Single In New York...
Circle of life.
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I will paint until I die.
I will write until I die.
I will sing until I die.
I will think until I die.
I will feel until I die.
I will breathe until I die.
I will love until I die.
I will mourn until I die.
I will cry until I die.
…Even if only on the inside.
—–
A new series of paintings I just finished.
“Sun.”
“Always.”
“Sets.”
The sound of silence. (An L and Calvin update.)
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As per my lawyer’s request, I have not attempted to contact L or the Ex since she has left my apartment for good. It broke my heart to think that there was a possibility that I could never see Calvin again. After all L and I went through and as much as I didn’t fully trust her again (yet) I was sad to think I might not ever see her again either.
I received a phone call from her (some time ago) shortly after she left and let me keep Calvin for a few short days in her absence. She informed me that she would be by to pick him up… permanently. It took a lot of strength to hold back the tears and lump in my throat until I could hang up with her.
Not more than three days later she called again. I was ecstatic just seeing her name on my caller I.D. I thought for sure she was going to move back in with me and bring Calvin with her. Or maybe ask that he stay with me again. But when I answered, and it was bad news on the other end; Not what I had expected.
“Calvin and I are moving back to Florida.”
“Is there anything I can do to change your mind? All of your friends and family are here. What do you have down in Florida?”
“Well, I’m moving back in with The Ex.”
My heart dropped.
Instant lump in my throat.
Sudden lightheadedness.
Lost.
“Are you guys back together?”
“Well, we decided that we needed to give it another try. Especially since we have a family together and a new addition on the way.” She neglected to tell me that part while she was living with me. I didn’t know she was pregnant again.
“Do you really think that’s the best thing for Calvin? Or you? Or another child?”
“I think it’s going to be good this time. He’s learned his lesson and knows that he can lose me and the kids in an instant if he screws up again. He’s really changed, Dean.”
She sounds so… naïve. Silly, even. The conversation didn’t seem real. Was she delusional? Did she really think someone (with a not-so-trustworthy history) could change so much in such a short amount of time? I suppose it’s possible… but probable? No.
*******
There was something about that conversation that didn’t feel right. It didn’t leave me feeling right. Was I supposed to be happy for her? Was I supposed to believe that he had changed? Changed for her and not for me? Was I supposed to think that Calvin was going to have the great life that he deserved?
I still don’t know what I believe. But I know now what I feel. I am sad for him. And sad that I will not see him grow up.
And I hate the sound of silence more and more every night that I sit at home and hope that he is happy and well-taken care of.
And I wait for the day that we might meet again.
…In A Perfect World.
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But she wasn’t always strong. She had to learn how to be strong. Because she knew no one would or could be strong enough for her. They never even offered. They didn’t even try. Just pushed her aside and left her to fend for herself. The poor little thing.
But don’t call her that. Not now. Don’t feel sorry for her! Don’t pity her or shed tears on her behalf. Because it’s too little, too late. She has been locked away in her own mind all alone. Where she was cornered and abused by monsters and demons. They tried to bring her down, make her into nothing. And keep her from moving on. And yet, she still closed herself up and stayed trapped in that crazy head of hers. And that’s the way she likes it. Because that’s all she’s ever known.
********
So when she breaks down and cries, it’s monumental. Because she doesn’t often let herself cry. Because they were not there to comfort her before, so they won’t be there now. Because while she doesn’t think other people are weak for crying, she thinks she is if she does it. Because no good can come from tears. Just dried up eyes, running noses, and wasted energy.
So when she pushes you away (if she hasn’t already, she will) it’s because she’s so scared she doesn’t even know what to do with herself. Because she knows if she doesn’t push you away she will have to open up to you otherwise. And that’s not something she likes to do. Because that means that you see it all, hear it all, know it all. The good and the bad. The logic and the chaos. And she fears that there’s more bad than good.
And pushing you away before you walk away hurts a lot less in the end.
