A Compendium For The Broken Hearted

by Meredith Miller

  *

  A few months later, the long awaited day came.

  Erina had gotten so used to Tom’s presence after classes were done that she felt his absence like a sore thumb the rest of the day. Nothing else had changed for her but suddenly the girl felt like she was a few feet off the ground constantly. If anything, she had been let off the hook lately by the doom troopers, as if they sensed her inner happiness and wanted to steer clear from it.

  At most, she had been hurled the occasional insult from time to time as she skipped past the orange lockers of her school’s long straight hallways. This particular day the entirety of Rebecca Miller’s entourage had been absent, and after school Tom had finally told her that he was ready to present her work to her. He asked if he could drop by her home and hang out for a bit and she readily agreed.

  She went back home early and got out the clothes she had been saving up: a modest but cute green dress she’d gotten only a few months earlier. At seven, as she paced around the empty house nervously (her mother was out drinking with her friends) the doorbell rang. For an instant she panicked, knowing that the Parkers, with their ability to enrol their son at St Hert’s normally, were wealthier than her own family and probably had a nicer house to show for it. Then she calmed down and told herself that she and Tom were far too close for that to come between them now. They had practically been in a relationship all along. Today would just make it formal and start the dating aspect of it.

  The doorbell rang again then and Erina skipped through the simply furnished living room to stand just behind the door, breathing deeply. In and out.

  The girl opened the door and there stood Tom, dressed smartly yet slightly casual, with a bag of snacks and soda in one hand. He smiled then and she had to resist the urge to fly into his arms right then and there before collecting herself and offering him a seat in the sofa while they “watched TV or whatever”.

  Tom insisted that he be the one to go into the kitchen and pour out the snacks and drinks while she got the TV ready. He came back with two cups of soda. “The orange one is yours.” He said, offering her the cold beverage. She drank a bit, delighting as she did at the fizziness on her lips. They sat and watched some series or the other for a few minutes, talking only occasionally and nervously.

  Tom complimented Erina’s dress and she took the compliment gladly, happy that he noticed. The whole time she sat there, the girl’s mind whirled as she fought the urge to squeal. She was practically desperate with the need for Tom to show her his figurine so she could show how...how much I love him.

  The idea struck her like a thunderbolt, but she immediately knew it was true. She loved him. She almost turned around and said it right then and there, but Erina knew she didn’t have it in her yet. What if it wasn’t mutual? They needed to stay together longer, it was too early. She can’t be creepy now, she needed to breathe. In and out.

  Tom intruded into the girl’s thoughts then. “I...have something to show you,” he said, after checking his phone a few times. The television noise became a far off piece of background. She couldn’t even focus on the screen, despite looking right at it.

  “What is it?” she asked, knowing the answer as she asked but playing along. Was this how girls in movies felt? It was as if all the happiness and tension in the world were compressed into a hot ball and placed directly in her stomach. She felt like the butterflies were going to take her right off the couch they were nestled in and fly her off into a world where only the two of them existed. Before Tom, she had been so miserable, so tired of being afraid of girls just a year older than her. Erina couldn’t believe she had let such things get in the way of happiness.

  Suddenly, the doorbell rang once more. Erina sat up straighter, surprised. Nobody usually rang at this time. However, as she started up Tom looked over to her and grinned widely.

  “It’s my surprise for you,” he said by way of explanation. The boy stood her up, told her to close her eyes, and walked her slowly and carefully towards the door. She kept her soft hands on his gruff ones, lined by working that knife of his as well as playing football. The feeling almost gave her Goosebumps.

  Erina kept her eyes closed as Tom silently opened the door, not saying a word. His hand left hers for a second before he said, “Surprise!” with glee. Erina opened her eyes, wishing as she did that this day could last forever.

  Then her hands shot to her mouth with a gasp.

  Framed in the doorway were Rebecca Miller and her entire group behind her, smiling. Two of them giggled as tears came unbidden to Erina’s eyes, blurring everything. She barely registered the buckets in their hands, filled with vile orange goo.

  Tom went smiling next to Rebecca and she scratched at his head. “Good boy, you did exactly like I said, maybe there’s hope for you after all... oh, look how surprised the poor thing is. I love it!” Her voice pierced through Erina despite coming in a soft low drawl. Her feral smile came again, almost unbidden.

