Return to Sender

I am paralyzed at the moment from a single thought.

The last time I saw you was in a McDonald's parking lot.

What a sham. This whole business of finding someone to spend your life with. With Thanksgiving and Christmas on the horizon, it only reminds me of just how lonesome life can be.

It's been four weeks since that last moment with Christian. If I had known that would've been our last goodbye, would I have acted differently? It begs the aching question if whether or not he knew it was our last goodbye, too.

Now I sit here in my freezing cold apartment, cursing my on-the-fritz thermostat... trying to nicely return a text message from my mother:

"Don't need anything for Christmas, unless you have a time machine. Thanks for asking :) "

***************

Life with Christian wasn't perfect. But life without him feels like a stutter. My mind syncs up with my heart as I think, Christian would love this gift while walking through an antique store... or This song reminds me of Christian as I listen to the radio on my drive to work each day. I start to draft a million messages to him in my mind, forcibly erasing them later. The painful 'return-to-sender,' reminding me that Christian is over.

It only restarts the process of the heartbreak, again and again.

A coda, in a piece of music takes you back to a refrain. Everywhere I look I see codas, sending me back to the beginning of my relationship. I wish, for now, that life could work like that... instead of the music dying outside of a smelly McDonald's.

I've also taken up the new position of a semi-stalker. The only social media we both shared is where I find myself at night, hopelessly trying to send him some sort of signal. The thing is, my ship has been sinking and I've been shooting off flares, but he is letting it go down. Willing it, even. He was the one who ran us asunder, putting us in ice cold waters.

It wasn't too long ago that I found myself watching Titanic. It was a work night and I was alone. I cried, a lot. I knew, maybe, that my relationship was about to "let go." Yet, I held fast to him for as long as I could, until he slipped away into darker waters.

***************

I sit in contemplation most weekends... I think about all the moments, memories, words... I let them compile within me. Because at least they are something to hold onto. Some days are better than others. Some mornings I wake up in his T-shirt, my bed crowded with tissues. Everyone who knows, says, "It's not easy and it's not a quick fix."

I've often wanted to bark back:

Why does this happen, then?

I've pondered the meaning of a heartbreak for over 21 days now.

I haven't come to any conclusions.

Except, maybe one.

Maybe, we aren't aware of how precious love is. It's light and silly, while at the same time absolutely priceless, holding the weight of gold in the hand of someone else. When love leaves, however... it turns everything with it into stone. Your chest throbs with a pain too tight to speak of. All one can do is lay that weight down in puddles of tears and sobs.

I start to think that my face looks forever fragile, as if that of a paper doll's. My mind races- in moments, images, even... figments of my memory becoming figments of my imagination.

I see the highway that I drove two hours on to visit him on holidays.

I hear his laugh tangle in my ears.

I can smell his gentle, warm aroma and feel my body sway as we had once danced in my kitchen. Love me tender, love me sweet...

The music of his favorite artists, the lyrics, the instruments, the emotions... I realize they were an integral part of my understanding of Christian. They made up the parts of his soul that he allowed me to see. Something I can't un-see.

Would I ask to erase it all if I could?

Would it cause me less pain?

Should I take a lighter to his letters, collecting at the bottom of my hope chest? Would it ease the sadness of his departure from me?

Even now, I ache for just one more letter from him... to hear his voice in the scribbly words on a lined paper. Christian admired the old-fashioned, another thing I miss about him.

He was so much, in so many ways. He enjoyed history, music, art museums, the poetry of Robert Frost. He wore clear glasses and yellow shoes. He liked to sing, hum, whistle, anything. He enjoyed adventure and trying new things (especially food), while at the same time just staying home (and ordering pizza).

Maybe I took too much of him. Maybe too many memories of him live inside me. It's difficult to love myself when I continue to remember all the reasons I loved him...

We met as two actors on a stage in a college production... we took hikes and prayed, we sang together, recited Shakespeare together, climbed trees together... we did so much extraordinary together and yet -

We ended this - with an ordinary trip to the grocery store and a burger from McDonald's - really ?

I guess that's how life works. Love entices with it's sweet flavor of new life. And yet, when drained, we are left with nothing but a bad taste in our mouth and heartburn.

***************

Everything lately just seems like an annoyance since he's been gone. Things need to be fixed, dishes need to be cleaned, my clothes need to picked up off the floor where I've made it a custom to leave them there. Life moves on.

I've thought about some form of vengeance. An evil trick to express how upset and broken up I am. He left a bottle of sickly sweet alcohol here in my fridge, that I don't have the stomach to touch. Could it mysteriously end up in some unfortunate place? All sticky and bright red?

Then again, it wouldn't help anything. I keep wanting to hear from him, wanting to see him, wanting to have any glimpse of him back in my life. I don't need that to be any more negative than having none of him at all. It's not worth it.