Because walking away is sometimes the worst thing you can do to her. Because it’s all too familiar. Too familiar to that little girl inside who will secretly never get over it. Something she wishes she never experienced. But has experienced it more times than she can count. And she doesn’t know how many more times she can take of it. Before she loses it. Loses it all. And really can’t go on anymore.
Walking away from her and leaving her behind helps her justify the act of pushing people away. An art she has mastered over the years. Something she does not take pride in, will not always admit, but a crime she commits on a regular basis. Like clockwork. Yea, she’s that predictable.
Don’t feel sorry for her! She doesn’t need it. It will get her nowhere. She has made it this far without your pity and sympathy. And she will make it even further. Just to prove to them how strong she is. How much she has done, can do, and will do all on her own.
*******
Sometimes she feels comfortable in her own skin. Enough to admit this major flaw. (And other flaws. Because she has many.) Sometimes she’s sick of running and hiding from people who want to be there for her. She gets tired of pushing people away and feeling alone.
And in a certain world, a perfect one, she feels naked bearing her heart and soul on the table but not too naked where she needs to run away.
The Anti-Shoe.
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The grass blades tickle between my toes and remind of what it was like to be a kid and carefree. Sometimes they’re cold and wet and I imagine that walking on clouds wouldn’t feel much different.
The streets are flat and hot and warm my entire body with every single step sending chills up and down my spine as my feet adjust to the new temperature. What I love more than walking on a warm street is running down it. It’s almost therapeutic for me.
Something magical happens when I wander the sandy beaches. My feet pressing firmly into the soft, tiny grains of sand with hints of broken shells scattered about sometimes digging into the bottoms of my heels reminding me that not everything is perfect, not even the beach, but it is all stunning. Sharp shells or not.
*******
Months ago, as I was departing a birthday party some twenty blocks from my apartment I commented to a friend how much my shoes were killing my feet. I mentioned that I was looking forward to just taking my shoes off, letting my feet breathe, relax, and enjoy the night as much as I was.
“The sacrifices we make for fashion” was her response. It didn’t make sense to me. I want to feel beautiful, but I want my soul to feel beautiful too. And bare feet do that for me. As she and I were headed towards the door, accompanying each other on a walk to the nearest subway I removed my strappy heels, the ones I bought specifically for that dress, because they belonged together in a world where shoes and clothes should be married for all eternity. Fashion soul-mates.
“You’re crazy! You can’t walk through the upper east side barefoot. You have no idea what you might step on.” And she was right. There was no telling what objects my feet might encounter on the busy sidewalks of Manhattan (both visible and undetectable). But as dangerous as it was, I couldn’t resist the temptation to allow myself to feel free.
As we made our way the four and half blocks to the nearest subway I smiled at the thought of the cool, cement sidewalk my bare feet were pounding against. Every step was more refreshing than the last and I wished that my journey could go on forever. Passing hundreds of other pedestrians, not one even batted an eye as my shoeless feet strolled down avenue after avenue. My friend, on the other hand, couldn’t help but shake her head at what she perceived as insanity. (I don’t necessarily blame her. But I did it nonetheless.)
Feeling the sandpaper grips on the balls of my feet as I made my way down the subway staircase I wondered what the subway floors would feel like. Anxious to learn if it would be cold or warm, I lightly jogged down the steps and leaped onto the platform.
The floor was cold and smooth and I found myself lost in thought. Was it from the air conditioning that was pumping to relieve it’s passengers from the heat that suffocated the city on that still August night?
*******
I smiled serenely the whole way home.
Barefoot is bliss.
–Note–
It was not the safest thing I have done in my life. And I do not recommend it. I as lucky enough to make it home fungus and disease-free. Please do not attempt.
Why Mr. Unrealistic IS Mr. Unrealistic.
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-He lived too far away. And then he moved. And now he lives even further away.
-He is older than me. By ten years. Which doesn’t bother either of us, but I know it will bother my sometimes protective brother, father, brother-in-laws, cousins, uncles, and friends.
-He’s smart, funny, spontaneous, adventurous, caring, sensitive, artistic, creative, happy, trusting, trustworthy, honest, and engaging. Basically, going back to point #1. Too good to be true.
