned music, with it’s throbbing bass notes, driving urgent music, encompassing that beautiful, gentle melody. Drowning it in a horrible ocean of chaos.

It didn’t make sense to me. Why did Beethoven desecrate that angelic melody with that uncomfortable urgency, it audibly voices its unhappiness, and wanting. More importantly, why didn’t she realize how Beethoven had vandalized his own work? Why didn’t she care?

It was just then I had the most terrible, frightening thought there had ever been in the world. What if I was the bass note to her angelic melody? What if I would desecrate her soul as Beethoven had his beautiful melody? I looked at her again. There she sat, serene, enjoying the butchery of the piece. Innocent to the writhing in my head and naive to how I wanted to unintentionally desecrate her life, by wanting to marry her. NO! I would not let her beauty, her fragility be ruined by my clumsy, harsh life. I would not let myself. Furthermore, I will not let her willingly do this to herself.

I jumped in my chair and let out an audible gasp. I felt her cold hand squeeze mine and I looked over at her direction. Her smile was gone, replaced by a look of confusion. It was not a look she ever wore well. I felt like I was drowning, realizing what I had done to this angel. A life with me would be a never-ending line of faces she wouldn’t wear well. What years of disdain, confusion and my clumsiness do to her beauty? I took short breaths, trying not to drown in the music and her look that became more and more disdainful. I pulled my hand away from her grasp, as if were held by the devil himself. Her eyes penetrated me; I could feel her gaze upon me, seeing me for what I really was. I stood up and made my way out of the row. I quickly made my way to the lobby. I could hear her feet following me out. Her voice rang in my ears but I didn’t know what she was saying. How could she do this to herself, to love me? To willingly succumb to such an unacceptable fate?

Her hand reached up and touched my face. I looked at her. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from her. Her face didn’t show concern. Not worry. I only saw pity. I could NOT have that. I pulled away from her and ran out to the car. I was gasping for breath. She ran out to me, I said something I cannot remember to her. She recoiled for a moment and then began walking towards me again. She told me she loved me. How could she have loved someone as awkward as myself? All knees and elbows, not one single graceful thing about me. I had a revelation. If she wanted me, and I was no longer there, she would find someone else. Worse than me, who wouldn’t know or care about what they were doing to her melody. That was even worse, than being with her, or causing her pain. No, not under any circumstances would there be anyone who would take her for granted, or not appreciate her! I looked into her eyes, and told her I wanted to show her something, and it couldn’t wait any longer. That was why I had left the concert. I pulled the ring from my jacket pocket; it seared my hand as I opened the box. Her eyes grew wide in surprise, and her hands reached for the ring. She slid it on her finger and kissed me. I opened the door of the car and she got in.

We drove to the spot we had known for years. A little out of the way park, beside a small creek. Since it was such a hot night, I suggested wading in the cool current for a bit. She nodded and stepped out of the car. Treading so lightly that I didn’t even see the grass depress under her feet.

What was I to do? I couldn’t allow her to marry someone as clumsy, and oafish as myself. I certainly could not allow someone else to discover the beauty of her soul and then proceed to ruin it. How couldn’t she realize what she was? How rare she was. I could never explain in my rough words, so I did the least of all the evils.

She looked as beautiful in death as in life. And the moment I placed her in the leaky boat, I saw that special smile on her face and heard thunder of the approaching storm.