  Erina blinked in order to clear the nightmare away but it only came to crystal clarity as her tears spilled. Tom pulled out a wooden figurine from his jeans. It had hair painted red, a surprisingly good likeness. He let it hang over one of the buckets for a second, and then let it go. It plopped into the stinking orange goo.

  The girl became light headed and remembered that he was the one who poured the drinks. As her world went black, she saw the black fire of his eyes as he looked at Rebecca intently, ignoring Erina entirely. He never looked at me like that.

  I wish... I wish he didn’t mean it. I wish he was tricked. I wish he’d looked at me like that.

  Story 18

  Samantha Heap was addicted, and she loved every second of it.

  When she was younger than one should remember, her parents read her the shortest of stories. Little ducklings floated around the world, and girls would eat porridge even if it was made for bears.

  These readings were often conducted by her father and mother in tandem, for they both worked jobs that had them back early. Days passed, causing Kevin and Ruth to start looking for more complex stories for her. This didn’t go well, for neither of them enjoyed reading much. However, things have a way of sorting themselves out, and words decided to make their way into Samantha’s mind at an early age.

  She started with kid’s stories, things that were still simple, yet appropriate for someone perhaps a year or two older than her. There were tales from the brothers Grimm (though not the frightening kind), things of gingerbread men and animals and butterflies that spoke, and it was all more amazing than she could have ever imagined.

  Ruth learned to keep the TV off because a story, even one she’d read before, would work as a better distraction for Sammy than anything else. As with words, glasses found their way onto the little girl’s face soon enough, and parents often called her cute because of how she looked with pigtails in tandem with her ocular accessory. She didn’t mind glasses very much at all.

  One day, Samantha burst into her parent’s room, absolutely livid. Still, she was well mannered and did not scream as many children would. “Mommy,” she informed them, “I need another name.”

  At that, Ruth had giggled, which made the little girl, who was pacing back and forth, a little mad. “And why is that, sweetheart? What’s wrong with Sammie?” she asked in a placating voice.

  “Because it’s a boy’s name.”

  “A boy’s name?” repeated Ruth, starting to understand.

  “A boy’s name. There’s a boy bird called Sammy in this book.” She showed Ruth and Kevin, who’d just returned from brushing his teeth in the bathroom. Sure enough, there it stood on the book’s cover. The adventures of Sammy Jay. In her opinion, this was a betrayal, and one that had to be straightened out as soon as possible.

  As Sammie kept pacing back and forth, she tripped on one of Kevin’s things due to how dark the room was, and fell flat on her face upon the thankfully carpeted floor. Her father immediately scooped her up in his arms and tried to coo her, but his litt
le girl’s crying would not abate.

  In a few seconds, Ruth was able to discover that Sammie was upset about having broken her glasses, and did not suffer from any physical injuries. “I can’t read any more!” Samantha cried. Husband and wife gave each other looks, and promised Samantha that from now on, they would read to her at night until new glasses could be arranged for her.

  That stopped the little girl’s tears from getting Kevin’s sleeping shirt any more wet, and she even apologized for it.

  “Oh honey,” he said, “I’m just glad you’re okay, you could draw butterflies on my shirt and it would be okay!” That got her to giggle. Furthermore, Ruth told her, as they lay on the bed, her name was Sammie for Samantha, and the bird was called Sammy for Samuel.

  “Samantha is a beautiful name, and has a great meaning,” Ruth stated, and that was almost too much for the little girl.

  Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she squeaked, “Names have meanings?”

  Both parents nodded, and after a few minutes of searching on his phone and grumbling about how complicated of a name it was (although not too loudly) Kevin announced that Samantha meant “The flower which god listens to.” Sammy eyed her flower patterned pink pyjamas in amazement. “This is the best day ever!” she exclaimed at last, hugging her parents and giving them plenty of kisses.

  That night they read her parts from “Sammy Jay” and although Kevin had researched before buying he was still slightly surprised by the contents. For the next month, Kevin and Ruth read her stories every night, and kept doing so occasionally even afterwards.

  Then came school. It was interesting because everyone seemed shy at first. Samantha took the role of a big sister, because she’d never been one before and admired such characters in stories. They always did the right thing and helped people who cried. Due to that, Sammie turned into a sort of rule enforcer in classes, and made sure that everyone played nice.