**************************
I thought I was going to be able to come up with more than this. And I cannot. Maybe there isn’t anymore? Maybe he’s not as unrealistic as I think he is. Maybe he’s just what I need, what we both need. And maybe I shouldn’t be scared to let people in anymore. Maybe I should let him be mine, and mine his. And maybe I should stop thinking of him as Mr. Unrealistic and starting thinking of him as Mr. Perfect. Because that’s really what he is when all is said and done.
Because he makes me smile.
And he cares about me.
We can talk about anything and everything.
For hours.
He holds me whenever he has the chance.
Calls me to say hello and that he was thinking of me.
Takes pictures of himself making funny faces and sends them to me.
Just to know that I smiled that day.
Tells me jokes just to hear me laugh.
Makes me buy a Christmas tree.
And helps me decorate it.
Loves to sit on my couch and drink hot chocolate with me.
He loves the sound of my fingers typing and the faces I make when working on my book.
Because he says he can really hear me think when I do that.
And to him, it’s beautiful.
Because he will not see his family, just to spend Christmas with me.
And I won’t let him.
(Even though I want to…)
Because family is important.
And because he tells me he’s going to marry me someday.
And that he’s never felt that way about anyone before.
And he’s already told everyone that.
Even though most of them have never met me.
He says they know he means it.
Because he does.
And even if he doesn’t mean it, it still makes me smile.
And that’s enough for me.
For now.
**************************
Mr. Perfect.
Perfect.
No Expectations.
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I attended a work Christmas party for Job #2 yesterday evening. It was nice, elegant, fancy even. Everything we as a company, are not. We had rented out a private room at a very nice Italian restaurant feasting on buffet plate after buffet place of the best stuffed shells I have ever had, we drank and we laughed, genuinely having a good time. We had been kicked out of the rented room at 8pm when the party should have ended at 7:00.
Agreeing that it was far too early and we were all much too sober to call it a night, we opted to head over to one of the local pubs for some more drinks and more laughs. Feeling out of place (and not like myself) we entered a small, casual Irish Pub. Me, wearing a backless black sweater, a gray pencil skirt, and black knee-high boots, and many of my coworkers dressed just as “classy” we instantly stood out in a crowd of men and women donning jeans, sweaters, and sneakers. I pretended not to notice how corporate and snobbish we must have appeared to everyone else. (Aside from the three men in suits near the entrance. Whom, I suspected were there on business, or had just finished a meeting of sorts.)
We stood around the bar sharing stories and holiday plans with families. The bartender seemed surprised when we all ordered beer, he even said to me “I almost expected all of the men to order dry martinis and the women, cosmopolitans.”
And I answered with a quick, “Yea, we’re not that type of crowd. We only dress like this when forced, such as the corporate costume party we just came from.”
“Costume party?” He says. I can tell he’s thinking that we’re a little behind for having a Halloween Party and wondering why we all decided to dress similarly. All twenty of us.
“It’s a costume party for us, since 95% of us had to go out and buy something to wear for the Christmas party being that none of really dress this way.” He nods finally understanding what I meant and happily hands me an ice cold Miller High Life in a bottle with a frozen glass, and I just shake my hand at the glass.
“No thanks. I prefer it out of the bottle.” He looked even more surprised.
Having been there for over an hour at this point (and had been drinking for at least five hours beforehand) we’re all getting a little buzzed. Just as I was about to turn to Vicki, a friend of mine, to tell her of the devastatingly handsome man in the suit near the door that I thought she should introduce herself to, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turn to find that man I was just about to mention standing behind me with a glass in one hand and a full beer in the other.
“Dan.” He says as he hands me the MHL.
“Dean.”
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t have a name like Tiffany, Stacy, or Mandy. I don’t know why. I just knew it as soon as you walked in the door. Before I forget to mention, I prefer dogs over cats, I’m a baseball fan, I don’t normally dress this stuffy, I’m not married or taken in any way, and I like your ink.” As he points to the medium sized tattoo just between my shoulder blades.
“Good to know. Thanks for the beer by the way.”
