Never Again

Every little girl always dreams of having a wedding. “When I get married,” is often heard from the girls who have dreams of growing up to be beautiful. They don’t picture who their husband will be, who will attend the wedding or even what anyone will look like; except themselves. I pictured my wedding as a woman who wore a white ballgown dress, wearing a shiny, silver tiara with white gloves, feeling like royalty. Little did I know that my wedding dress would be a thin, sleeveless cream-colored dress with pearls at the top. I would walk down a gravel pathway in some woman’s backyard that sat in front of a giant lake. I didn’t have a veil to cover my loose, brown curls or a bouquet of roses, but rather pink, plastic tulips I bought from the dollar store. As I reached the end of the pathway, I stood below a six-foot seven man with slicked back blonde hair, blue eyes, and wore black glasses to match his suit with no tie. My hazel eyes stared up from five-foot five and began picturing the future we would have together. The eyes are the window to the soul, but I had no idea I was looking into the eyes of destruction.

Four months had passed and I began dreading the holidays. I would have to eat meals by myself on Thanksgiving and spend my night alone on Christmas. In my eyes, life was no longer beautiful. I cried myself to sleep every night, hearing the echoes of that voice yelling about how I couldn’t do anything right. How I couldn’t cook, how I couldn’t pick the right clothes, how I wasn’t allowed to wear makeup or leave the house, how I wasn’t allowed to express my own feelings in my own home. Each night I would reflect on how I could believe all the lies and eventually convinced myself that my mind was just full of stupidity. I was stupid enough to think I would have a perfect life and be the perfect wife. I developed the thought process of overthinking, increasing anxiety and trust issues. Nothing made sense anymore.

I became sick and tired of relationships. I was tired of trying. The only effort I put in was toward organizing my personal space and healing. At least I had control over something. The silence reassured me that I had no one to see me as a mother figure rather than a partner. No more screaming demands, no more accusations and no more emotional abuse. I no longer had to wear a messy bun with black, baggy shirts and grey sweatpants that hid my insecurity. I could straighten my hair and wear a cherry red crop top that brought out my olive skin. I could wear light jeans that showed the bottom half of my curvy figure. I could finally wear eyeliner that made my green eyes stand out and dark red lipstick that pointed out my beauty mark above my cupid’s arrow.

Summer had finally arrived and I was getting ready for a new day. I was preparing for the warm sun on my skin and how tan I would become. It was warm outside and I decided to treat myself to the café. I knew it would be warm outside so I thought about the type of iced coffee and warm dessert I would order. Before I left, I opened my handbag and double checked that there was still a $20 bill in place. I made sure to pack my gratitude journal and a pen. I wanted to remember the things that made me happy and that life was worth living. On my walk to the café, “sunshine” and “nature” came to mind for the first lines of my journal. I wanted to start out with the little things in life and work my way up.

I handed the barista the $20 in exchange for my iced caramel macchiato and a blueberry scone. She handed me my change of $13.52 and I searched for a small round table where I could sit in solitude. I sat down and opened my journal, but after I wrote the date at the top, I had a sudden realization of what was supposed to have been. August 21, 2020 – the day that was supposed to be my one-year anniversary. Sudden flashbacks occurred and my hands shook to the point where I couldn’t write anymore. Why did I feel this way? Was it fear of abandonment or the fear of falling in love again? No, it was my fictional expectation turning into a crushed reality. What was I thinking?

I left my scone untouched and threw it away with my coffee half empty. I was already in the process of overthinking and knew drinking caffeine would only amplify my anxiety. My mind was telling me that I needed to go home before I gave myself a panic attack. Even though my apartment was only a mile away, I made the decision to power walk so I could calm my breathing when I got inside. Once I made it to number 8 upstairs, I told myself, “Inhale four seconds, exhale eight seconds.” I was calm enough to unlock my door but took slow steps inside. Right before I sat on the bed I forgot to make, I heard three soft knocks at my door.

I raised my body back up with slight anger since I was trying to relax. When I opened the door, I looked up and saw a six-foot pale man with black hair and purple highlights that nearly covered his eyes of green and blue. He had a silver ring on the left side of his bottom lip and had perfectly aligned teeth that showed a bright, white smile. He reached out his hand that showed off his black nail polish and handed me a book. “I think you left this at the coffee shop,” he said. It was my gratitude journal. “Oh, um thank you…,” I uttered. “Ezra,” he stated. “Uh - Oaklee,” I stammered. I thanked him again for returning my journal, but before I could close my door, he opened his mouth but paused for a brief second.

“I noticed you kind of left in a rush and didn’t finish your coffee. Would you mind if I bought you a new one?” he asked. My heart pounded so hard that it dropped to my stomach. He might have looked like the man I’ve been dreaming of since high school, but I had a feeling in my gut he only wanted one thing. I decided to accept anyway.

When I arrived at the coffee shop, I noticed Ezra was already sitting at a table with drinks. As I approached him, I had an expression of confusion and concern. “Iced caramel macchiato, right?” he asked me. I responded with a question, “Yeah?” How did he know that? Was he stalking me? No, he had been behind me in the line yesterday and overheard my order. I sat down slowly and squinted my eyes at him, feeling like I had to proceed with caution.

Our conversation was light and included typical small talk. I wasn’t interested in how the weather was or explaining what my hobbies were. I stirred the straw in my coffee, hearing the rotation of the ice, feeling distracted. I couldn’t help but think of my past and felt like I would be led down the same road again. How could I explain to Ezra that I already liked him, yet didn’t trust him? He had the looks, a sweet tone and didn’t seem to have a temper. He seemed like a dream come true, but I couldn’t fathom why he decided to ask me on a date. I wasn’t anything special, just an ex-wife who developed post traumatic stress disorder and a heart solid as a rock.

I ended the date and thanked him for the coffee, but before I stood up, he grabbed my hand and asked, “Will you join me for a second date?” I paused and slowly jerked my hand away. “That’s very sweet, but I don’t think you’d want to be with someone like me,” I said with doubt. I could see his smile fading and sadness in his eyes. I headed for the door as soon as I felt tears build up in my eyes.

The sun began to set and the sky became shades of pink and orange. I admired the beauty of the scenery, but I just wish I could have that admiration for myself. All I wanted was to feel beautiful and happy. I wanted to remember what love felt like. I desperately wanted to be with Ezra. He not only looked like the man of my dreams but seemed like he actually cared about my feelings. Of course, that’s how my ex-husband was before we got married. Maybe Ezra was just another narcissist in disguise. I wasn’t going to risk another heartbreak.

When I got back to my apartment, everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. I slowly took my shoes off by the door, I set my purse down instead of tossing it on the table, and I slowly walked to the only bedroom. The lights were off, but my curtains were slightly open, showing the sun was about to disappear. I tried to convince myself to shower before the stars arrived, but I just didn’t have the energy. Nothing was worth the energy, except pulling the large comforter over my cold body that felt dead inside.

My room was pitch dark, my body was covered, and my cotton pillow was now a mixture of water and smeared mascara. I was trying to imagine what a new relationship would be like, what it would feel like, but I knew it would only be hypothetical from now on. I imagined what it would have been like if I decided to see Ezra again; how my heart would have raced, how my smile would finally return, and having the feeling of confidence again. Those things were nothing but unrealistic expectations for me. I couldn’t picture life with anyone because I knew it would just end in self-sabotage. I closed my eyes as the final tear rolled down my cheek thinking, “I just wanted someone to love me the same way I would love them.”