When Love Is Gone

A deafening sound woke me up one morning. I thought World War III has finally come to where I am. My mind rush to recollect the news I've read the night before- if there was any warning of a looming war but before but the my brain could access the information inside, I heard a woman scream, probably the loudest I have ever heard in real life. I rushed to the window of my room at peered outside. I ducked as I heard another crash. Then, I saw bits and pieces of things scattered on the street.

War indeed is happening right here, down to where my neighbors live. It‘s the couple next door, having their early breakfast fight. I have heard them argue before but today’s the worst of all. A couple who are now in their mid 50’s or probably 60’s, is again in their fighting mode, threatening to squash each other’s faces or may be even wishing they could conveniently kill each other, only they are constrain by something else. It’s comforting to say that the quarrel is far being deadly. The pandemonium they created, the broken pieces of household items told me, their choice of weapons are not considered dangerous. The sheer fact that they still have their heads and limbs intact. None of them have resorted to slicing each other’s neck or slitting each others throat, at least not yet. The worst that they had done so far is made all their kitchen items into flying saucers, smashed handy items on the walls and off the street..

Save from this morning’s event, this place where I live is a quiet neighborhood. The apartment where my noisy neighbors and I shared is a long stretched of doors, about 20 or so of them. A quick estimate would be, a quarter of the doors unoccupied. It’s the only apartment building in this area. The next neighboring house would take at least a hundred strides to get there. I have been in this neighborhood for a while now. A thousand and five hundred days already but I knew very little things about my neighbors. At times, I wonder where they go if they aren’t working. I don’t see much children. I don’t hear people throwing out parties or celebrating some events. Maybe, I don’t look friendly but I just don’t know why their houses seemed empty when I am home. Now, one of my neighbors is catching a lot of my attention.

I couldn’t get back to sleep that morning, despite that it’s a weekend and I’m supposed to stay in bed till my back aches- a signal for me to get up and start the day. Instead, I lay there on my back with eyes closed, wondering how loving couples end up despising each other. In the dark corners of my mind, came flashing images of my combative neighbors in their youth, back when they were still young and so full of love and in- love with each other. No doubt they were like lovebirds who can’t last another day if their mate is out of sight. There’s the unmistakable glow in their eyes, the tender touches, even the sound of the lover’s name is pure sweetness to their ears. I’m sure, they constantly hold hands, and all those mushy things that lovers do. I presume that once in their youth, they professed love for each other, for better or for worse.

I shifted my position, lay on my side, as my mind is changing the picture of my neighbors’ in their youth to their current image. They still look physically strong and able judging from the distance of where one of the dishes landed and from where it was hurled. But the creases in their face and the clothes they wear told me of rough years together, of untold hardship and unhappiness. The woman, in her mid years, looks too old for her actual years. The same goes for her husband. They sure have their own stories to tell but I know exactly why the eat invectives for breakfast. Both of them are already so bored looking at each other’s faces, bored of how they live, and bored of working just to live. The husband may have longed for the old days of smooth face, the curves and the glow. The wife may have long for the old days of youth where her husband is so full of vigor, promising comfortable if not better lives.

Now the only excitement that could stir the drudgery of their life is slamming the dishes on the wall to compensate for the lack of action in their lives.