“So, what do you do for a living, Dean?”
“Full time office manager and a part time inventory manager.” I hesitate. “And yourself?”
“I work in advertising.”
“Interesting.” At this point, I don’t really know where to take the conversation. So I take the moment of a silence as an opportunity to take a nice, large gulp of my beer and glance around at my friends that I came there with.
“You’re very tough to read, Dean.”
“Really? Why is that?” I ask thinking to myself that I’ve been told this quite often recently.
“I’m not the first person to tell you that, I’m sure. You seem very guarded. I would imagine that if you didn’t want to talk to me at all, you wouldn’t. Because you seem very straight forward. But you also don’t make many attempts to get to know people better, and don’t always like the feeling you get when others try to get to know you.”
“Let me guess, you took some psychology classes in college.”
“Wrong. I never went to college. Nor did I ever see a psychologist, which is what you were thinking next. I am also not related to one. But I like to think that I’m a pretty good judge of character and a master at reading people. But what drew me over to you, other than you’re being stunning, is the fact that I couldn’t sum you up into any words whereas I can usually do that about a person right away. Without even talking to them.”
“So you’re a master at assuming you know people?” It took all of my energy not to roll my eyes at him.
“Ah! As much as you would love to just write me off here and now, you know that you’re still intrigued. And no, I don’t assume. Faces tell everything. More specifically, the eyes. Your eyes on the other hand, are different.”
“You’re not always right; I can assure you of that. And what makes my eyes so different?”
“They are sad. They don’t appear sad, though. There’s a difference. Someone wouldn’t look at you and think that you’ve been crying or you just got some bad news. You have not always been treated the way you should have, you have not necessarily been abandoned, though you do feel that way sometimes. And you will never let go of your past. Intrigued?”
“Not yet.”
“I haven’t given you anything worth looking into yet?”
“Ehh. Not really.” I wasn’t completely lying, but I wasn’t completely telling the truth either.
“Well, I’m a single dad with a three year old son that lives with me full time. I left everyone and everything I know to make a better life for my son. He’s the most important thing in the world to me. I hate my job but it pays me well enough to give him the things that he needs in his life. I don’t generally trust people until I’ve gotten to know them really well. That can take years. I have never been in love, or married. And I want to get to know you better.”
I am usually so quick to dismiss people. And I don’t really know why. But I decided to give him a chance. We may not get married, we may not even date. But to enjoy someone else’s company and get to know people better without passing judgment is a very important part of life. And I think I owed it to Dan and to myself to just let the night play out and see where things went.
We talked about his son and why it is that I am single. I told him why I think I am, and then he gave me his own interpretation as to why I am. We discussed the annoyance of corporate holiday functions and he guessed what my childhood was like. He mentioned numerous times that he can tell I’m smart, though I didn’t say much, and wished to know why it is that I can be so closed sometimes. He wanted to know what he could do to open me up and pick my brain. But I didn’t offer much. Because I just don’t know how to.
We exchanged numbers after almost four hours of talking and telling jokes. And that was enough for me. Because I don’t have any expectations for the future, not in terms of relationships or relationship status.
(Side Note: Dan is very sweet, we have a lot in common, and we’re having drinks on Wednesday night. But as friends. Because neither of us need anything more than that right now.)
Freedom.
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Feeling disconnected from everyone and everything I opted to walk to work last night. It was cold, one of the coldest nights we’ve had. But it was breathtaking nonetheless. 28 blocks later I found myself at the doors of job #2. I wished that I could turn back time and allow myself another hour to walk. I felt refreshed, but craved more. Everything needed it. My soul, my thoughts, and even the lonely streets enjoyed my company and wished that I would stay a little while longer.
I was quiet all night at work, just thinking to myself. I had my headphones on for the entire ten hour shift. They know that means I don’t want to be interrupted. And they agreed. Without saying a word about it. Thoughts were moving slowly at one point, cohesive, clear, and heavy. But then they were rampant, speeding in and out of my head as though on an uncontrollable racetrack, a course with no speed limit and no signs of slowing down. I felt anxious and out of control. Soon my heart started racing, I couldn’t focus my attention on anything and I had the shakes.
