Two lives, two girls, two ribbons, one choice. He had to cut out one of them; he had to choose one girl and one alone. They stood before him, eyes pleading, tears glistening, hair streaming down their backs, slightly ruffled by the wind. One step to the left and he would choose Juliette, pretty Juliette with her long brown hair. Always immaculately dressed, always planning her every move, selfish…but loving and vulnerable; she was the ribbon that held him to his past. On his other side was Bridget, the ribbon connecting him to his possible future. Beautiful, fun-loving, blonde Bridget, smart, witty and generous. Independent yet…so willing to let him in, so willing to let him take care of her. They were so completely different, but he loved them both. He had to cut one ribbon and the girl he cut would be left bleeding, open to self-destruction. But if he didn’t cut one, then they would both steadily fray until they broke and then all three of them would bleed.
He took one step backwards and they took one forward. Their eyes always stayed on him, one set brown and cold, but filled with need, another set blue and alive with fire and passion. What could he do? They both needed him…but who did he need more?
Juliette now spoke, her clear voice commanding, used to authority, expecting to be obeyed. And that would be how life would be with her, always having to obey, and thus far he had had no problem with that. He hadn’t minded letting her choose things if it made her happy. Once again he nearly took that step to the left, to the familiar and the predictable, but then Bridget spoke. Her low, persuasive voice was vibrant with emotion, suppressed tears, pain and betrayal. And every word she spoke was like a knife. It reminded him of all the promises he had made to both of them…all the promises that he had to break because he couldn’t keep them. A mantra began to beat in his brain. Juliette or Bridget? Bridget or Juliette? It was as if he could see their self-control breaking…as if he could see the fibres of the ribbons breaking one by one, agonizingly slowly.
Bridget stretched out her hands, always ready to let him see her emotions, to let him in, but he felt Juliette withdrawing, preserving her dignity. Suddenly he knew, he knew who could survive without him; he knew who he could survive without. Slowly, deliberately, he looked at each girl, taking in every detail. He would remember every memory, cherish every memory, the good with the bad, because all those memories were part of him and made him who he was. He looked his apology at her and then purposefully stepped to the right.
Juliette gasped, and the tears rushed down her face unchecked. It took everything he had not to run to her and hold her and tell her everything would be all right. Because everything would not be all right. He had chosen and one would be hurt, but Juliette was part of his past. She had moulded him into what he was, but that was before. If he picked her now he would always be stuck in the past and he would never try anything new, go anywhere new, meet anyone new. But Bridget…she was his future. She was the door to a whole new world that would make him a new person. She was like the sun to him with her energetic, never tiring personality. She rushed into his arms, all the tension invested in her seeming to simply melt away. He locked his arms around her tightly, never wanting to let go. Nevertheless his joy was tempered by sorrow as he met Juliette’s drowning chocolate eyes.
