Kronikles of Karla

Karla seemed a woman who was neither here nor there. But, if you asked her where her mind was, she would only shrug. Everything she did, was done with a certain detachment. When she looked at you it was never eye to eye. It was as though she was looking at someone or something just behind you, and off to one side. And she seemed always just out of arm's reach. We roomed together in a small apartment a few blocks away from campus. It worked for both of us, in a financial sense, and that was about all there was in this relationship I had with her. Actually, relationship would be too strong a word. We co-existed. I knew about as much about her as I would know about a random stranger passing on the street below. The more removed she was, the more determined I was to know her. I even would poke around in her room while she was out, looking for clues. Not a very nice thing to do. But it was beginning to drive me crazy. Especially when we both were there in the apartment together, with nothing shared other than the air we breathed, and the walls oround us.

I worked on ways to provoke interaction. For the most part, these were ridiculous failures. Like today, when I came in, she was sitting in the easy chair reading a book. "Hi, what are you reading?" "A book." she said, without looking up. "I was thinking about making a quiche." I said. " Do you like quiche?" She nodded yes, and turned a page in her book. "OK, then, I'll get started on it." I said, as I walked toward the kitchen. I felt like pulling my hair out...or hers. Well, no that wouldn't be right. She can't help the way she is, I guess. But, why? It was beginning to create a certain bitterness in me that I didn't want to feel. So, I would try to make lists of things I liked about her. She always is on time with her share of the rent and the utility bills. She doesn't just leave it up to me to take the garbage out. She does her part in keeping the place clean. I don't think she has ever even looked into my room. I wished she would. Then I wouldn't feel so bad about how often I go into hers when she isn't around. I do like red heads, and she has red hair. So, that's another thing I like. And 'Karla', I like that name. It has an air of mystery about it somehow.

One day, I was sitting on the side of her bed looking around. There was little there to tell me much about her. I laid my head back on her pillow. If she walked in right now, she would probably turn around and leave and never come back. Maybe that would be for the better. That's when I felt it. A small book under her pillow. I pulled it out. It was a journal. I opened it slowly, almost afraid to look. The first page said simply, 'The Story of Karla'. On the second page was a quote:

"I find myself regarding existence as though from beyond the tomb, from another world; all is strange to me; I am, as it were, outside my own body and individuality; I am depersonalized, detached, cut adrift. Is this madness?"
-Henri Frederic Arniel, 1880

I had goosebumps up and down my arms. I turned the page. It had a date some two months back, and then in the middle of the page, a big check mark. The next page was the same, and the next, and the next, and so on, all the way up to the present day. The remaining pages were blank. I took a deep breath and let it slowly out, as I slid the book back under her pillow and left.

I walked down to the pub and got a draft and sat down by a window, lost in thought. Jake and Kenny strolled in. Two guys I played b-ball with occasionally. "Joey!", Kenny shouted slapping me on the back. They got a couple of beers and pulled up to the table. "What's been goin' on, man." Jake said, as we clinked glasses. "Not much, really." I said. Kenny chuckled, "Yeh, ever since our Joey here moved in with that hot chick, we haven't seen him on the courts lately. Did you notice that, Jake?" "Now that you mention, it, you're right" Jake said. "Come on, Joey, give us the juicy details. What's Karla like? I'll bet she's hot in bed, am I right?" He clicked glasses with Kenny. "There's not much to tell, really." I said with a shrug. "OH! Oh!" Kenny said, pointing out the window. "Check...it...OUT!" I looked out the window. It was Karla across the street walking down the sidewalk toward the apartment. "OK, Joey", Jake said, "Let's have it. What's she like? I mean, really? You can't tell me you don't have your hands all over that!" I shook my head, "No, It's not like that." Oh, you are such a liar!" Kenny laughed. "OK, I'll tell you. I was in the record store the other day, and I saw this poster. And I thought, 'That's Karla to a T." "What poster?" Kenny asked. It was a poster of a woman, and she's sorta staring off at the sky. And beneath it, it said, "Please don't interrupt me, while I am trying to ignore you." Jake made a face. "Ooh, that's cold, man! You mean Karla's a bitch?" "I shook my head no. "No, she's not a bitch." "What then?" Kenny asked. "Is she into girls?" "No." I said. "Look, guys, I really don't want to talk about it right now." I got up to leave. "You are doin' her, aren't you? You are!" Jake laughed. I shook my head no, and left.

