“Whatever you do to find arelationship, you must do to keep a relationship.”
- Susan Bradley
A walk on a beautiful September night shouldn’t have meant an ending. The moon had been full , leaves crunching beneath our feet. The air was crisp and clear. Like us, a neighbor’s cat was taking his usual evening stroll and Mrs Thompson had given a friendly wave as she took all her trash.
Now home alone, I wandered around my apartment remembering the places that once held his things. The cup on the sink in the bathroom which used to hold two brushes, now held one. The shaving cream and razor were gone. The chocolate ice cream, still in the freezer, was his favourite. The bed was made in military purpose and hospital corners. The heatness of every room marked his effort.
I opened my closet, knowing I had overlooked nothing when I helped him pack. I searched the floor for a stray tie or sneaker. How I wished that I had not been so thorough, I looked at my empty section of closet space, missing his freshly starched shirts. I stared at the landing, looking hard for his shoes. The tears blurred my eyes , and I wondered if the ache would ever end. I remember the whole night it played continuously in my head.
+ Flashback +
“I don’t know what to do,” he’d said, with tears in his eyes. The pain seeped into every action and word.
“I love you enough to let you go,” I said. My heart ached with the thought of losing him. We had worked so hard to keep each other. But our families didn’t seem to understand our closeness; instead they were deeply upset about our ten-year year age difference.
“I can’t do it. I can’t leave you. We have so many dreams,” he responded.
I thought of a few, including buying a house together and finishing my education. We had spent many nights discussing all our dreams until dawn. We shared a deepening love and a growing spirituality. I thought of our dog and cat, each of which had lost a caring friend.
We held each other, knowing that we had fought so long and it was over. The dreams were meant to stay just that dreams. The tears soaked our faces and clothes. I shuddered with sobs. I did not want to cry. I did not want to make this decision any harder for him. I loved him too much. I never wanted to cause him any pain.
“I’ll help you pack. Come on – if we’re going to do this, we have to do it now or I won’t be able to let you leave.”
I got up from the couch and started to gather his toothbrush, comb, and blow dryer from the bathroom, shirts, pants from the closet, sweats, bathrobe and other assorted clothes from the bedroom. I swiped my tears on my face as I packed his things. He just stood there dumbfounded. I had to make him go. It was best for him, for us. I never wanted him to feel as if I held him back. I couldn’t let him regret his decision if he stayed.
I helped him load everything in the car. We shut the door – the perfect punctuation mark for that whole evening.
We caught each other’s hands, and we walked away from the car. We held hands and talked softly. It was very late. I couldn’t remember the words we spoke. I could only remember his thumb caressing my hand. My eyes are blurred as we walked. I wanted to huddle closer to him, but that would only make it harder. Finally almost by accident, we reached his car again.
We wrapped our arms around each other, holding on frantically.
“I’m so sorry,” he choked out.
“I know.”
He got in the car and drove away. I stood on the porch, watching his taillights disappear. I stayed there a very long time. I sacked to the steps and willed that he turn around make everything all right. I prayed for him to come home. I needed him.
+ End of Flashback +
I had done what was right, yet the pain was extreme. I cried and cried till my head pounded and my eyes burned.
In the days that followed, I would jump at the ringing of the phone or the doorbell. I was so lost. I ached for his arms. I cried constantly, and I though I saw him everywhere. I took two personal days and stayed in bed. I finished all the chocolate ice cream as I watched a sappy movie that only made me cry harder.
I stayed in the bathtub for hours. I'd let the water get cold and then just refill the tub. Sometimes I didn't realize it had gone cold till I was shaking with chills.
I walked the path that we walked every day. I didn't talk to anyone about the pain. It was my own. It was all Ihad left of him, and I didn't want to share that.
Late one Monday night, the doorbell rang. After two weeks, I still jumped at the sound of a ringing phone or a visitor at the door, not knowing, but always hoping, it was him. I put on my old flannel bathrobe and went down the stairs, turning on lights as I went. I opened the dorr a little and peered out. On the front porch was my sweet honey.
I stood there for a long time, then I pushed the door open and wrapped my arms tightly around him. I cried. He cried.
"I couldn't do it," he said.
"I couldn't, either." I was crying and laughing at the same time.
THE END :)
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