I bum a smoke from my lead stock employee who, in a thick Irish accent says to me, “Dean! I thought you gave up fags!” I don’t even answer him, just take the cigarette out of his hand and walk out the emergency exit to the roof.
I have been working here for years, and this is my first time smoking a cigarette on the roof. But it was beautiful and I just wanted to feel free! And I don’t know what made me think of it, but the roof seemed like the only “free” place I could have been just then. And I felt alive. I can’t describe it.
Sounds were muted. Wind was strong. Air was clear. Lights were dimmed. And people seemed small and far away. Which is just what I needed. The cigarette felt heavenly. Every deep breath I took seemed to calm my nervous and make things feel as though they were alright. And I wouldn’t have traded that moment for anything it the world.
…And things are alright.
Life Lessons.
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I wonder how I got here. How things got to be so complicated and how I did nothing to prevent it or stop it. I think back to what life was like when things were simple. When everything made sense. When routines were just routines but a way of life. And I enjoyed it. When the world was brighter, or at least my world was.
Everything is dark and gray. The air seems colder than it’s ever been. It doesn’t feel there is any sunlight in the future, no warmth, nothing to look forward to. Walking with my head down seems like the right thing to do. To raise my chin would imply that I am ready and willing to accept whatever is ahead of me. That couldn’t be any further from the truth. In a perfect world I would retire to my mess of an apartment where I would live in pajamas and slippers day in and day out in complete solitude. But, as I have learned time and time again, this is not a perfect world. Far from it.
***************************
I remember hearing this horror story of a man who was depressed. He thought he had it all. His job was wonderful and paid well. He had a beautiful wife and two adoring children who were smart, beautiful, and well behaved. His home was clean and orderly and dinner was always on the table when he arrived home from work. His wife, his high school sweetheart, ironed his shirt every morning before work and readied his coffee and briefcase just before he left. His kids kissed him goodbye in the morning and kissed him goodnight before bed. They got straight A’s and respected their parents and did their homework. His family was close and loving, they were funny and intelligent. They were envied by most.
Until one day he came home to find his wife in bed with another man. His cousin. His best man at their wedding. The one who had comforted him when he lost his father to Cancer just two winters earlier. In a fit of rage, he screamed at his wife and demanded to know how long this had been going on. Much to his dismay he learned it had been going on for years. In fact, his youngest, a little girl, might not even be his. She was eleven by now. Devastated he ran out of the house, dropping his briefcase and coffee mug on the bedroom floor before leaving.
The wife picks up his briefcase and discovers a card and small box had fallen out of it. The card was addressed “The Greatest Love I Have Ever Known”. She knew she probably should not have opened it, but she did anyway. Inside that tiny box was her mother’s engagement ring. The one she had inherited when she graduated high school. Just weeks after her mother had passed away. It was beautiful, but it didn’t fit any of her fingers. It broke her heart knowing that she couldn’t wear it. She stared at it sadly in her jewelry box from time to time. When had he taken it? And how had she not even known?
He had it resized for her. To wear on her right hand. It was cleaned and sparkled brighter than she had ever seen it. As she put it on her finger, one single tear ran down her cheek. She paused before opening the card for fear of what wonderful things he might say to her in there.
“Nancy, after nearly twenty perfect years of marriage, I couldn’t love you any more than I do now. Because my heart might burst otherwise. You are everything to me, and I don’t know what I would do without you. Will you remarry me?”
He shot himself that night in his office. Alone. In the dark. And much to everyone’s amazement, there was no note. No e-mail left behind. No “sign” that he was hurting and no unusual behavior in the recent weeks. No clues. No nothing.
But Nancy knew. She knew that she had taken her children’s daddy away. That she had broken his heart more than he could bear. She had destroyed their beautiful family and shattered any chance of a normal life for her kids. She knew.
