Page 58 of Error Handling

She said, “Yes.”

Those words catapulted us into a six-year relationship, one I was sure would last a lifetime, and yet, she eventually rejected me for the reasons I initially feared. I was just an Ag kid. A student of skilled trades. Not college material, and thus not husband material.

Allison received a full-ride scholarship to the College of the Ozarks, a two-hour drive from Blackville. Nevertheless, we maintained our relationship while I worked in Blackville as a roofer in the summers and as an apprentice in my uncle’s electrical business during the cold months. We stayed in contact over Facetime and texts during the week, and every weekend that I wasn’t working, I drove to Point Lookout and stayed in a hotel just off 65.

When she moved off campus, I stayed with her and her three roommates. A better man might have slept on the floor, but I slept with Allison in her twin bed, snuggled together after an evening of quiet intimacy.

As a Christian girl, going to a Christian college, she’d been adamant about not having sex before marriage. I respected her wishes and never pushed her past her boundaries, but as time wore on, she became less and less inclined to follow the Biblicaladvice instilled upon her by her parents, and as a young man, I hadn’t been able to resist her invitations.

We had spoken about marriage by this time and Allison had reasoned that we were going to be made one by our marriage vows eventually, so if she was sinning, it was a small sin that would later be made right.

I had every intention to make it right. On the night of her graduation ceremony, I escorted her to a nice dinner theater in Branson, and then I took her to the dock at North Beach Park and got down on one knee.

She looked at me with those round blue eyes, eyelids blinking away tears as they formed, tears of joy I assumed, and she said, “I can’t.”

I didn’t think I’d heard her correctly.

“What?” I said although tendrils of shock were already curling around my heart.

“I’m sorry, Chris. I’ve thought about it, and I can’t.”

I stood reluctantly with the ring box now teetering in my hand. “Why? We already talked about this. I thought—”

“I know, but I’m going to law school and you’re still roofing houses and doing things with electricity.”

“I’m an electrician’s apprentice.”

“I know, but I think... We’re just going down different roads. I feel like the more I further my education the farther and farther apart our priorities will be. I’m afraid we just won’t have anything in common in ten years.”

The tendrils of shock successfully penetrated my heart and made my blood run cold, giving me goosebumps despite the warm evening breeze.

“Can’t we talk about this?”

Allison shook her head. Her blonde curls bounced against her cheeks which were now wet with tears. Why was she crying? Shouldn’t I be the one shedding tears? But my tear ducts weredry. Dead. A precursor to the emotional deadness I would feel for the next year.

I drove her home in silence, collected my things, and then made the two-hour trek back to Blackville.

I haven’t been physically back to Point Lookout since, but my mind has traveled there countless times, replaying the intimate moments we’d spent, the late-night talks, the discussions about our future that never came to fruition.

The final blow occurred three weeks after our breakup. I learned from my best friend that Allison was already dating someone else, a fellow college student. They were both set to attend law school in Indianapolis during the fall semester. The truth was obvious, but I didn’t want to believe it. So, I did what I promised I wouldn’t do. I dialed her number. For some reason, she answered.

“Hi Chris,” she said in a reserved tone.

“You were cheating on me.”

“No. I wasn’t. I promise. We were just friends. We had all our classes together.”

“How does that work? You just happened to have all your classes together?”

She was quiet. Again, I knew the truth, I just didn’t want to believe it. She’d adjusted her schedule along with this other guy, this “friend,” so they could see each other twenty-four seven, except on weekends when she faked her devotion to me.

“Why didn’t you just break up with me? I bought you a ring. We said we were getting married, having kids, settling down in Blackville.”

I could hear her crying on the other end. More fake tears.

“It wasn’t easy, Chris. None of this has been easy!”

And now I was supposed to feel sorry for her? Not happening. “It wasn’t easy to cheat on me while using me for sex?”