FICTION

The Rarest In The World

A love like none other

Photo by Sergey Kotenev on Unsplash

This piece is a submission to Entropy.

It wasn’t the dream she imagined. Then again, are dreams ever meant to unfold exactly as planned?

All Natasha wanted was a simple life.

Her husband, Frederick, assumed he had given her one. Knowing she liked cats, he surprised her with a rare tiger that slept in their bedroom. When he traveled for work, he knew she’d miss his incessant teasing. “It gets too quiet when you’re not around,” she complained. To fill the silence, he brought home an otter. Now an otter and a white tiger prowled their bedroom, driving her insane.

“One day you’ll come home to just one arm left of me, Frederick,” she warned her lover of fifteen years. “Your sense of humor is deplorable.”

Frederick adored her to the moon and beyond, convinced God had made her especially for him. “You’re my special piggy princess,” he teased, pulling her close. “You know I love you so much,” he whispered, kissing her forehead, nose, chin, and then her lips. “I do,” she replied, kissing him back passionately.

“But do you really know how much?” He loved to torment her with affection. He’d wake her at 2:30 a.m. just to say he needed her. “Frederick, can’t the matter wait until breakfast?” she groaned. He was a night owl; she treasured her beauty sleep. Worse, he never rose before 11. Frederick owned his time like Putin owned Russia. They were, after all, excellent friends.

“I need to be off again soon, my love, to tie up loose ends with Vladimir. Ukraine will cease fire. I’ll be back once the conflict is resolved, my piggy princess.”

“Frederick, I’ve lost weight over the past ten years. Miss Piggy doesn’t quite fit anymore.” He walked up behind her and grabbed her left butt cheek. “Oi, not a stress ball!” she said, tapping his hand. “It always will be, my piggy princess. Why lose so much weight? Are you trying to attract other men?”

She turned to him, weary as a mother minding a four-year-old. He grinned like the devil on crack. He knew her loyalty was unquestionable. She had stood by him through thick and thin when he had nothing.

They met when he was at his lowest, sleeping at the central bus station. She took pity and bought him a McDonald’s triple cheeseburger and a slice of chocolate fudge cake. To this day, he swore it was the best meal of his life. Good thing too — she couldn’t cook to save her life.

She was his savior; he told everyone he owed her his life. “She saw me when no one else did.” Even after all the money he had made, all he needed was her heart. “She is my good luck charm. I’m the luckiest man alive.”

“I saw a man down on his luck, Frederick. It could have been anyone. You know I don’t discriminate. That day it happened to be you.” She kept it real. Frederick had a way of taking things to extremes, especially with his love for her and their adopted animals. Now he was in talks to adopt a whale.

“It was destiny, my piggy princess. You were made for me, and it is my eternal duty to look after you. I promise you.” She glanced at the screaming otter clawing her leg. “Look at him. Like father, like son.”

It was the perfect evening at The Savoy. While Frederick was away, she treated herself to their afternoon tea special. She found a quiet corner, facing the window into the courtyard, journal at hand. The otter was driving her mad, and she missed Frederick with every breath.

Three weeks had crawled like a slug inching toward its destination. She could write pages of poetry about Frederick but decided it was sinful codependency. “Don’t be ridiculous, Natasha. You have far better things to do with your brain cells.”

Her Moroccan mint tea arrived. She opened her new book, a gift from Frederick—Rupi Kaur’s limited edition Wintermelon in Summer. Inside the cover, in his elegant cursive, he had written, “I know you hate Internet poetry.” Love and protect you forever, Frederick. Typical of his teasing. She rolled her eyes and turned to the glass door as a man in a suit walked in. He locked eyes, smiled, and nodded. She nodded back, then turned away.

“What are you doing right now, Frederick, my love?” She wondered, sighing as she closed the book. “Deplorable,” she muttered.

“Excuse me, Miss. I couldn’t help but admire you from across the room. May I introduce myself?” Startled, she turned to see a European gentleman of average height, grinning ear to ear. “Do I know you?”

“I doubt it.” Boldness in his tone. “I just wanted to say how enchanting you look, and the book you’re holding is the same one I bought today. Wintermelon in Summer. Great minds think alike.”

She froze. Since marrying Frederick, no man had approached her. “You look lonesome. May I join you?” Friendly, insistent. “It’s best you don’t.”

Disappointed, he nodded and walked away.

She resumed her window view, thoughts drifting back to Frederick. The distance was killing her. She missed his teasing, his tender kisses. “I hope you’re thinking of me right now, Frederick. I can almost feel you near. Be safe wherever you are.”

Natasha penned her longing into ten pages of their love story. It was all she did when he was away, brokering arms for the powerful. Not a life for the weak.

The next day, the news reported a European man of average height found tortured and mutilated beyond recognition. Beside him lay a bloodied copy of Rupi Kaur’s Wintermelon in Summer. On his chest, the letter F is carved deep in italics.

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