"The Lady of the Castle"
"I can't believe you went through my phone!
John was pacing back and forth between the two rows of gravestones on a weed choked gravel path, fuming as glanced between his cell and his girlfriend. He held the phone out before him on display, as if she didn't already know what the topic of conversation was. He'd been cheating on her for months -- not with one woman but with two! -- and had been very careful at keeping his trysts secret from her. He'd feared she was getting suspicious at his unavailability at times -- those nights or afternoons when he was boning someone else -- so he'd decided it was a good time to take her on a vacation ... to prove his love, he'd hoped she would believe just in case she did know about his infidelities.
"Why the hell would you look through my phone?" he snapped.
He reared his hand back to throw the device across the cemetery but then -- remembering how much it had cost -- instead gripping it tightly (like he wanted to grip her neck) before stuffing it into his coat pocket. Of course, it had been his own fault she'd been on his phone: he'd convinced her that she didn't need the international data plan for their six days on the wrong side of the Atlantic, so when she'd needed to call home to check in, of course she'd had to use his phone, which did have such a plan.
And there it was ... right on the main screen ... the missed call indicator from Babs. Babs ... Babs! What the hell was going through his head, John thought after getting caught, that he hadn't saved Barbara's number in his contact list under a name that wouldn't raise flags? Harry's Bar & Grill or Arlington Athletic Club. Some place that she knew he frequented but from which he would never get a phone call. But no! He had to save it as Babs. Not only that but he hadn't cleared the call log, which showed that even while he was here in Southern England he'd been keeping in touch with the woman he was fucking on the side!
And, of course, there was the second woman with whom he was sleeping as well. John didn't know if that relationship had been discovered during his girlfriend's perusing of his contact list, call logs, emails, and more; and he wasn't about to ask either. Why pour gasoline on the fire, right? He grumbled to himself, "Idiot".
Still pacing back and forth, John looked to his girlfriend and wondered whether she thought he'd called her an idiot, not himself. He was going to clarify, but then ... why? He'd destroyed this relationship. She wasn't the type to deal with a cheating man. And honestly, even if she was, he had no intention of dumping either of his other lovers. John wasn't the settling down type, even if he had asked her to move in with him ... had introduced her to his parents ... had spent almost $15,000 on a vacation in the UK.
He stopped his pacing for a moment, looking off over the stones of the small cemetery. He just shook his head. Again he murmured, "What the fuck am I still doing here?"
John didn't specifically mean here in the graveyard. He actually liked this place: the graveyard itself, the South of England, all of it. He looked down to the stone at his feet. It was a replica, of course, but it still told a story. 1500 years ago, this land had been the property of a knight who likely had ruled all the land as far as the eye could see: empty rolling hills filled with sheep and goats; thick pine and juniper forests filled with wildlife; and a winding river flowing unobstructed from the hills to the distant English Channel.
That knight of long ago wouldn't recognize his lands today, of course. The city of Winchester spread out in every direction, filling the lowlands with commercial and industrial buildings and the hills -- now mostly deforested -- with homes as far as the eye could see. Hell, even the wild, free flowing river no longer existed as it once did. Now, it flowed through a concrete channel, with its clean water siphoned off in the north to service tens of thousands of residents who then pumped their waste back into the waterway in the south.
Things change: sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.
That thought caused John to turn back and look at his girl friend again. He was feeling both anger and sorrow for what had happened between them. "The B&B is still paid up for two more days. You have your plane ticket to get home. I'll call the bank to authorize you to use this..."
He pulled out his wallet, withdrew his credit card, and set it atop a grave marker. "I'll ... I'm just gonna ... I'm just gonna get outta here ... leave you to ... to do what ever you want. I'm sorry. Really, I am. But ... I can't do this."
John could have said more. John should have said more. But ... it was time to move on.
He turned and walked away into the deepening evening dark of the Medieval cemetery, knowing that she would be just fine on her own...
