Love and death

For Ghassan

This is a story of love gone wrong and murder.

They met in New York on the 46th floor of the World Trade Center. He was visiting his cousin and asked to be introduced. As he was in town for a short time, she impulsively accepted his dinner invitation, canceling previous plans.

At lunchtime, she went downstairs to buy a different top and accessories to change the look of her suit, so she could meet him, straight from work.

At dinner at Maxwell’s Plum, a bouquet of colourful balloons magically appeared at their table. Lively conversation, dinner and a bottle of wine later, they were off to the Angie Dickinson movie “Dressed to Kill.” Afterwards, they went dancing at New York, New York. Still, neither wanted the night to end. A moonlight stroll along the East River; a sunrise breakfast at a 24-hour diner.

After that first blush of love many many such nights followed, in New York and San Francisco; in Santa Clara and Las Vegas; in Tucson and Amman. They were a striking young couple: he with black hair and brown eyes; she a blue/green-eyed blonde. Their relationship was tempestuous, filled with passion and energy; with jealousy and anger.

He was the kind of man who needed to be the center of attention wherever he went. In a supermarket, he’d sing opera arias and toss groceries into stranger’s carts, suggesting with a smile, “Here, try this! It’s the special of the day!” And no one got mad; they’d smile and shrug good-naturedly and continue on their way. Sometimes they’d even buy that “special of the day.”

At a movie theatre, he told the ticket clerk they’d been there earlier, given her the tickets, then decided to “take the kids home.” When she replied, “Oh, yes, I remember you!” the woman had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

At an Italian restaurant in San Francisco’s Ghiradelli Square, he told people at a table nearby that they were on their “butter moon.” They thought he was Italian (he was always wearing clothes from Milan) and laughed at his misuse of the term “honeymoon.”

At a concert, he regaled people with stories of their four (imaginary) children; of how she was a famous journalist and so preoccupied with her work, she sometimes couldn’t remember her children’s names. He said all this with a wink and a smile, in such an earnest way that everyone would be taken in; caught up in his childlike enthusiasm and the joy of the moment. She was exasperated, but couldn’t help joining in the laughter.

Wherever they went, a scene ensued. At a friend’s party he had two beers - he never could handle liquor - and flirted with a thin brunette with waist-length hair. The woman poured a drink over his head, then locked herself in a bedroom and refused to come out. Yet wherever they were, if the Chris Cross song Sailing was played, he’d break off any conversation; stop whatever he was doing to find her and whisper how much he loved her; that he’d been waiting for her all his life and was so thankful she’d finally appeared. And that song followed them wherever they went.

Once they were driving in Santa Clara when he suddenly stopped the car, kissed her and said, “I’ll be right back,” then ran up the stairs to an apartment building. She saw a beautiful brunette open the door and let him in. She waited, fuming, for ten minutes; for fifteen minutes. She refused to give him the satisfaction of going after him. When after twenty minutes he returned with some lame explanation, she was so furious she couldn’t speak, other than a terse “Take me home now.”

Before he’d even turned off the ignition, she was out of the car, racing up the stairs to their friend’s apartment. She locked the door behind her and ignored him pounding on the door. She opened the refrigerator and filled a glass with ice cubes, her hands trembling. He climbed across to the balcony and banged on the glass door; still she refused to open it. She drank an entire glass of Tab, shaking with rage. And for the first time she understood how people could be driven to kill in moments of passion, because if she’d had a gun, she would have shot him then and there. He pushed all her buttons; awakened dangerous emotions she never knew she had.

Finally she calmed down, enough to let him in the door and listen to what he had to say. But something in her snapped; she couldn’t live like that any more. She had to get back to New York, back to the “real world” of work. He was too much trouble; too demanding. Like a small child, he needed constant attention. It was exhausting and draining dealing with all his self-created dramas; his round-the-clock neediness. She needed to find herself again.

Still, they found it hard to say goodbye. They were drawn back to each other time and time again, the magnetic pull of explosive chemistry stronger than reason.