  When someone didn’t listen, like a certain big bully whose name won’t be mentioned, she would go over and give him or her a piece of her mind. The same happened when one of the girls (whose name also shan’t be mentioned, but she had long black hair and knows who she is) called poor Harry Hall dirty and didn’t want to accept the pen he offered her when she’d forgotten her own. That had been a confrontation, but Samantha had gotten her that time by telling her that if she wasn’t nice to Harry, he would give her a boring black pencil instead of a glittery pink one like she wanted. This started a long animosity between the two girls.

  Sadly, despite her abilities with books, Samantha was unable to read the future. Thus she had missed two things, the first of which was that she would stay in the same school until graduation with that girl. Secondly, Lisa Baker would not only grow up to be substantially more attractive than her, but would also eventually become her best friend.

  It happened one day in eighth grade, when Lisa and Samantha were word duelling as usual. Now, Samantha was the better when it came to an argument, but good looks had begun to play a certain role in boosting Lisa’s self confidence, and she was extremely good at finding out when a nerve is struck. Just before the two escalated things, one of the blackhead’s friends interjected and asked, “Are you going to, erm, go watch the Gatsby movie, Lisa?”

  Samantha gave the girl a strange look. “They made a movie about that?” she asked.

  “Ugh, don’t butt in, glasses. I don’t think so, Abbie. Doesn’t seem like it’s –“

  “They’re gonna blow it,” lamented Samantha, who had by now forgotten what they were arguing about. She threw her hands in the air.

  “...What?” Lisa looked lost, and Samantha thought about ignoring her and leaving to her musings, but then she told her all about Fitzgerald and the amazing work he did with The Great Gatsby. Without spoiling anything; she wasn’t godless, after all. “They’re gonna ruin it in the movie, I just know it,” she stated, and the other girl blinked twice, then allowed a strong set to go to her delicate jaw.

  “I’m going.” It was a challenge, pure and simple, and Samantha took it right on by deciding to go too.

  Needless to say, the movie was wonderful for both of them. Samantha offered a few weak hearted gripes about music interpretation and that scene where the actor (whatever his name was) had acted out a particular moment of pure rage in the book. Of course, she maintained that imagination is the best movie, and Lisa maintained that movies were wonderful. Samantha was surprised to see her rival read so deeply into the techniques used in the movie, and told her so. She didn’t think Lisa had it in her.

  “Hey, I’m not the blonde one here.” The girl countered, infuriating Samantha. Still, a friendship of sorts blossomed between a movie lover and book lover slowly over time, and by graduation the argued often but in the way only best friends could.

  Samantha noticed that Lisa turned less towards using her looks in order to make people like her, and she in turn toned things down with getting in people’s faces about things that would sort themselves out eventually.

  Then came university, and Samantha had to separate from many friends, including Lisa. The shapely hazelnut of a girl had decided to go away to film school, where she planned to learn how to be a movie director. There were some tears shed, and neither shied away from them. Samantha felt that crying things out helped to make you feel better about them later.

  Due to not being entirely sure what she wanted to study, Samantha cast her fate with the die and ended up going for business. It was interesting enough for her, and she worked at the university library on the side

  Every moment in the library was glorious. The smells, sights, and sounds that accompanied a book being opened were all amazing. Not being particularly tidy, Samantha didn’t mind at all seeing books clustered and cluttered precariously atop one another. In fact, a messy sea of books was a personal fantasy of hers, and even fit her last name: Heap.

  During that time, the girl discovered her love for bossing people around and ended up joining a number of research societies and clubs as a manager. People often listened when she said something, and Lisa had once said that her glasses made her eyes look huge and bug like, which scared people into agreeing. Samantha didn’t believe her.

  Up until then, Samantha entertained little interest in boys. She had many friends who were boys, and of course she thought highly of them, just like she did of her female friends. Nobody was going to call her a sexist.

  Still, years of reading had created what the book brandishing girl thought of as unrealistic standards in men, and despite the people who approached her being decent human beings who respected her, Samantha could not be impressed. Nobody was going to cast a patronas identical to hers, no one was going to tell his slave friend that he wears the invisible ring of gold. It was equally unlikely that anyone was going to impress her by saving the world or having a personality akin to a fiercely pacing snow leopard. She would eventually have to settle for a good enough guy, but until her third year in university, Samantha wasn’t intrigued by anyone in particular.