"I can't believe you went through my phone!
John was pacing back and forth between the two rows of gravestones on a weed choked gravel path, fuming as glanced between his cell and his girlfriend. He held the phone out before him on display, as if she didn't already know what the topic of conversation was. He'd been cheating on her for months -- not with one woman but with two! -- and had been very careful at keeping his trysts secret from her. He'd feared she was getting suspicious at his unavailability at times -- those nights or afternoons when he was boning someone else -- so he'd decided it was a good time to take her on a vacation ... to prove his love, he'd hoped she would believe just in case she did know about his infidelities.
"Why the hell would you look through my phone?" he snapped.
He reared his hand back to throw the device across the cemetery but then -- remembering how much it had cost -- instead gripping it tightly (like he wanted to grip her neck) before stuffing it into his coat pocket. Of course, it had been his own fault she'd been on his phone: he'd convinced her that she didn't need the international data plan for their six days on the wrong side of the Atlantic, so when she'd needed to call home to check in, of course she'd had to use his phone, which did have such a plan.
And there it was ... right on the main screen ... the missed call indicator from Babs. Babs ... Babs! What the hell was going through his head, John thought after getting caught, that he hadn't saved Barbara's number in his contact list under a name that wouldn't raise flags? Harry's Bar & Grill or Arlington Athletic Club. Some place that she knew he frequented but from which he would never get a phone call. But no! He had to save it as Babs. Not only that but he hadn't cleared the call log, which showed that even while he was here in Southern England he'd been keeping in touch with the woman he was fucking on the side!
And, of course, there was the second woman with whom he was sleeping as well. John didn't know if that relationship had been discovered during his girlfriend's perusing of his contact list, call logs, emails, and more; and he wasn't about to ask either. Why pour gasoline on the fire, right? He grumbled to himself, "Idiot".
Still pacing back and forth, John looked to his girlfriend and wondered whether she thought he'd called her an idiot, not himself. He was going to clarify, but then ... why? He'd destroyed this relationship. She wasn't the type to deal with a cheating man. And honestly, even if she was, he had no intention of dumping either of his other lovers. John wasn't the settling down type, even if he had asked her to move in with him ... had introduced her to his parents ... had spent almost $15,000 on a vacation in the UK.
He stopped his pacing for a moment, looking off over the stones of the small cemetery. He just shook his head. Again he murmured, "What the fuck am I still doing here?"
John didn't specifically mean here in the graveyard. He actually liked this place: the graveyard itself, the South of England, all of it. He looked down to the stone at his feet. It was a replica, of course, but it still told a story. 1500 years ago, this land had been the property of a knight who likely had ruled all the land as far as the eye could see: empty rolling hills filled with sheep and goats; thick pine and juniper forests filled with wildlife; and a winding river flowing unobstructed from the hills to the distant English Channel.
That knight of long ago wouldn't recognize his lands today, of course. The city of Winchester spread out in every direction, filling the lowlands with commercial and industrial buildings and the hills -- now mostly deforested -- with homes as far as the eye could see. Hell, even the wild, free flowing river no longer existed as it once did. Now, it flowed through a concrete channel, with its clean water siphoned off in the north to service tens of thousands of residents who then pumped their waste back into the waterway in the south.
Things change: sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.
That thought caused John to turn back and look at his girl friend again. He was feeling both anger and sorrow for what had happened between them. "The B&B is still paid up for two more days. You have your plane ticket to get home. I'll call the bank to authorize you to use this..."
He pulled out his wallet, withdrew his credit card, and set it atop a grave marker. "I'll ... I'm just gonna ... I'm just gonna get outta here ... leave you to ... to do what ever you want. I'm sorry. Really, I am. But ... I can't do this."
John could have said more. John should have said more. But ... it was time to move on.
He turned and walked away into the deepening evening dark of the Medieval cemetery, knowing that she would be just fine on her own...