***************

Thanksgiving ended up being a remembrance to what it was like when I was living at home. A gentler time whenever I still held a lot of hope for who my first love would be. I suppose there's always hope left in stock. Sitting on a shelf or in a pantry somewhere. Just need to un-can it and slap it on the table like a bowl of cranberry sauce.

Yet, the hope that I remember, was of such a romantic notion. Hope for the one, true love. And hope for him to stay... I never thought I would need hope that my parents would like him, that we would be able to live nearby, that his parents would like me in return... All of that seemed trivial to me, and yet... it made all the difference.

I never knew that I needed to pray for myself, that I could always be supportive and understanding and positive. I never thought I needed any help in that arena... Naivety is a blessing and a curse. Once it's broken, you can never come back to you. You can never not act with the experiences of prior heartbreaks in mind...

In reality, love leaves us cynical. Guarded. Bruised.

Even if it was worth it to take the risk of that first love, will it ever be worth it again?

Will someone see my bruised banana of a heart and think:

"Ew, I don't want to go near that thing"

Is the risk always there? Of getting more and more hurt... and do we hurt ourselves more for realizing it?

***************

I was in the produce section, thinking about bruised fruit, when the olive color of his coat caught my eye.

I didn't think anything of it, at first. There were too many people in this store, the pre-Christmas rush, I suppose. I wheeled my cart over to the end of the aisle and saw it again. This time I took it all in. The coat, the glasses... my heart stopped... the yellow shoes.

It had only been a month, at this point. Perhaps, too soon to run into him. Automatically, I began to wonder what I should do. Do I walk right up to him and say hello? Do I plan to casually bump into him on my way to check-out?

Whatever I do, I thought, I cannot hide from this opportunity.

But why was he here? Why in my grocery store on the other side of town? He could have shopped at any number of more convenient locations.

Suddenly, he turned and I darted behind another shopper.

I was furiously searching for a mint and some lipstick when I heard his slight chuckle.

"Rosa," he said, a gentleness in his tone.

"Oh, hey!" I tried to be overly casual about it.

"How are you?" he asked sheepishly.

"Oh, you know..." I said, smiling way too much. "Upset about the weather, happy about the holidays."

He laughed nervously, his tongue sticking out over his teeth. He was blushing, it was impossible not to notice. His haircut was too short, something I had always criticized him for. Maybe too often.

"So, you're not home for the holidays... or?"

"I moved in with my aunt a few weeks ago," his voice was soft and steady. "It's been going pretty well. I love her dog."

"I bet," I said, a pang in my chest as I remembered him introducing me to this relative... and her dog. He had even talked about hopefully having playdates with my dog, whom he also loved very much.

He asked about my dog. He told me about work. We joked about the pains that elementary school teachers share. The conversation lingered on and on, no one wanting to break it. My heart was at peace for those glorious 30 minutes, until he said,

"Well, my ice cream's about melted here. I suppose I oughta check out."

I nodded and wished him a Merry Christmas. I watched him walk solemnly down the aisle and turn the corner, out of sight.

That was it. The better goodbye I was hoping for all these weeks... I suppose.

I fished around in my pocket for my grocery list. My hand was shaking as I read the next item that I needed. Limping my way over to the poultry and meats aisle, I began to cry... my hot tears falling down my face. The chill coming off the food made my cheeks feel cold and wet. I wiped my eyes and tried to regain composure. An elderly man was watching me from the dairy section.

As I began to busy myself with studying the price of ground beef, I heard it. Loud footsteps, jogging almost, getting louder and closer as they approached. I turned to see the source of the noise, thinking it to be some overweight child running through the aisles.

As I turned, I saw him. Christian.

Eyes raw from his own tears.

Hands pushing my cart out of the way.

His forehead pressed to mine as his arms enclosed me.

His chest heaved with heavy breaths.

"Oh god, Rosa"

I dropped the ground beef, feeling my soul's grief fall to the floor alongside it. I took in one solitary breath, feeling him draw me into himself, once again.

"I'm so sorry," he began crying. "God, I'm so sorry..."

I put my hands around his neck, felt his hair where it was freshly cut, breathed in his warm aroma. His glasses were fogging.

He kissed me then... not the way he had in that McDonald's parking lot.. not a kiss of comfort and ease - but a hard, grasping, passionate, pleading kiss... complete with no scent of onions whatsoever.

"Can you forgive me?" he asked, as I was made aware of the elderly man now intently watching from the dairy section.

Christian reeled back and tried to assert the necessary space between us. I saw him returning to himself. I heard Unchained Melody begin playing on the grocery store's radio station. He noticed it too. One of his favorites.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I realized: He was finally here.

When I opened them again, I was fully expecting him to vanish.

I reached for him, expecting to receive nothing but air... but he was there, finally, with his olive colored coat that still vaguely smelled of cigars.

I began to sniffle, knowing the words were just too cheesy, which was perfect for us...

"This is the best Christmas gift I could ever receive."