  This was what she thought of as she sat against a big tree trunk in one of the university’s spanning grass fields with a book on her lap one day. She looked out towards the main building, letting sunshine cause a certain sort of drowsiness more pleasant the sleep itself. Between her and that building, many groups lay upon the ground, sunbathing. Three guys were playing with a dog.

  Samantha hummed to herself pleasantly, despite being off key. Out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted a tanned girl with long black hair and waved. Lisa waved back, dressed bright as usual in a turquoise top which began startlingly to come closer as the girl came sprinting towards her friend. The two hugged.

  “It’s been SO-“

  “LONG!” said Lisa, before bombarding Samantha with a number of questions. The girl didn’t answer, because she noticed that someone else was making his way towards them. A closely trimmed beard framed his face, almost making him look clean shaven, and he walked with an odd sort of confidence,
as if he was only marginally sure of himself. The boy was dressed in one of those T shirts that parade about references, and as usual Samantha didn’t get it. She could tell that he’d come with Lisa because he was looking right at them, although he seemed slightly sheepish at the attention.

  “Come on, Jeremy!” yelled Lisa at him, making matters even worse. At that moment, the way his hair stood up might as well have been in anxiousness, and he covered his mouth with two fingers as if thinking or hiding a smile.

  Samantha leaned a bit to the right and discretely said, “I didn’t know you’d bring your boyfriend.” In fact, Samantha hadn’t known that Lisa had broken up with Phillip.

  “He’s a really good friend of mine, so play nice, okay? Well, you’ll like him, so it’s fine.” retorted Lisa, ignoring her friend’s implied question in its entirety. Samantha sighed, hoping that Jeremy Jahns, as Lisa introduced him, would play nice himself.

  The girl was impressed in five minutes despite many things going over her head, such as the triforce thing he talked about. Jeremy had a way with self deprecating humour that pointed out, quite blatantly, that he was a nerd. Still, he knew his stuff, and his stuff was movies. He read books too, but he preferred his stories to be aided by visual and audio devices, which struck Samantha as a strange step back. Somehow by the time Samantha Heap noticed it, the sun had already sunk behind the dorms. So they followed into the dorms and had interesting and provocative talks that never got too serious

  Somehow, whenever Samantha thought a certain something should be done (such as getting a large number of fizzy drinks) Jeremy would suggest the same. It seemed that he was excited to meet her too, at least a little. He suggested that they do a thing where they try to guess what books written this year would get adapted into movies, and how they would be done. He also got quite passionate when talking about video game movies, which were apparently a big thing in his life. As he spoke of character chemistry, she understood that it was exactly what they were experiencing here.

  The next day, Jeremy and Lisa left. The girls had caught up, but Samantha still promised to visit soon. She also got Jeremy’s contact details, feeling like a balloon filled with too much air and trying not to show it. It took a few months as well as a few more conversations for her to realize that she had a crush.

  Instantly, she put a lid on it, because she still maintained her ideals about romance in real life being unable to compare against what she’d grown up reading about. She was bound to be disappointed if she went down that road.

  Jeremy was nice enough, but that was it. Besides, the feeling probably went only one way.

  Of course, the feeling hadn’t gone one way, but Jeremy didn’t end up being the one to start their relationship. It was a book that started it. It had a small quote about how love was about giving, not expecting. You should give and give, without expecting anything back. In order to get a love worthy of attention, the book stated, you needed to become worthy of the love yourself.

  It didn’t take much longer after that at all, and Jeremy even ended up waving a wand at her one day and trying to conjure a glowing animal. She hadn’t even told him about it.

  They would spend long hours together, where he would rewatch movies and she would reread books in the living room, letting a lazy afternoon sunlight fill their days of haze. When they missed out on social events, Lisa and other friends would shake their heads and tell the two that they were addicted. Which was true.

  They were addicted, and they loved every second of it.

  Story 19

  If there was one thing Eve had been cursed with, it had to be kindness to the point of naïveté.

  Often the way we remember things is subjective in nature. Due to this simple fact, Eve had always been unaware of her first betrayal. She only began to notice such things far later into her life, but it must have had something to do with her parents.