When I walked into the apartment, I was both surprised and relieved she wasn't there. I could tell she had been there, though. I could smell her recent presence in the air. I walked into her room, and once again, looked at her journal. The past few days looked like all the pages before. A big check mark in the middle of the page. And then, I came to today's entry. It said, "Have you learned anything yet?" I didn't know if she was talking to herself, or whether she was on to me. Down at the bottom of the page were more words written upside down. I turned the book upside down. It was a quote, once again. "I now realized the Importance of Being Earnest" - Oscar Wilde.
I found myself in love with her, even though, I didn't know who she was.
Karla sat in her room with her hands over her ears. Today was her 10th birthday, and her parents were downstairs fighting again. Shouting horrible things at one another. She turned on her radio and increased the volume, hoping to drown them out. But it was no use. She ran down the stairs and screamed at them. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" Her father glared at her with an expression that seemed monstrous and frightening. She ran back to her room and shut the door, and threw herself on the bed covering her face with the pillow trying to stop her sudden sobs. After awhile the shouting and screaming stopped. She sat up and turned the radio off and listened for any sign of them downstairs. Nothing. Then the jarring sound of the front door slamming shut. Then just complete and utter silence. She stared down at her lap, wringing her hands nervously. She heard her father revving his truck in the driveway. Then the squeal of tires. Then nothing. She stood and went to her door and slowly opened it. "Mommy?" she called in a small voice. Again, from the top of the stairs. "Mommy?" She took the steps slowly, one hand on the wall, listening intently. "Mommy?", she called as she stepped slowly into the hallway. "Mommy?" She peeked timidly into the living room. Her mother was lying on the couch. "Mommy?" She walked across the room slowly. Her mother's eyes were wide open and unblinking. Her neck seemed a livid red. Her head cocked at a grotesque angle. She sat down in the big rocking chair near the fireplace. The chair her mother used to rock her to sleep in when she was little. She stared at the charred blackened litter of burnt wood. There hadn't been any fires there for quite awhile. She gathered some kindling and a cord of wood and made a fire and stared at it for some time. She got a blanket from the closet and covered her mother with it, then picked up the phone. She called 911. "What is the emergency?" a voice said. "It's not actually an emergency." she said quietly, "My mother is dead. Yes, I'm sure. My daddy killed her. No, I don't know where he is. He left." She sat back down in the rocker and stared at the fire.

Somehow, my impatience about Karla lessened, along with my expectations that we could possibly become friends, or even more. I knew there must be something deep-seated that led to her coldness. Not even a beautiful sunny Summer day could melt it. I felt an ambiguous empathy for her, but hadn't a clue how to help her out of some dark hole she had fallen into. One day as I came into the apartment, I heard her crying in her room. In a way, I was almost happy to hear it. It was the first display of emotions I had known her to express. I stood by her door and listened for a minute, then said, "Karla, are you OK?" She didn't answer, but it seemed her crying diminished and softened. "Are you OK?" I repeated. "Not really." she replied. "Can I come in?" "I guess so." she replied. I opened the door and looked at her sitting on the side of her bed holding a box of tissues. I didn't say anything as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "What's wrong?" "I don't know. I was just remembering something." she said. "Something sad, I guess?" She nodded and looked up at me. "I wish I was brave like you." she said. "Like me? I'm not so brave." "Yes you are. You are really brave." she said. "What makes you think I am brave? Can I sit down?" She nodded. "Because you are always nice to people." she said. "I don't know," I said, "I don't think it takes much courage to just be nice to people." "For me, it does." she said. "For me it's a scary thing." "Why is it scary, Karla?" I asked in a soft voice. "Because, when you are nice to people, then they like you. And when they like you, you like them back. And then one day, they are gone." "Did you lose somebody, Karla? Somebody you really cared about?" She put her face in her hands and nodded as she began to cry again. I put my hand lightly on her back as I handed her the tissues. I couldn't believe she was letting me get this close to her. I gently rubbed my hand across her back. "You don't have to tell me, Karla. But, I would like it if you would." Then she began to talk. It had all begun when she was 10 years old. As she told me the horrific details, I realized she was telling me as well, about her fear of ever being close to anyone again. She suddenly burst into tears again. I put my arm around her and she turned to me burying her face against my chest. I held her for a long time like that as she let it out. "Karla, can you see how brave you are right now? To allow yourself to re-live that day? To tell someone else of that day? To mourn? To cry? To let me hold you?"

Things got better for Karla in the days that followed. I heard her laugh for the first time. We took on cooking as a hobby. And took turns cooking for each other. We held hands and leaned on each other watching tv in the evenings. We talked about all kinds of things. We kissed. We slept together. We took walks in the park. And we bought a puppy.

The End