"The Unbearable Weight of Love" by Desiree Kendrick—Our December 2022 Silver Medal Winner

Desiree is our second place winner from the contest posted in our December 2022 issue!

What the judges had to say:

“Great imagery and tension in the story.”

“Vladimir Nabokov’s “Lolita” is (either deliberately or coincidentally) evoked by the obsession of a teacher with his student. It’s also an ironic reversal of traditional power dynamics: brilliant! Just as impressive here is the mastery of dialogue and a clear, concise writing style.”

“The author has strings of tension throughout...This is a very well-written and complicated story, and sends a shiver down the reader’s spine. The title is a good one and is made more weighty by the context behind it.”

Meet Desiree

Desiree’s writing has been published in literary magazines in Canada, the US, and the UK. A list of her publication credits can be found on her website at www.desireekendrick.com/published-work. She loves to travel (except in a pandemic). She always jots in her travel journal, where you will find more than one humourous tale recorded in old-fashioned ink.

The Unbearable Weight of Love

read Desiree’s unedited story

A snappy Beatles tune bounced off gritty subway walls moving the mob through the tunnels like a choreographed ballet. Jon tossed his percussion of coins into a red velvet guitar case. Everyone needed love, including the busker.

Above ground, commuters dodged puddles and wet dogs on leashes avoided people. Neon signs flashed in store fronts. Jon paused under an awning and opened his umbrella. A sulphuric odour hung in the air. He stroked the glove in his pocket. Bliss emerged. He presumed her skin was cashmere soft. Her elongated neck deemed perfect for nuzzling.

Across the street, Hailey limped up her apartment stairs. She was oblivious to the weather. Her feet bled from blisters. No hazard pay existed for waitressing in three inch heels. All afternoon she’d forced a smile when serving customers. “Talk up the drink specials,” instructed her manager. “If some hot shot gets flirty, banter back. The tip is worth it.” Her inner convictions screamed ‘good service shouldn’t be linked to her appearance’. Yet, job security was cinched with skin-tight Lycra and a push-up bra. If only she could quit. Student debt held her hostage.

With today’s shift completed, she collapsed on her sofa. A hypnotic melody played as raindrops pinged the windows. Convocation was a month away. Grad school was within reach. ‘You should consider a Master’s degree,’ her history professor had suggested one day, when she served him at the diner. She found Professor Dalton an odd character, ideal for a Harry Potter movie dressed in his English tweed jacket and oxford shoes. At least she’d aced his course.

Standing across the street, Jon gripped his umbrella tighter as her lights flickered. Soon she’d fuss in her kitchen, opening cupboards and disappearing from view occasionally. He knew the routine well. A sliver of light escaped the bedroom curtains. His view was obstructed but Jon imagined her disrobing in Hollywood slow motion fashion, with each article floating to the ground. Today he added a soundtrack to his cinematic vision. All You Need Is Love played on repeat in his head. Three years was an eternity to love from afar.

Their diner exchanges were benign. Her ‘What can I get you?’ often followed by his, “Everything and anything. What do you recommend?” He’d fixate on her lips, wishing he could kiss away the plum lipstick. Over time, he asked her opinions on topics discussed in class. She’d light up. Her eyes an intriguing shade of brown. His palms frequently sweat and he wondered if she guessed his intentions.

Jon adjusted his trench. He should keep walking. His condo was five blocks away. She had no reason to distrust him. He rewarded her hard work with honours. Her self-assurance was equally evident; when asking questions in the lecture hall and serving food orders while balancing in stilettos. His confidence was stuck between the yellowed pages of professional conduct.

The subway rumbling nudged him towards her building. He caressed the glove again before sniffing it. The jasmine fragrance was intoxicating. He craved the scent on his flesh. A speeding car splashed him. His shoes were caked with mud and indecision. Without a plan he pressed her buzzer.

Hailey unplugged the whistling kettle before answering the intercom. Panic raced through her veins. Who would drop by at this hour? Barefoot, she peered out the peephole. “Professor Dalton, this is a surprise,” she said greeting him.

“You dropped your glove,” Jon replied, extending his hand.

“Gee, thanks. You’re so kind. How did you know where…?”

“I live in the neighbourhood. We take the same train. It’s chilly tonight.”

She opened the door wider. “Care to warm up? I’m making tea.”

He stepped inside and water pooled on the tile. “Any summer plans?”

“Nothing solid.” She hung his trench on a hook. “I need a real job. I’m waiting for acceptance into grad school. My first choice is moving to the east coast.” Hailey hobbled to the kitchen and he followed.

He balked at losing her. “There’s something I should tell you,” he said, his voice raspy.

She tipped her head, mesmerizing him with the same inquisitive eyes he found alluring. Wet tendrils framed her young face. Her yoga pants and sweatshirt implied relaxation. His body stiffened, tormented by her beauty and his wavering.

Joining her at the table he contemplated a confession. “Grad school is tough but you’ll excel. I’d be happy to stay in touch as a mentor.” He swallowed hard, burning his tongue on the tea. Disclosing his truth would alter her view of him forever.

Hailey held his gaze. “A friend too, I hope? I always enjoyed your classes.”

Jon nodded. He considered pulling her into his arms, devouring her lips and admitting he’d admired her for years. It was a slippery slope between stalking and carrying the burden of his genuine affection. Jon cursed his inability to articulate his feelings. By his own definition he was possessed, drowning in the abyss of a secret love.

“A street performer played in the subway tonight,” she said. “I can’t get the tune out of my head but the song title escapes me.”

“Maybe he’ll return tomorrow.”

“Those guys are courageous, earning a living with cover tunes. I don’t even sing Karaoke.” She laughed that carefree giggle he adored.

“When I toss my spare change I imagine I’m throwing coins into a fountain for good luck.”

“Oh, that’s cool. What do you wish for?”

He played with the rim of his mug. “I wish… for the unbearable weight of love to be lifted.”

“Professor Dalton, I didn’t peg you as a romantic.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

Hailey rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it! I hate my work uniform.”

He studied her face. Now wasn’t the time to make a confession. He’d wait. Watch. Listen. Absorb her joie de vivre. She was a free spirit. He was shackled to his fantasy. He’d continue flicking coins and clinging to hope. So be it.