No, I'm Not

“Are you coming tonight?” you wanted to know. 

I wasn’t, or I hadn’t been planning to. But I heard myself answer, “yes, I’d love to!” It wasn’t until you’d kissed me goodbye and were halfway to your car that I asked myself why I said that. 

The last thing I felt like doing that night was participating in our town’s version of a carnival. You know they do this every summer. I’ve never liked it. I’d been looking forward to being by myself, maybe ordering in and watching movies. I said yes, I realized, because Evan was going to be there! I said yes because long experience told me my heart should have sped up with excitement when you asked me to go. 

It hadn’t, though. And now that I was thinking about it, I couldn’t remember the last time it had. It must have been years. I remembered the way just thinking of you used to make me feel, and felt nothing except a mild nostalgic twinge that I suspect was more for our middle school days when we started dating than for you yourself. 

Not that there was anything wrong with you, Evan. I can only imagine what you must feel towards me now (actually, I can’t imagine it), but if it means anything to you, I want you to know that this was not your fault. It wasn’t anything you did. 

I guess you were probably going to propose sometime soon, now that we’ve finished college and are looking for jobs. Not student jobs or summer jobs but job jobs. Rest-of-our-lives jobs. Maybe you weren’t, but I felt pretty confident and I still do. We’d been together for ten years, after all, almost half our lives. It sounds crazy now that I’m typing it out. How many people marry their seventh grade boyfriends? I would have been one of an elite few, if you hadn’t asked me to that carnival when and how you did. 

Or maybe not, if I’m wrong and you weren’t going to propose, or if I’d had my revelation some other moment some other way. Who knows? Personally, though, I think that was what did it, because when it hit me how easily and unthinkingly I’d lied to you, I realized it was because of how natural it had become for me to lie to both of us. 

Once you were my best friend in the world, Evan. I don’t know when I fell out of love with you, but I know it was a long, long time ago. I also don’t know if that’s when I fell out of love with my whole life. All I know is that the night of the carnival, I suddenly knew something with absolute certainty, which was an unfamiliar feeling. So I walked downstairs in the jean shorts and denim jacket I always wore to summer nights out, and I got behind the wheel of my car–with every intention, I thought, of meeting you at the fairgrounds. 

I made the left onto Pine Street, and then I just kept driving. It’s a good thing there weren’t many people on the road because you know that’s a fifty zone and I was going at least seventy. I got on the highway going west and drove until my gas light started blinking. I don’t know how far from town I was by then. I didn’t think about it. 

Now, I’m sure you’re wondering, what was I thinking?! I’m sorry, because this is going to be disappointing, but I wasn’t thinking about much of anything. I was thinking that I wasn’t going to the stupid carnival. Somewhere in me, I was thinking that I couldn’t take another day of what, until that moment, I’d flattered myself by calling my life. Mostly, though, I was thinking about filling up my gas tank and getting back on the highway, and going, going, going and never stopping for anything. 

When I got back on the highway, my pockets were bulging. I had drawn as much cash as I could from all my cards. My phone started to ring as I left the station’s convenience store. I chucked it in the trash as I came through the door. I never saw who called. If it was you, checking to see why I was late–well, now I’m telling you why. 

My speedometer never dropped below eighty the entire rest of that night. I’m actually kind of amazed I didn’t get ticketed. Anyway, it was a beautiful sunrise. I think it was the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen. I kept drawing cash from my cards until there was nothing left on either of them, and then I threw them in the garbage too. I drove until my car and I were both so low on fuel that neither of us had anything left to burn. 

I pulled off the highway into a little nothing town, like ours but also completely, fundamentally different. I think I was somewhere near Illinois at this point, or just outside of it. I’m not quite sure. I got calories for myself and gasoline for Cheryl (as I’ve started calling my chevrolet). I swear it was the most amazing cup of weak coffee and the most sublime overly greased omelet anyone has ever tasted. 

I drove the entire rest of that day, and finally crashed in a motel in Madison, Wisconsin. You don’t know how good it felt to bathe. I washed away two days’ worth of sweat and dust, and twenty-two years and fifty days’ worth of a life I now realized I’d never been particularly fond of. Once I was clean, I put on a ratty old bathrobe and found the hotel’s gift shop. I bought packets of underwear, sports bras, a nightshirt, two pairs of vacation shorts, three t-shirts, a backpack and a sweatshirt. The motel had free toiletries. I took everything I could carry or fit in my bag. 

I drank scalding hot tea and watched cartoons until I fell asleep. I felt incredible. That was the happiest I’d been in my whole life. That sounds sad, I know, but it feels wonderful. 

