I was a bit distracted at work this morning. The fact that he was swapping out New York for Los Angeles today for an undetermined lengthy amount of time was the reason he wouldn't leave my thoughts. So I was mentally occupied but very far from upset, not really sad. I was totally fine, I was myself.
I left work, to pick him up and drive him to the airport. I was still fine; even more so than before. I was looking forward to seeing him and happy to spend a few remaining minutes with him.
We drove for under an hour, laughing, talking about this and that. I kept catching him looking at me; his brown eyes big and round and soft. I would smile and look away - too much there to confront at the moment. I still felt ok. I wasn't about to cry, or overwhelmed with sadness or any other dramatic emotion.
We arrived at the airport. He retrieved his belongings. I jumped out of the car. We embraced. Neither one of us let go. We both let go. It was terribly sad as it all came to fruition in that one particular instant. Boom. This was it.
Yes, I was so sad - I would even say heartbroken. My protective casing had broken like a Cadbury egg, spilling that mysterious caramel buttercream ooze. It seeped everywhere. We embraced again, I told him I would miss him. We pulled away. I felt his hands fall down my back and rest at my waist.
"So we'll keep in touch?" he uttered. We let go. I backed away and grabbed his hand. He grabbed mine back. I went to turn around and my tiny, baby midget hand slowly slipped out of his soft, man hand. I didn't feel his too long fingernails.
I got in my car, put my seatbelt on, put the car in drive, looked to the left, and pulled away from the curb. I didn't look back. I didn't look to see if he was looking. At that moment I decided, I chose, not to look back because of power. It gave me a false sense of power - not looking - not watching him walk into the airport. I didn't look to see if he was looking, and I realize now that I made that choice because I couldn't look back. I couldn't look.
The defeat (if he wasn't looking toward me) would have cut me like a broken piece of glass on a bare foot...warm, dark blood goo-ily dripping everywhere.
I felt dirty when I got home but opted to have a piece of toast instead of a shower. I was short on time. I put all of my things away, cleaned up the kitchen a bit, put sweats on, packed my schoolbag, and took off. I was late for class. I felt ok, even at this point. I hadn't yet realized that I couldn't look back toward him. I hadn't realized that I feel so empty and so unsure if his feelings for me are mutual, or real, or if they mean anything at all to him.
I wasn't even thinking about him as I walked the 4 blocks and one hill to school.
I sat down in class, talked to some classmates, whipped out my pen and notebook. I grabbed my phone to silence the ringer. I looked quickly and saw that I had a text message. I check it. I am suddenly frozen in time and space.
I immediately, slowly close my phone. It's really over. This is the final blow.
The whole sha-bang - driving there, picking him up, dropping him off, saying good-bye, driving back alone - I was fine. No tears, no anxiety - some uneasiness and sadness yes. But nothing dramatic, no sobbing - I even sang and chuckled to myself on the way home. I WAS IN ONE PIECE. MAKING DECISIONS THAT WERE THE BEST FOR ME.I WAS TAKING CARE OF MYSELF. SELF-SOOTHING. (I came prepared with a piece of chocolate - sorry to sho for not sharing).
Five minutes after I had dropped him off he had texted me: one text, twelve words. This hurt me more than everything else.
Hurt me more than the fact that he left me - despite how wonderful, intelligent and beautiful he tells me I am; he still left. He still packed up every ounce of his life in New York and left. Poof. Gone. 83rd Street no longer belongs to him.
He punched me in the gut with absence and inaction in May, then again in August, and now again, on October 1st. Only this time, he also slapped me with his words.
"Be good to yourself."
As if I would ever choose anything else. I didn't write back. My answer was clear, he didn't know me at all.
"There is no such thing as closure...in perception." - L. Brosgole, Ph.D.