One New Year’s Eve she was in New York, he in Seattle visiting his sister. He phoned her several times during the night, with each call making less and less sense. She couldn’t understand what he was saying, finally asking him if he’d been smoking something. He denied it, but she knew something was wrong. She told him it was just “too hard” to keep doing this and that they really should call it quits for good. He said he loved her and wanted her to be with him. She said she loved him too, but they’d be better off apart. She couldn’t think straight with him around; his neediness consumed all the oxygen in the room.

A month later, she heard from him again. He said he was going to stay with his family in Amman and figure out what to do next. The conversation was loving, tender, bittersweet tinged with regret. It was the last time they spoke.

Four months later she was traveling when her best friend reached her with the news. His family had tried to find her to cushion the blow. At 28, he’d been murdered, shot three times in the head, his body dumped on a mountain overlooking the University of Jordan. For a moment, all the breath left her body. She envisioned the look on his face; his terror as he faced his killers. She'd seen that look once before, when riding the Roosevelt Island Tramway high above the 59th Street Bridge in Manhattan. He'd had to close his eyes to endure it.

For days she wept for the loss of such a bright spirit. She blamed herself for not being more understanding; for not helping him find a way out of the periods of depression that sometimes clouded his judgment.

He had known his killers. They’d come to his family's business and taken him away in a car. He, the well-dressed Italian-suited bon vivant, left his jacket behind, expecting to return. His killers were never brought to justice, despite an intensive investigation by police and the Muhabarrat (secret intelligence).

And what of the woman? She found love again. But he haunts her dreams.

Read more Sunday Scribblings here.

Comments

[GeL(Emerald Eyes)]

magnifique

[Wenda]

Thanks for sharing this, Tara. I am moved now and I imagine I will be haunted for some time to come.

[Cookie]

Oh I just loved this story and the way you told it. I was enthralled. Thank you so much for sharing your first love with us. Just Wonderful.

[Hundred and one]

Oh my goodness Paris, what a riveting story. I'd kept your post aside to savour quietly and only just found the time today but I am glad I did. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Now the only question I have is, is the woman you?
P.S. You don't have to answer that, but I am so pleased she found love again.

[Dani]

You made me see the whole story without giving a long background history. Good job!

[Shannon (Sentimental)]

I love love loved that. It was beautiful, riveting and made me want to read and know more.

[boliyou]

a riveting and tragic story, very well-written.

[verity]

Wow, this is such a moving, compelling, haunting story, so beautifully told. It's going to stay with me for a long time.

[mikim]

Wow, how tragic this story is, but how elegantly told.

[lapagefrancaise]

Wow. This is an amazing story! So heartfelt and so well written, it gave me shivers

[joy]

Wow! Very vivid! As always...I love your writing!

[papyrus]

Wondeful. This story had me hooked from first to last. You really succeded in getting inside this woman's head and heart. Thanks.

[Catalina]

This is really a story for a movie.......so real, and so unreal.....like a lot of everyday stories..Very well written! Are you a writter?

[tinker]

This is so vivid and so heartwrenching...I read it yesterday and was left literally speechless by its passion and poignancy. Even now, after reading it a second time, I struggle to find the right words to honor your courage (and eloquence) in sharing this with us. I hope it's of some comfort that your story in memory of him, has now touched so many...

[Kim G.]

Wonderfully written. Moving and heartwrenching. Thanks for sharing this part of your history with us.

So glad you found love again!

[Colette]

A poignant story so beautifully told. I really felt it all -- I suffered a similar, violent, loss.

Hugs to you.

[liz elayne]

oh my dear...this story is incredible. i felt like i was right there with them through it all...and that moment when she would have heard the truth of his death...oh my heart aches for her in that moment. this would be a wonderful longer story...i want to know more details - all of it! blessings to you and this girl in the story...

[Rhiannon]

Excellent and wonderfully written

[Erica]

good god! i know all too well that "magnetic pull of explosive chemistry stronger than reason" ......quite the story....it would haunt me, too.

[Marilyn]

Utterly moving...poignantly powerful...beautifully told...courageously shared.

[Rebekah]

I didn't say - I should have said - your story has such power and poignancy. Thank you.