***************************
What stunned me the most was that this man could take his own life. He was so low that he truly felt that he couldn’t go on any longer. Life was no longer important. His children’s lives were no longer a concern. He thought only of himself and what he could and couldn’t handle. He didn’t think about whether or not his kids could handle it. And he never even gave them a choice.
But there are multiple things in this story that are horrifying and things that are not as bad as they seem on the surface.
He left his wife and young children to fend for themselves. He was selfish and didn’t worry about their safety. He left his wife feeling guilty for the rest of her life, thinking about how it was all her fault and her children would not have the wonderful lives they were meant to have had she not slept with his cousin.
But his children, should they learn from this, could go one of two ways. They could be weak; letting the past hold them back and frighten them about so many things in the future. Or they could be strong, learning early that life is not fair and ready to entertain whatever life’s tragedies will be thrown their way.
***************************
I have seen beautiful things. But I have seen horror. I have watched loved ones die slowly over the course of year while in pain. I have buried friends that were just too young to die. I have seen what being selfish can do to people, others, and themselves. I have witnessed deceit and injustice.
But now matter how bad things got for me, I was never selfish enough to take my own life. Giving up was just not an option. And it never will be. I will push on. Always. Getting stronger with each obstacle thrown in my path in hopes of tripping me, or slowing me down, or encouraging me to stop the journey all together.
Life continues.
Not forever.
And not for everyone.
Which is why I value every fucking second that I have.
Because I am lucky to each and every one of them.
Luckier than some.
No matter how hard it gets.
Where to go from here.
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In a discussion with a friend over the difference of “compromise” and “sacrifice” some feelings of mine surfaced. I need to get them out. I have (and know this about myself) a terrible habit of bottling all of my feelings up, pretending to be strong, and pushing forward. I don’t know any other way. I suppose I get this from my dad. He’s been doing it for thirteen years, since my mom passed away. He never let us see him hurting, even though we all know he was, and still is, and will forever.
I can never share these feelings with L for fear of hurting her. But I do need to get them out and learn to get them out regularly so as not to get to the point I am at today. I have had better days, but today I feel as though I might burst into tears if I simply drop my pen on the floor. And it didn’t occur to me that I was even sad, hurting, upset, or anything until my friend and I had a discussion. Which means that I have gotten so good at bottling it all up that I even fooled myself into thinking I was happy. How sad is that?
She makes me nervous. L. And I don’t exactly know why. She makes me anxious and stressed. I often get the shakes when she gets home from work at night. Something about the sound of her walking in the door at night makes me uneasy. I fear so many things at once and I can’t even describe them all. I wouldn’t do it any justice… But I am going to try anyway.
I fear that she is just putting on a good show. Pretending to be the person she was, the friend I knew and trusted before she left. But, theoretically, that could have been a show all along as well. The girl who left for Florida with her best friend’s boyfriend, that could be the real L. Who is who? Has she been the same L all along and just made a bad decision in the heat of the moment? In a rush of what she felt was love? For the first time? And was not was willing to give it up? Not even for a friendship she assured me that she treasured? Was she blind to it all and had he convinced her to do it? Is she as naïve as I always thought she was? Or was that all a show also? I don’t know. And I suppose there’s no real way to tell.
I fear that one day she will walk in that door and the ex will be with her. And how would they act? Would they be back together? Would they parade their love in front of me in hopes of hurting me even more? Would she leave with him again? And take Calvin with them? The baby I have grown to love more than anything. The one that I can’t imagine not being there for when he grows up. The one I have already thought about high school graduation gifts for. And ways to save for college tuition, and the day he might be married? It’s one thing to fall in love with a baby, but to fall in love with a baby that you live with, and take care of more than the biological mother does, and provide for financially, solely, it would feel impossible to give him up. I don’t know that I could give him up. I don’t ever want to give him up.
Will I come home from work one day and find all of my belongings gone with L and Calvin?
This baby means so much to me. Even if I wasn’t ready for him. And even if he is not mine. Every time I see his face, I can’t help but smile. I think of him while I’m at work and I radiate. Even the sound of him crying in the middle of the night will make me glow because I know he’s here, and he’s real, and he loves me. You can see it in his eyes. It’s like watching a miracle. He knows so much already and he’s still taking it all in. He’s always looking, always seeing, always feeling, always learning, and I am so thankful that I get to be a part of it. And I want to be a part of it forever.
