October Passed Me By
Pieces of something not fully formed
They say to write from the scar, not the wound.
But what if the wound won’t heal.
If I keep bending to his every whim it will never have a chance to close.
Forever open like my front door where he’s stood so many mornings before.
How do I end a relationship that never truly began?
Where do I even begin?
I could start at the dive bar where we saw each other that “fateful” night.
I could start thirty-years before that when we met on our first day of first grade.
I could start with all the past lives I know we’ve loved each other in before that.
Or I could start here, right now.
It’s been a month since I’ve heard from Fuck Face.
Is that the name I’ll call him forever, probably not, because I know he likes it.
Fuck Face is cumbersome to type in this current landscape of lowercase letter coolness.
Larry refers to him as “Lemons” because that’s the title of the novel I wrote about him.
JC calls him by his legal first and last because they went to high school together.
On the very rare occasion I mention him to my son, we refer to him as
“He who must not be named.”
It doesn’t really matter, if I am writing about someone who broke my heart, it’s probably Fuck Face.
Our last go felt different somehow.
He was consistently texting without prompting. Daily plus the standard ten p.m. “Goodnight, I love you.”
It wasn’t a lot, but I didn’t want any more from him. He’d trained me to survive on the minimum. Months of the same felt ok, until my birthday came. I didn’t expect a gift or even a phone call. I expected, oh I don’t know, a text.
My phone lit up all day with well wishes from family, strangers, and friends.
The exes took me out for my annual birthday sushi that I couldn’t eat because, as the hours went on, my stomach felt sick.
Surely this wouldn’t be the day, after months of days, my birthday wouldn’t be the day he leaves me on read.
It wasn’t.
“Hey babe. I love you. Hope you’re having a nice birthday.”
Had he sent that at seven a.m. not p.m. I would have thanked him and gone about my day.
But he didn’t and I didn’t.
“Not hearing from you all day hurt my feelings. I can’t remember a birthday where you haven’t. I need space to figure out why I accept so little from you and keep coming back. I am headed out of town for a few days in the morning. Maybe we can talk when I get back. I love you.”
It was the first time I ever wanted it to be over.
I knew he wouldn’t call. It was only my birthday after all. He only calls as a prelude to sex. He knows his voice is a weapon, one to be yielded responsibly. He speaks to me irresponsibly. I am weak no matter how strong I pretend I've gotten. It was only my birthday after all.
We fell in love in late September and spent the following October kissing the pumpkin spice lattes off each other’s lips.
My tall suede boots wrapped around his tall strong body as he’d pick me up to carry me into the bedroom.
Somedays we’d only make it as far as the kitchen floor.
He would take the day off work so he could sneak over in the morning and be home before dinner was on the table.
We’d spend the next seven years loving each other. Holding on to how it felt that first October, desperate to get back there.
The days spent tangled up in my bed together eventually gave way to frenzied hours in hotel rooms. Pillow talk about our future turned into to fights about our past.
The pumpkin spice faded off his lips as the stars faded out of my eyes.
We spent a lot of time in the front seat of my car saying goodbye, and more time in the backseat saying hello again.
Stolen hours. Secret spots. Sneaking around. We knew better but we didn’t care. Or at least pretended not to.
When he’d look at his watch, the only thing worn between us, I’d already know what time it was.
“I should get going.”
My happiness dangling on the remaining minutes we had together. Watching him decide whether he could hold me a little longer.
I’d hold him too tight one last second before I’d let him slip away.
When I finally decided to let go of the one refusing to hold mine, the universe started throwing out hands.
This October brought me someone who hurt me quickly. Someone I hurt slowly. Someone unconventional. Someone I held at a distance, as not to get swallowed whole again. Someone who picked me out of a crowd, kissed me, and made me feel like the only girl in the world. Someone who wished me a happy birthday the second their eyes opened that day.
October issued me a reminder; love is not reserved for an elite few. Love is not a finite resource.
Love isn’t over for you, even if it’s over with them.
Thank you for letting us see a bit of your heart. It breaks mine to see it hurt. To keep on walking, but to hurt.
I think what I admire most about you is your evident zest for life, your fearlessness to sieze each day by loving fully and tirelessly, no matter what. Many people will go on to live safe, uneventful lives and they’re usually the most bitter inside by the end of it—this will never be you.
I wish for you everything your heart desires, my friend. This was a beautiful piece, worthy of several rereads. Love you, Candy!