how we became human

she was in love with a man who left her. it was simple really, nothing that hadnt happened before, except that this man left her over and over again, so many times that she began to think it a trick. they had met late one night in a bus station outside of surrey, and the moment they began to talk she knew without any major tumult within her heart that she was in love with him, and probably always would be. they talked until dawn that night, and every other night before he was off to build cabinets for a man who lived in east london. they didnt kiss, not until the last night, but they talked of it constantly. she lay in his lap and traced the stern outline of his jawbone. he held her hands and kissed every wrinkle, every knuckle, and talked of her mind and how he had never met a more thrilling person, a person more familiar. the first time they kissed was the first time she had ever forgotten about the future. it was the first moment she had ever really, truly lived inside of. and then he left.
trevor said he would call but he didnt for days, and there was an equal measure of utter tragic hurt in her as their had been utter tragic ecstasy while they were together. and then the phone rang one day and she picked it up after 8 rings, and heard his breathing on the other line and cried without any muscles moving at all. he said he was so sorry, that he could not find a phone and that for days he was stranded in the basement of an artist he used to know in san francisco, and that things had gotten very strange and the only way he stayed OK was by thinking of her tiny sparkling hairs that framed her face and her bloody bitten nails and the way she was curious and searching always. he said he was coming back soon and they would be together for good, but after that call he left again.
he was gone for months this time, and there were days then when she felt nothingness so intensely that she forgot to eat. the sun would start to rise and she would realize she had never fallen asleep, that she hadnt even tried. there was nothing like sadness really, only the heart stabbing realization that things like this can happen. that someone can come along and color in all the shapes, and give meaning to a whole world of feelings that you never even knew existed, and which sometimes you believed didnt exist for anyone but the two of you, and then within weeks be able to wonder if you made it all up just to feel something, anything at all. if he was just a figment of your imagination, of what you had never known you always wanted.
one day she got a letter with drawings and letters and the most interesting pieces of things she had ever seen, playing cards with pin up girls from fifty years ago, a penny with a star punched through the middle. he said "i will color your dreams with thoughts so beautiful few throughout history have ever known the taste of them." and he did.
this went on and on. she began to date other people, laying quietly beside them crying as they slept, feeling trevor creep undeniably up her legs, through the soles of her feet and into her like a chill. she never told anyone of him, but was often struck silent when a memory came violently heaving past her like a subway car, leaving her reeling and more alone than ever.
time went on and went on and she heard from him less and less. she still thought of him, she still thought she knew that nothing could ever compare. she thought she knew that in her heart, that she was destined to live a life secondary to the life and the love she could have had with him.
she began dating someone and they dated for years. his name was charles and he was an adult, a type of man she had never known before, let alone love. there werent any excuses, there werent any fears. she did love him, passionately, and they had a happy life together. she hadnt heard from trevor in almost a year, and though she knew she should be glad of that, glad of how she had moved on and past him, secretly she hoped he would track her down. to prove this normalcy wrong, to prove the love she had so desparately believed in for so long.

one day charles came home from his job at the university. the second he walked through the door she knew there was something different about him, something scary almost. she looked at him from her place at the breakfast table.
hello she said.
its me, he said. but it wasnt his voice.
her heart was beating so hard that for a second she did worry that she was dying, hallucinating, that this was a heart attack or a true mental breakdown. she couldnt speak.
you know who i am, dont you? he said, moving closer to her, his step terrifyingly, queasily, incongruous with his clothes, his body.
she tried to catch her breath.
charles, she whispered. charles...
he pressed his lips together and shook his head slowly. no, he said. you know it isnt charles.
and it wasnt, that much was certain. they werent charles's eyes, it wasnt his voice, it wasnt even his body somehow, though it was. they were charles's clothes, the ones that hung in the same closet as hers. it was his hair, his skin, his bones. but it wasnt charles.
she still couldnt move. her heart was throbbing in her ears, the heat of it burning her face to the point of pain.
please tell me, she said, her voice still unable to rise above a whisper. please tell me what...
she let him come closer and closer until he was right in front of her. he knelt and put his hand, the hand that looked like charles's but didnt feel like charles's at all, on the side of her face.
ive tried, he said. ive tried to come back to you. this is the only way.
ive died, she said out loud. ive died, oh god. and she began to cry heavy dry sobs of panic and terror and joy and everything else she had always assumed death was like.
no, no. youre very much alive. how can i convince you, he said. how can i convince you that its me, that its ok now, that we are together again?
she shook her head. it isnt you. it cant be you.
he picked up her hand and began kissing each crease, each knuckle.
she closed her eyes and sobbed. it cant be you.
he put both of his hands on either side of her head and said, ive missed this. there hasnt been a moment without you, but things were complicated. they arent anymore, everythings worked itself out and thats how i can be here. i know its scary. i know you must be angry. i have to convince you though, that its ok now.
still, she wasnt sure if she was still alive. this couldnt be happening. she could feel him. her body was reacting to him the same way it did years ago, there was no denying it. it was trevor.
are you staying here, like this? i mean...are you going to be like this....in him...forever?
he shook his head slowly again and stroked her hair.he looked as happy as he was the night they met, the first time he ever did that. he had stroked her hair that night and shook his head, and said, this feels like something ive known all my life.
i just came back to tell you that it was real.
but this isnt? she sobbed
this is too. its all been real.
he led her by the hand into her and charles's bedroom. they lay down together on the bed and he told her the story of the time they spent together, as if it were a common fairy tale.
do you know what i call that story, he asked her.
no, she said, her face sticky with tears.
how we became human, he said.
if you leave me again, she said.
youre supposed to have gotten this by now: i cant. i wont because i cant. i never have.
and they fell asleep.

when she woke up she was lying in her clothes on the bed alone and charles was opening the front door. she peered around the doorway to see if it was him, and it was, wearing the same clothes trevor had worn hours before.
hello she said.
its me, he said.
and it was.