I am so very close to asking L to either let me legally adopt Calvin and become sole guardian of him, or obtaining shared guardianship over him, so that if the ex does come back and things go sour with them again, I know that Calvin will legally have a place to go, and a place he can call home and feel comfortable in, and be taken care of always. Regardless of where his “parents” are in their lives and their relationship. I want him to not only be safe, I want him to feel safe.
But before I act on any of this, I must think it out some more.
A glimpse at book #1.
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Chapter Nine
The feeling of being lost was becoming unbearable. She dreaded the day. The morning when she would have to open her eyes and start her life. The uncontrollable act of being, breathing, thinking, seeing, believing that life, her life, had a purpose, a meaning, for forcing her to exist in a world she couldn’t help but hate. A life she wished she had never had, a feeling of abandonment that she could not escape.
Still, she woke on time as usual. She took a shower and got dressed as usual. As always she took the same subway to work, the same dreaded C train uptown. And just as predicted, she stopped at the local coffee shop for her usual.
“Large black tea. Two bags, one sugar please. And I’m going to grab a Times on the way out.” $1.62 for the tea. $1.25 for the Times. $2.87. Perfect change. Just like everyday. Because every night she laid it out on her dresser so that she could easily slip it in her pocket just before walking out the door ensuring that she would spend no more than 1.87 minutes in the coffee shop in the morning.
She found herself preoccupied all morning. Ignored phone calls and procrastinated attending her weekly meeting with her boss. She couldn’t focus, didn’t want to focus, and didn’t even really try that hard. She decided that she couldn’t be there. “They wouldn’t blame me” she assured herself. So before 10:30am she had left her office and found herself sitting on the subway. Not really wanting to go home, she decided to let her heart choose for her head for a change. She figured she would just get off when she felt like it, because something made her feel that way, because there was no reason not to.
Before long she found herself at Central Park. She had been there so many times in her life. It was just a park. Just grass and some trees. People, couples, babies, dogs lying on blankets soaking up the last of the summer sun. There was nothing different about the park today than any other day. Except the fact that she was alone now. Abandoned and deserted.
But still, the air was so sweet, the sun was warm and she felt like if heaven could exist on Earth, even for just a small glimpse in time, she was walking through it right now. The world was at peace and it caused her heartbeat to cease so that she may take it all without being interrupted by the slow beating of her broken heart. With eyes closed, face towards the sky, she took a deep breath and beamed as bright as the sun. She knew she would be alright, now matter how hard it was. She was strong and willful and there would be nothing to hold her back. Because, she wouldn’t let anything hold her back, because she was sick of being held back. Because something always held her back.
**********
She thinks back to the day they met. While they were together she wished she had a romantic story to tell of the time they were first introduced. It was nothing special in anyone else’s eyes, but it was to her anyway, because that was the day she met her first real love.
She remembered what it was like to go home to someone every night. She remembered what it was like to smile everyday because she wanted to smile. She recalls how it felt to be envied for having what others perceived as the perfect life. She knows what it means to belong completely to someone else. How it felt to give her heart, beating fast then slow, fast then slow, and place it someone else’s hands. To watch as they carried it around and she carried their’s. She understood that her life was not just hers anymore, it was a “theirs’” and she was accepting of that. In fact, she had welcomed it. She willingly gave up many things that she loved. She acknowledged his faults and their differences and paid no mind to them. She was happy. She was happy.
Now is a different time for him and for her, for them. But she agreed, after many hours of trepidation, she decided that now was her time. She would live the life she always wanted to live. The one she gave up for him, for them.
“This is a new beginning, a bright new foundation with promise and potential!” She thought to herself. “Who am I trying to kid? I’m never this god damn optimistic. It’s a new beginning. That’s about it. But I’m going to make it a great one. Because I don’t know how many other beginnings I’m going to get.”
