I sit on the bench, hands jittering. God, I need a
cigarette, I think, and then squash that thought. I quit. I quit, but something
about this whole situation makes me want to run toward something that aids in
my destruction.
We had been dating for exactly a month. He was tall and
dorky and had the most beautiful blue eyes. He made me laugh. He came over with
chicken soup and orange juice when I was sick. He cooked me breakfast. He was respectful. He met my mother but
not on purpose it was just one of those things that happened on accident,
he met her three days ago and it went well.
We made plans to go out tonight, but I got a text from him
this morning. Can we get coffee? I
hate that. I refused,
asked if we could meet at the park instead. I love watching the kids play, like
they don't have a care in the world, like they won't one day grow up and pay
taxes and get their hearts broken and call their mothers instead of hugging
them.
I slumped on the bench, checked my watch. I was tired. My
job at the newspaper was taking over my life, we would be out on a date and I
would have to duck out to answer a call from my editor. It's the nature of my
work, I told him. He laughed and said he understood. I wish he wouldn't take so
goddamn long. I need a cigarette. I pick at my nails instead.
He shows up, gives me a quick, anxious hug, sits down. Talks
to me earnestly, anxiously; bullshit I nod along to and agree with. Tells me
this isn't right, he can't pursue a romantic relationship with me, blah blah
blah. I stop listening almost immediately, because I can't believe what I am
hearing. I can see it behind his eyes that none of this meant anything to him,
that I never meant anything to him. And I wonder how I misunderstood that.
On our third date, when it was clear he wasn't going
anywhere, when he still kissed me with his hands on either side of my face like
I was a treasure, I brought it up. I told him, I don't want to be some kind of
fling. I'm done with that.
You know what he did?
Brushed my hair out of my eyes, said of course you're not.
You mean more to me than that. You're special.
I shake this thought out of my head. He is still talking. I
wish he would stop. He
asks if we can still be friends and something inside me breaks. I straighten
up, tell him I don't want to see you anymore, please never talk to me again. I
leave and I don't look back. I walk stiff, like a toy soldier, like the weight
of my actions is too much for my system. I walk until I know he can no longer
watch me. Then I gasp and fall to the ground like an idiot, in public, in front
of God and everyone.
What I've just done hits me in the chest, viscerally. I call
my mother. She tells me that he was a good man, he treated me better than any
of the jerks I ran around with, that he deserves better. She tells me to call
him and apologize. So I do. His words are steel, fucking cold as ice, finally I unloaded that bitch, it's okay now
to be like this. I try to apologize without letting my voice shake, pretending
to be oblivious to the sharp edges of his voice and that is when I realize that
I broke my cardinal rule. I let my guard down.
I lie in the grass, try not to lose it. Some girlfriends
come over that night with wine. We never liked him anyway, they tell me. I
spend a lot of time in bed the next few days. I get a haircut. I do my makeup
like a pro. When I feel stronger, I text him. Can we talk?
We meet again at the same bench. He gets there first this
time. He stands up to give me a hug. I reiterate what I said a few days ago and
he does the same. Nothing is solved. He tells me, I never meant to hurt you, it
was never my intention to make you feel stupid. This makes me feel a little
better. I leave thinking, okay that wasn't so bad. I leave feeling lighter,
like I have solved the problem. But then I pay attention to the wrenching
feeling in my gut. He never said he was
sorry.
Not even a week later, scrolling through Facebook, I see
that he has a new girlfriend. They have a lot of pictures together, they look
happy. He looks at her they way he used to look at me. That's when I know
exactly why he ended things. I delete him.
He never said he was sorry.
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