The break-up

Kristine Atterbury, Contributor

By the time Tessa got to the playground, the sky was saturated with heavy clouds, and the sound of thunder rumbled in the distance. There was a slightly sharp edge to the cool gust of wind that whipped through the park, lifting her linen skirt above her knees.

She stopped to wait by the large otaheite tree at the far end of the playground. Running a hand through her hair anxiously, she brushed at the short strands, trying to protect them from the wind's assault. That morning, she had added soft brown highlights, which helped to accentuate her large brown eyes and pixie-shaped face. After she had pulled the hot curlers from her hair and styled it, she stood transfixed before the mirror. She actually looked pretty. She smiled at herself, showing even, white teeth that lit up her face. Afterward, she got dressed slowly, picking her outfit with care. She had debated all day about coming to meet him. Yet, deep down, she knew she couldn't have stayed away.

The soft crunch of footsteps in the distance announced his arrival. She leaned against the tree and watched him walk towards her. Damian was only of medium height but the way he carried himself made him seem seven feet tall. His eyes lit upon her and he raised a hand in greeting, giving her the same crooked smile that had women screaming his name at stage shows. It was a secretive sort of smile, one that whispered of things that made your heart jump with excitement.

They had been together for five years and the way he smiled, the way his eyes crinkled, the way it started at one corner of his mouth, spreading until his whole face was shining - every bit of it still gave her a thrill deep down inside.

When he got to where she was standing, the wind died down suddenly, and the silence made her ears ring. He leaned down to kiss her, his mouth brushing against hers fleetingly. His cologne was strong and she stepped back as her nose burned in protest. She remembered a time when he never wore anything more than deodorant and yet he would always smell so clean and scrubbed, like laundry straight off the clothes line. She took another step back to look at him, saw the sleek silver Seiko watch on his wrist, the immaculate orange-and-white sneakers on his feet. A small gasp escaped her when she saw the small red Prada label beneath the laces.

"How much did those cost?" she asked, pointing an accusing finger.

The smile fell off his face in an instant.

"Tessa, don't start, yunuh," he said, irritation creeping into his voice.

"I can't ask a simple question?" she retorted, stung by his tone.

"What difference it mek how much dem cost?" He hissed and shoved his hands into his pockets.

She knew it was wrong to feel the way she did, but she couldn't help herself. She couldn't get used to this new persona he had adopted since that night two years ago, when he had entered and won a DJ competition on campus. She remembered when they used to lay on the tiny bed in his small room on Chancellor Hall at UWI, music pounding through the thin walls, a dusty fan in the corner doing its best to circulate the warm air. She used to lie in the crook of his arm and delight in the feel of his stubble tickling her cheek while he talked about his dreams of leaving school and pursuing a career in music. And she would laugh at him fondly, secure in the knowledge that he would finish his degree in economics and business management, find a secure job, and they would settle down in one of those nice new townhouses they were building around Kingston.

Then he had entered the contest. She remembered the surprise that hit her when he belted out a few lyrics and the crowd reacted with such fervour. He was completely at home on stage, winking at the women, working his hips to the music, pumping one hand in the air and hyping up the crowd, while she stood to the back of the room, all but forgotten. The way he gave himself to the audience made her throat burn with a jealousy that she knew was irrational. And yet every rung that he climbed on the ladder to success made her feel smaller and smaller.

She looked at him now, standing with his back ramrod straight, his mouth grim. She felt the pinprick of sudden tears and reached for him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face against his immaculate white shirt.

"Sorry," she said with a sniff, her voice muffled.

He gave a relenting sigh and his arms went around her slowly.

She leaned her head back to kiss him but the chill of finality in his eyes made her stop. She stepped back from his embrace, feeling stupid. Brushing self-consciously at her hair, she wished she hadn't changed it. Who was she kidding? She could feel the highlights standing out like a bright neon sign that screamed "Love me!"

Tessa waited for him to say it, but he only tugged her down to sit next to him on the ground, their backs against the apple tree. The wind struck again and an apple fell to the ground a few feet away. It looked pale and misshapen, nothing like its juicy red counterparts that were sold on the street in bags of six or seven.

Damian held her hand and stared at the ground. The silence was heavy, interrupted only by the sound of thunder booming in the distance.

"When you supposed to go to Japan?" she asked him.

"This Friday," he replied.

She nodded. "And I guess, considering that you haven't asked me yet, I'm not going?"

He bit his lip and squeezed her hand.

"Tess," he said, his voice so low she barely heard him. And then all his words came in a rush as he explained how they had grown apart, how they were on different paths and soon she couldn't hear him over the sound of the rain approaching and the harsh beating of her own heart.

Later, after he escaped the downpour to protect his shoes, she sat there still, against the tree, her hair and cheeks soaked, her clothes dripping, the wind and the rain beating against the tree mercilessly.

She closed her eyes, and waited for the sun to come out.