  Yes, she had been promised a treat in return for going to bed early. When she had padded quietly into her parent’s room the next day, however, all the little girl got was shouts. She had skulked back into her room, a mess of PJ’s and tears and hurt.

  Naturally this was a happening of little significance to you or I, and perhaps Eve herself is unaware of its impact on her. Yet that was how this story of hers began and it would be an embellishment to claim it had happened any other way. Like a snowball rolling down a hill, this simple tale of disappointment and sadness would grow as it repeated itself countless times throughout her life.

  In kindergarten, she had given a crying child one of her toys to cheer him up. His sight in tears had stirred something deep within her even then, and she’d realized that the sight of crying children was wholly unappealing on a fundamental level. This was a kind of epiphany only possible for one so young, and so she had been pleased to help.

  Later, however, that same child kept her toy, went away and showed it to other children, leaving her crying sadly on the orange swing.

  Similar scenes had repeated themselves like incessant voices clamouring for attention: In school she had been thought of as a pretender, and her efforts to bring people together when they argued had naturally gone completely unrewarded.

  With time came no clarity, and Eve found herself always wondering why her concessions kept getting bigger and bigger. At times, the feelings had been akin to what you would get out of bribing yourself. Disgust with oneself, cheapness, hurt at how low you’ve come simply because you were willing to cut out neat little pieces of yourself and vend them out in exchange for other’s short lived satisfaction. Often, people would make up and become friends, ignoring her hard work entirely.

  Perhaps it was easier to make friends when you were loftier, she observed. Perhaps people took your willingness to give not at face value, but as weakness?

  “Evie, you need to stop this...” a friend of hers had said once, pushing back her glasses onto her face for the third time that minute. They had been sitting alone in some corner of the playground, eating sandwiches. At that time, she had been ten years old and hardly prepared for realizations of that magnitude. “They’re all saying that you’d do anything to make a friend. They’re saying you’re easy to use and stupid and desperate. I... I don’t want my friend to be like that...” What had struck Eve the most was the phrasing. Not I don’t want them to say that but I don’t want my friend to be like that.

  In time, Grace would drift off as well and Eve would become all alone for a while, at least until her parents divorced and made her move.

  During the divorce, each of them had urged her to be on their side, tried to use her against each other. Now, we all know that divorces can sometimes be difficult things for all parties involved, foremost for the married couple themselves. Sometimes feelings run hot and words go up in flame, and perhaps even animosity may ensue.

  Still, most of us are reasonable enough to agree that dragging your children into such a war is perhaps not the most fitting of plans. Her father and mother both had given her a list of things to say about their partner in court, along with why she thought it best that she not live with that particular parent in a post-divorce future.

  Being unable to do so Eve had broken down in court and told the judge that she just wants her parents to get back together. Naturally her plea went unheard.

  Later, both parents had expressed their disappointment at her outburst. Her mother had been particularly expressive, perhaps due to her situation. It might have been understandable, but to a twelve year old it couldn’t justify the things she’d said.

  In the end, her father was chosen to be her supporter and a move was scheduled. The move was certainly difficult emotionally, but to Eve that had been purely due to her having lost one of her two central pillars. By then, she had had precious few friends to lose.

  In her mind, it was her own fault that she wasn’t well liked. Self blame and guilt plagued over her everything, much like a cloud of toxicity apparent only when she sat alone in her room. Only then could metaphoric
al mustard gas reach her eyes.

  In middle and high school, the same spiel would get repeated. Eve would meet people, they would use her, they would leave. Wherever groups formed she would get ousted. Again and again she heard the word, “stupid” used to describe her.

  In order to express herself, Eve took to drawing. Landscapes and nature had been her specialty, and she found in such a hobby an excuse to take to forest parks. There she sat alone, at times for evenings at a time as she went somewhere in the hills and mountains surrounding her city. It created a sort of duality in her life, a mirror image of her own unhappy existence at school and in her own tired home.

  She especially loved drawing birds, and in them she saw a special kind of beauty. By then Jack (she had given up on calling him dad a year earlier) had tired of seeking a wife to help him raise his daughter and had moved on to shorter term relationships.

