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Lost Love
by Terry Wright
He should never have put the gun in his mouth. Like leaping off a tall building, there was no turning back. But he felt as if he were about to be healed. Squeezing his eyes shut, his darkened apartment and its garbage décor disappeared. In one last rancid breath, it would all be over. Bam! Bam! Bam! His eyes blew open. “Mr. Evans,” a woman’s voice rang out. “Mr. Lou Evans, are you in there? It’s Sally Malone.” She pounded on the door. “9News, Mr. Evans. Open up. I’ve got something for you.” He pressed his finger on the trigger. “It’s from Cynthia.” He froze. What...? Cynthia had dumped him 22 years ago, on Valentine’s Day. “The post office found it.” He jerked the gun from his mouth. “Go away!” “It’s a Valentine’s card.”
Sally stood in the hallway with Hank positioned behind her, his camera rolling. Urine and stale beer tainted the air. This was one of those down-and-out stories she enjoyed covering: Lost Love. It was perfect for the upcoming Valentine’s Day broadcast. The door creaked. An unkempt man wearing stained underwear appeared. The odor of booze exploded through the doorway. “A card from Cynthia?” he rasped. “That’s not possible.” “It’s postmarked February 14th, 1982, Loveland, Colorado.” She held out a weathered envelope for Mr. Evan’s inspection. “It was lost in the mail.” Hesitantly, he took it. “From Cynthia?” “Tell us about her.” “I don’t believe it.” “We know where she lives.” He flinched. “Why should I care?” “At least read the card. May we come in?”
Moments later, he sat with Sally at the cluttered table and glanced at the whirring camera. “Shouldn’t I get dressed?” “Never mind that,” she said, wincing as she scanned the smelly, disheveled room. “This is reality TV. Tell us what happened on Valentine’s Day, 1982.” He hoped she wouldn’t discover the hidden gun. “I gave Sam a Valentine’s card to give Cynthia for me.” “Sam...your best friend.” Lou lit a cigarette, trembling. “He told me Cynthia didn’t love me anymore. I started drinking. My life went downhill from there. I never saw them again.” “If she didn’t love you, why did she send you a card?” Puzzled, he looked at the yellowed envelope, opened it slowly. There were hearts and flowers and Cupid’s arrows inside, and Cynthia’s beautiful handwriting: “Why don’t you love me anymore? Sam told me. Please say it isn’t true.” The cigarette dangled from his lower lip. “Sam?” Sally leaned forward. “Cynthia never received your card.” “Sam?” “He tore it up. When you didn’t reply to her card, she believed him; you didn’t love her.” “But I did. The post office screwed up.” Lou shot out of his chair, sick from alcohol and adrenaline. “I must see her.” “You can’t,” Sally said. “She and Sam are married. It’s the perfect Lost Love story.” The camera zoomed in on Lou’s stricken face.
“Wrap it up, Hank,” Sally said. “Poor man.” They left him slumped at the table. Outside, she shut the door and made it two steps down the hall. Bang!
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