Cupid’s Restitution

I watched her hand slip into his as they walked the perimeter of the park.  It was a gorgeous summer night.  Among the beautiful blooms and quieting birdsong, they slowly made their way along the path.  I could feel the love coming off of them, the comfort and the support.  I did that.  I made that happen.

As I lost sight of them rounding the water’s edge I decided to stay where I was behind the trunk of the tree that was most likely a century older than myself.  I took solace in that.  As this tree would continue to age, their love would continue to flourish, and I could move on to my next matchmaking project.  I breathed a sigh of relief.

Some projects will be bigger than others.  I honestly don’t know the direction the next one will take.  I know it won’t always result in true love, but I am confident I can again be part of a new relationship that forms.  Someone will be less lonely because of me.  That thought gives me comfort. I feel a sense of belonging and peace when I am in the presence of what I have created. It fills me with joy.

This project started with an accident.  I was lonely and angry and admittedly, very drunk.  I left the bar that night feeling dejected.  I tried to engage people, I tried to make a connection, but I was left alone at the end of the bar with my rejection and my empty highball glasses.

I’m not sure how many I had, but it was too many.  Besides having an intense feeling of loneliness, I don’t really remember leaving the bar.  I don’t remember driving away.  I don’t remember hitting anything.  I just awoke on the side of the road with my car still running.

The pain is what woke me.  It was excruciating.  My face felt like ice and fire and jangled nerves.  It pulsed with my heartbeat which thumped faster and faster as I took in my surroundings.  I swung my door open just in time to heave my stomach contents onto the dirt.

It was raining hard.  The rain felt good.  Cleansing.  I made my way to the front of my car and saw the damage.  The front left light was broken and the bumper had something sticking out of it.  Some metal stick that didn’t belong.  I leaned on the car as I tried to think clearly.  I slowly scanned the area as much as I could in the downpour.  That’s when I saw the tire.

At first I didn’t know what it was as it was just mangled wires and a black ring.  It looked like some kind of modern art.  I realized that was where the metal must have come from.  The piece of modern art became a bicycle tire and next to it I could make out a foot.

I can’t think about it anymore but the foot belonged to a man.  A man that was definitely free from his earthly body.  His belongings were all over the side of the road and far back.  My car must have drifted off of the road and struck him.

I panicked.  That’s all I can say for myself.  I saw this and I panicked.  I fell running to the car, my face screamed.  The sound was deafening.  With my body covered in mud and my face destroyed, I made my way home.  I hid my car in my garage and crawled into bed.

Three days later I read about him in the newspaper.  He was homeless and estranged from his family, but a father of two young sons.  He had been living on the street for over a year.  His siblings brought him food and tried to get him help but he was paranoid and it was difficult to convince him to trust anyone.  They were heart broken by the loss.  I read the paper and I cried.  Blood seeped out of my nose and dripped onto the newsprint.  My car had taken away this father, brother, and son.

The funeral service was several weeks later because his parents lived far away and needed assistance to travel.  My face was still a mess so I watched the graveside burial from my rental car.  I made sure to get tinted windows and sat in the back in the middle so no one would see me watching.

When people think of funerals, they think of loss and pain and tears, but there is also love and comfort and support and sometimes even laughter as they remember the deceased in the form of comedic stories.  Watching the burial helped me to see this.  As I gazed over this group of strangers I saw the love they shared for this man and for each other and I felt whole again in their presence.

I felt a connection I had never experienced.   A couple weeks later I found myself watching his estranged wife regularly.  One of those days I followed her as she took the boys to a park downtown.  I was so nervous following her my hands shook as I parked the rental.  I had brought cheese puffs to nibble while I watched but I was way too nervous to eat.  It worked out perfectly because it gave me an excuse to leave the car and walk to the water.  I fed the ducks my snack while I cautiously watched her unpack.

I almost gave myself away when I saw a tall burly man approach her.  I felt I needed to protect them now.  Just before I made my move she saw him and smiled.  That’s when I realized I recognized him too.  He was at the funeral.  Not with her but with the man’s brother.

They met for the first time at the funeral.  I watched their love grow as the leaves turned colors in the fall. I watched them pick out their Christmas tree in the winter.  I watched him do yard work at her house in the spring. Now, I am standing behind this massive oak tree as we bear witness the love coming off of them, the comfort and the support. I watched them walk away, hand in hand.

It wasn’t my car, it was me. I did that.  And I am going to find a way to do it again.