  At school , Eve’s keen sense of emotion was turning against her. She found that people became unsettled due to how in tune she was with them and how she could tell when they were feeling sad. It seemed that such people became disconcerted with her knowledge, and lashed out at her in anger. At other times, when what ailed them was known, her help and understanding were welcomed then swiftly tossed aside.

  This was the case with a boy called Robert in ninth grade. To him she was the sole companion after his grandmother had passed away. His complaints and fond memories fell on her keen ears for hours on end, and she would even draw portraits of scenes he described, much to his pleasure. When the hurt had passed, however, he began to find little excuses to meet with Eve less often, until he began to ignore her altogether.

  In a way, people began to treat Eve much like a dumpster. They would use her to unload their burdens or complaints, then turn around and leave. Perhaps it was because she offered no criticism. To her, talking to others who were in such a state was more about healing their emotional wounds than it was about fixing their problems. Only sometimes would she offer advice, choosing far more often to focus on their emotional well being either by flooding them with positive ‘pick me ups’ or by simply being there for them.

  Where people hurt, she went. Girls crying in bathrooms would find a shoulder to lean on and boys sitting alone silently after being unable to sleep would be offered candy and a smile just as sweet.

  More than anything, Eve was able to become a pillar of support for others due to her positivism and kindness: she was always able to see the best in people. In her drawings, this was crystal clear: In a drawing where both nature and people existed, everything near these humans would be enhanced. Closer to their feet reds and violets of flowers took on an almost unnatural sheen, due to an inherent beauty in people’s souls which could only be described as magical.

  In time Ever had started to believe what people said about her. She was weak, dependant, unable to defend herself because in her mind all their accusations were founded. After enough back stabbings it became difficult to draw beautiful fields. The magic began to fade, and seeing how ugly her drawings had become hurt the girl.

  Day upon day had passed with Eve being able to make some friends but being generally left out of larger groups. School went by in the blink of an eye, then college a few seconds later. In what felt like a minute, she was working as a consultant in an environmental law firm, making the most out of her ability to sympathize with others and trying to help society as a whole. Two metaphorical birds, one stone. Despite the obvious reference to the destruction of wildlife, Eve enjoyed the metaphor.

  Then she had met him. I wish I were able to speak of him clearly, to explain how he looked or what his inner personality had been like, but I cannot due to the red hot glare in Eve’s mind. If I were to describe him as she remembers, he would have nine heads and three tails and no heart. He would be as tall as a mountain and with a frail thread of a conscience. He would be a terrible monster that thought nothing of tearing villages asunder as he passed through them, and his name would undoubtedly be Beelzebub.

  To spare you the terrible experience of imagining such a beast, I will not describe him. Instead, I shall simply tell you that when Eve met him, he was nice to her. This man had a way with words that had swept her off her feet, you could call it a charm of sorts.

  Compliments have a way of getting to people who have problems with their self image, and Eve was no exception. He called her beautiful and kind and smart, and for the first time since she was a child, the woman began to believe that maybe she was.

  This faith of hers was a small kernel of hope set within a large globe of gray doubt. It was far more important to her that he believed it to be true. This person was not like other boys, who had simply wanted to use her kindness to steal kisses and had stormed off after her fearful reluctance. This was a person with whom she’d felt her frail exposed heart would be safe. Thus she had allowed her confidence and care to grow, swell even. Within a year she was madly in love and her heart was on her sleeve, a large exposed home warm enough for three set against a sky pink with the light of a setting sun. That was when her faith in people began to grow again. He needed her just as she needed him.

  During their relationship he had lost weight, grew more groomed, learned to love himself better. In time he gained promotion after promotion until he was a regional manager. During this time, she stood by him every step of the way, supporting him.

  Never had Eve been so happy to feel someone else’s emotions. The only next step was for them to move in together, and he had been reluctant. One day he had a meeting out of the country. He needed this opportunity, he’d said in the romantic restaurant he had taken her to. He wouldn’t be able to go with her to the scan that day. Despite her sadness, her wish for him to be with her, Eve had gladly agreed. Anything for him.

  And so it was that he left. He had sent an email, explaining curtly that he wasn’t coming back. He had changed, he’d said. Her lover had thanked her for everything that had lead to his betterment of situation, but he didn’t think that who he was now would be right for her. He needed something else. She was free to do as she wished with the baby.