Opportunities

I felt foolish, self-conscious. The March breeze was cool, so I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and stuffed my hands in my pockets, then, just as quickly, flung the hood back off, realizing I couldn’t take the chance that she might show up and not recognize me with my head partially obscured. There was that feeling again. That feeling of being kept in check by this person from my past that had, in all likelihood, not given me a thought in years. Still, I had fulfilled my end of a deal made ten years prior. And if she didn’t show up, I thought, then what would be the harm of being here? I was standing at the top of the stairs, the place we had first kissed on January 17th, 1987.

Two months after that date, while out for a walk, we happened upon those stairs again. It was 5pm sharp, and a thought came to me. I asked her if we could promise each other that, no matter where in the world we ended up, that we would find our way here, to this exact spot, ten years from that day at 5pm. In my mind, this would be an easy promise for me to keep. I’d never strayed out of California; loved her with all my heart; was ready to commit to anything just to keep us together. She had different plans. The world was calling for her to explore it, conquer it; but I suppose the sweetness of the proposal made it hard for her to resist. She agreed and we walked on into the evening. 

By college graduation we had been going out for three and a half years, and although we thought we were still in love, we felt it was time to give ourselves a little growing room – at least for a year. Ya know, get acquainted with ourselves again so we can better appreciate each other and begin to plan our life together when we meet up again on the other side of the break. Come to think of it, those were her words, not mine. I’ve been borrowing that description of the beginning of our breakup for thirty years, and perhaps now is a good time to come clean.

Fact is, I had no problem growing right along with her. Our relationship was more important to me than finding myself, and perhaps that’s part of the difficulty we faced. I had never lost myself. Apparently, she had; or, more accurately, she abandoned herself to find herself again – over and over as she clung to a state of constant reinventing and renewal. I sought stability, hated surprises, fought change. We were growing up and discovering who we were as individuals, while realizing who we weren’t as a couple. 

Somewhere during our senior year while I continued feeling everything was fine, she had, quite stealthily detached from me without me even realizing it. Like two train cars uncoupling at high speed, I continued to move with her for some time, but the distance between us increased, and eventually, I had no chance of catching up. These things happen I suppose, especially at that age where the shackles of youth are released and the world begins opening up to you. It might even be more prevalent with females as they seem more in tune with their emotions than men. See, there I go protecting her, making excuses on her behalf again. In any case, I had no choice but to watch her speed away. 

I’ve never stopped kicking myself for making it so easy on her. Not only did I act as though I had the same feelings as she did regarding our need to find ourselves, but I even added the bonus “I’ve actually been thinking about this for some time.” You see, I loved her so much that I couldn’t bare hurting her, or even making her the slightest bit upset. So, I hid my true feelings and padded the situation with so much rhetorical empathic fluff that her fall, if there was to be one, would be so heavily cushioned, there would be no chance of injury. Usually when people break up, the shit hits the fan. With us, the break was downright cordial. No fan, no shit, plenty of tissue ready but no tears to absorb. For a day or two I even had myself believing the nonsense I said to her that morning over breakfast; however, reality, when it finally sinks in, can be malicious and unforgiving.

So she left to see the world, and I moved into a tiny apartment with a childhood friend. She and I wrote letters – regularly at first, then less often as the months passed. In one of her last letters to me she wrote about teaching English in an elementary school in Spain and of a principal who had asked her out on a date. These were not happy times for me. One part time job after another hadn’t brought me enough money to move into my own place. Bills accumulated, motivation wavered and waned as my early 20s dissolved into my late-20s in what seemed like an absurdly-short time span. Meanwhile, the letters we exchanged went from love letters speaking of yearning and hope to obligatory correspondence. It took months to save up, but by the following March I had $600 - enough for a one-way ticket to Madrid. I mailed the letter to her last-known address, her sister’s house in Barcelona. Then I waited. In the days before email, checking a mailbox daily to find no letters from her was torture. Each day of disappointment brought me a little deeper into a dark place that I had never imagined could be part of who I was. Eventually, though, when hope had faded enough and reality came back into focus, I crawled out of that hole and accepted the facts. The trip money went to pay some neglected bills, and by that July – 13 months after she left, I admitted to myself that it was finally over. 

And so it goes. One year turned into two, then five, then ten. Every girl I dated I unfairly compared to her; and with each comparison I kicked myself again. I knew I had somehow blown it with her; somehow ruined the best relationship I’d had – that maybe I’d ever have. This punishment went on for a while; too long. 

But life goes on, and, as it happens, new opportunities presented themselves that surely wouldn’t have, had she and I stayed together. And, just as, years prior, I had no problem “growing” right along with her as she spread her wings and matured while I tried to simply keep up, I found that I had no problem growing without her, as our lives continued along their separate paths. 

One of the opportunities that came along was of the life-changing variety that I still cannot believe I was lucky enough to get. On February 19^th, 2004, I met the young woman who would become my wife. She and I were married 18 months later and now have a happy home filled with three teenage kids, two dogs, two cats, and more wonderful memories than I ever imagined I could have. It’s our home and this is my family. That thought ignites a broad smile across my face and a warmth that comes with true love and happiness. 

I have no way of knowing where I’d be now, had the girl somehow showed up at 5pm on that evening so long ago. I know I probably wouldn’t have what I have now, though, and that’s enough to make me ponder why I spent so many years longing, wondering. 

They say life is all about the choices we make. In my case, I can thank the life I have right now for the fact that a choice was made for me, not by me, some three decades ago. If you’re out there, I just wanted to say thanks, and I hope your life is sweet as well.