[Rebekah]

Being caught in the gravitational force of someone who is so much bigger than life brings constant moments of decision - whether to remain in that orbit or choose a path of sanity that is sustainable. The conflict between those two choices is an awful one, and must have been completely heart wrenching for "her." The knowledge that a star burning with that intensity will most surely one day burn out does not lessen the pain when the burnout (whatever the source) does occur.

[Jemima von Schindelberg]

I saw all of this completely and felt it behind my sternum.

Thanks for sharing

Jemima x

[GoGo]

I really got sucked into your writing. I could see the images perfectly while reading, forgetting it was words I was seeing in front of me.

Well done!

[mab]

your story was eloquently told...your words painted a picture that took me with you on this unique journey...thank you for such candor with your most intimate feelings.

mab

[Mardougrrl]

Simply beautifully told and expressed. Truly haunting. Wow.

[Laini]

I read this the other day, Tara, and was so moved by it, but I had to hurry away and didn't leave a comment then so I'm back. I just can't imagine the horror of something like this happening in real life, bridging that gap between what happens on the news, or in books, and what happens in our own lives. I'm so sorry for that vibrant young man's fate.

[patty van dorin]

Stumbling through blogs, I rarely take the time to read lengthly posts.

You had me hooked on the first words, I devored each line wanting to know more.

More please!!
Patty

[kristen]

I don't even know what to say, except this was beautiful and sad and so heart-felt; truly capturing what first love feels like.

[Catherine]

How beautifully you told this story. Thanks for sharing.

[amber]

I only had time for one blog today, and I am so happy I got to read this haunting story. How amazing.

I hope he gets justice someday, and you can know about it when it happens...

:)

[Jessie]

Oh boy Tara--I felt this story in my guts.

Damn.

[annieelf]

One of your stories I think, Tara, but a central one to your life. How bittersweet it all was. And magnificent.

[deirdre]

This is heartbreaking. I'm so glad you wrote it.

[Alexandra]

wowwow and wow. Striking story and even more strikingly told!

[JourneyThroughLife]

All I can say is... wow...

JTL
xxx

[diana]

Oh Tara... on the edge of my seat.... is this a chapter in the book ???? Keep writing !

[naturegirl]

Beautifully written story..I am at the edge of my seat! There were many emotions as I read the story.The young man bugged me with all his attention getting joking around but in the end I felt he lived his life with zest as though his spirit knew his time was limited. The photo very haunting!

[bella]

Heartwrenching. Moving. Tears.

[Scott]

You have the writing flair, girlfriend. But you know that. While appreciated by all here, please make sure that your talents are shared on a broader basis. When talent meets life experience, the byproduct is joyful reading.

[Ali]

By the way, is this a photo of a tea field? If so, where is it?

I recently raised funds for a tea processing plant to be built along the border of Mozambique and Zimbabwe. I visited many tea fields while designing that project, and I think they are just beautiful.

If you don't mind me asking, why is this the illustration you chose for this story?

[Ali]

My God, what a story, told beautifully despite its tragic and unjust ending. I am so sorry for the girl who had to go through this, but proud of her for being able to be strong and realize when a relationship wasn't healthy.

Thank you for being so brave and sharing this.

[Bohemian Girl]

this story took the breath right out of me.

how beautifully written.

how so very passionate.

how so very haunting.

thank you for being so brave and courageous to put it here. such things are always healing for me.

he sounded like a beautiful, tortured soul.

he knew how much you loved him. i hope that gives you peace.

xo,
boho

[jzr]

What a life you've had!! And your writing is ... I can't find the right word ... I want to read more!

[Mary Jane]

Are you the girl in this story? If so what a tragic ending to your friends life and a very difficult memory to carry. You write so well....that at moments I felt lost in a best selling novel. LOL

[Kay]

Wow.

[susanlavonne]

Tragic stories are so much easier to "appreciate" when they are fictional...poignantly written.
My favorite phrase and the crux of the tale: "chemistry stronger than reason."

[Maggie]

Oh Tara, I don't even have the words...You are so brave to dreg up these feelings and write them down. Hopefully it was healing. No matter what, I suppose it is wonderful that you experienced a love like this one.