The next day I woke up and my first thought was that the day belonged to me, in a way that nothing ever had. This is tough to explain. Also, don’t think I don’t realize how cruel I sound to you. I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m sorry I didn’t do this a long time ago, and I’m sorry I did it this way, but somehow I don’t think you’re that hurt. 

Maybe I’m just making myself feel better. But I was never close with my parents. I would have died for my school friends, but after school somehow they all faded away. And you and I haven’t been close, whatever we led ourselves to believe. We thought we were close the way pre-teens are close. We never even tried to be close as adults. The person I was until that night when I left is gone forever. I don’t really think that anyone is going to miss her. I won’t feel bad about that, though. I never needed her and I still don’t. 

So nothing from who I used to be was mine, but this day was. I had it to spend however I chose. I could do anything. I’d just proved that by doing something I never would have thought I could do–walking away. Choosing to be the person I want to be. I went out and explored Madison. I liked it, but I didn’t love it, and after a day I was ready to be somewhere else, so that night Cheryl and I got back on the road. 

At 3 AM, I decided I was hungry. Google told me there was a roadside diner forty miles away that was open twenty-four hours. I finished my slice of pie and sugary, bittersweet coffee at 4:30 AM and I was in South Dakota for the next sunrise. A couple of backpackers watched it with me, off of a hiking trail near the Minnesota border. I liked them, and I liked hanging out with them, so I stuck around for a few days. 

Who knew South Dakota was so gorgeous? Or that I have a knack for hiking, for that matter? I slipped once and got my Snuggle’s Motel vacation shorts muddy, but I kept up with them. Their names are Abby and Danielle. I’m going to visit them next week! I’m not going to tell you where, because neither of us needs to do a post mortem on the old me, but it’s a city I’ve never been to, and I can’t wait to see it. 

We eventually parted ways because they were heading up to Canada. For that I would’ve needed a passport, which I didn’t have or feel like getting. Besides, I wanted to see Montana. I kept driving. 

After two days of watching Montana spin past me, and a surprisingly breathtaking stop in Idaho, I made it to Washington. I’d always wanted to see Washington state. Did you know that? I don’t think you did. I never talked about it. I don’t think I’ll ever know, Evan, why my real self was so rarely–if ever–a part of us. 

Don’t think I haven’t asked myself whether things would have played out differently if I’d been more honest with the both of us. I asked it a lot of times, but the mountains of Washington blew it from my mind. I won’t dwell on the past. We both have lives to live. I hope. Or, no–I believe. Please believe me that I’m sorry it took me so long to acknowledge that. 

The road from Washington to California is a blur. Oregon was a whirl of color in the windows while Adele blasted on the radio. I started stopping just for the heck of it, in random places. I would stock up on Twizzlers and Doritos and just keep on hitting the road.

I’m not going to tell you about what I did from there, I’ve decided. I started typing this out just to get my thoughts in order. I had no intention of sending it to you. I was going to send you something else. An apology? An explanation? I don’t know.

All I can think is that I owe you the truth, for once. So here it is, for all the good it may do. I don’t know anymore if this is cruel or kind. It is real, though. 

You don’t need to hear about all the things I did, or the friends I made, or the things I saw. I was renting monthly, and I’d just paid. Mr. Brecker has probably thrown my things out already. Like I said before, no one will miss the person I was, least of all me. 

I’m sending this from a public library computer (the keys are sticky but the WiFi is good). Then I’m never checking my old email address again. Like I said, I started this email just to start saying something. I never meant to send it. You have no idea how hard it was to sit down and do this. You must’ve gathered by now: I love the feeling of running. I’ve been running towards my life since the last time we spoke. I won’t run away from my past, and I won’t let you take the brunt of it again, so I’m going to make myself hit Send in a moment. 

You won’t see me again. I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of the over-fresh scent of hotel beds, or the tang of rest stop coffee, but I am going to have to get back to the job thing. It’s an odd feeling, having no idea where I’ll be in three weeks or three years. Actually, my head is getting a little buzzy just thinking about it. It’s nervousness, but truth be told, I think it’s closer to excitement. 

Once again–know that you did nothing wrong. Forgive me if you can, and if it will make you happy. If it were me I’d rather be furious. Do that, please, with my blessing. Whatever is best for you is what I hope you’ll do. I’m not sorry for what I did; it’s exactly what I should have done. I never wanted your happiness to be sacrificed to mine. I don’t believe it will be. 

Thank you for what you did for me that night, however unintentionally. I’m not being flippant; I mean that. You gave me an epiphany that I desperately needed when you asked me, was I coming tonight? It is with the relish and release that epiphany brought me that I can finally say, with candor: No, I’m not. 

Sincerely, 

Sara