I’ve heard about you but I have yet to meet you. I suppose she may be reluctant, not sure where this will all lead to. After all, when you’ve been wandering around the dank abysmal corridors of a disconsolate existence, the warmth and light of human affection can seem alien and therefore, somewhat tentative.
I want to tell you that until recently, she hated it when I asked her to see a romantic comedy with me. She would make the usual excuses that chick-flicks were lame or boring or a waste of her time and money. She confesses now that she enjoys them again. I knew then that she had turned the corner. I knew she was finally rid of him from her system.
She also hated to travel. Every year, we would ask around who would like to join us on our annual Easter retreat to our favorite hideaway for a much needed respite from the workaday world. She would politely decline. But not this year. This time, she came, on her son’s prodding. He convinced her she needed the break. At the end of the week, she told us she appreciated the lack of structure and commitment the place favored. She added that she’d be back on a heartbeat. I took it that she was allowing herself quiet pleasure again. That she was again capable of appreciating the world around her.
I supposed it would not be in my place to ask that you not be another “him” in her life. After all, even you can’t make that promise of yourself. I suppose too that at this point in your life, you’d know what you want and you’ve outgrown playing games.
I don’t have to tell you all the past disappointments and unmet expectations in that coupling. Nor the repeated promises of change, of presence, both physical and emotional, or the convoluted manipulations.
And so, I shall wait. At some point, I’ll probably meet you. I only hope it will be to celebrate and to affirm. Not to help pick up the pieces. I’ve done that before. I don’t want to do it again.