Sweet is the Juice, Soft is the Flesh

Most are familiar with the classic Shakespeare story of Romeo and Juliet – boy loves girl, girl loves boy. Great, they can go build a life together, right? Wrong – boy’s family doesn’t like girls family. So the two kids craft and execute an elaborate plan sans communication where the girl pretends to be dead, and upon learning that girl is apparently dead, boy assumes she is certainly dead and then kills himself. When she wakes up and finds that the boy is dead, girl also kills herself.

Let’s not forget that Juliet is apparently 13 and this is a tragedy from back when lifespans were a lot shorter. Nevertheless, it was written somewhere that if this is the ideal love story, no wonder the world is so screwed up. That sentiment was real food for thought.

Why are we so into stories like Romeo and Juliet, Bonnie and Clyde, or the Notebook – stories where the girl and guy can’t be together and so they do tragic things like commit suicide, go on a killing spree, or form new relationships only to come back together and hurt others in the process?

Forbidden love is fraught with lust and poor impulse control. Sickeningly soft and sweet like pears, until someone finds a kid rotting under the pear tree after being poisoned. Rather than forbidden love, this is the story of how a toxic relationship can result in certain death.

It was a hot day. They were supposed to meet in the park, next to the bell tower. She wasn’t certain about this man. He seemed both honest and cagey – as though he only shared things in sudden, scary bursts but otherwise shared nothing. His approach was not a dance but that of a lurking viper – striking without receiving. Still, she waited, as this was the kind of person that interested her at the moment – the disposable kind where nothing could or would be built since she wasn’t in the mood for that.

He showed up sweaty and in athletic wear. He was photogenic, but not as attractive in person – the beard and vibe reeked of misrepresentation. “Can we go to Wal-Mart?” he asked as he got in her car.

Erm, what a weird place to go with someone you just met on a date, she thought. “Okay, I guess” is what she said instead, making sure that she had access to all the important parts of the car in case she needed to defend herself. Once there, they walked around the Wal-Mart some, and she took him home. She went home herself, feeling extraordinarily perplexed and annoyed. Usually, her first dates bought her dinner or at least coffee or a drink, and resulted in small talk; maybe deeper conversation or intimacy if the mood was right.

She went to bed and got a message from him that she ignored for a few days. Some fluffy stuff. But after a few weeks she felt like going out again and they met up. Over time even though it’d only be once a week or month, he ended up in her life. He didn’t want to meet her friends or family, and didn’t care for her spending time with them – another thing she found perplexing and she’d go spend time with them anyways.

Over time, he started dropping comments about her weight – at 135 pounds and 5’5”, she didn’t think she was anywhere close to fat, even if the most reasonably critical person could say she didn’t eat the best or exercise at all. Nevertheless, she started working out and dieting, and felt awful. He would tell her he’d make dinner and never make it so she’d be starving.

Eventually, she wanted to part ways with him. Instead, he just showed up at her home and moved in. After a few days of going to work, school, and home to find nothing cleaned or done and no help with bills, much less pleasant company, she found herself feeling like a zombie. Wishing for the relief of death, she sat down under the pear tree.