Almost Again

CH 1.

January 5

Twenty-six B was my fate for the next eight hours. What should have been a vacation with happy memories now stained with fresh heartbreak. My sadness felt squashed by my seat companions’ enthusiastic laughs at the movies they had chosen mixed with the chatter and laughter from those a few rows up. I sighed and pulled my satin eye mask down, leaned back, and imagined us. I’ve never liked blue eyes to be honest; they’ve always made me uneasy. Which is why when I looked at hers for the first time and felt this steady familiarity and calm, I knew that she was a part of me. The way I fit perfectly in her arms. Like I was made just for her. Our story up until now has been full of ups and downs, like the time we went no contact for almost two years. But somehow, we had always found our way back to each other. I live thousands of miles away from her, and yet the distance doesn’t lessen the ache. The hunger and subsequent pull towards you feels primordial.

Jan 18

I packed the last bit of clothes we thrifted together and grabbed the tape. I had put off mailing it for because some part of me feels like this box is the last tether I have to her. I’ve written dozens of letters and notes in the past week because my sadness has felt too heavy to contain. The dam has broken. After arguing with myself, I decided to include the papers.

The scale reads 7.28 lbs, as the Dave, the post office worker who has been our middle-man for the last five years, recited the same prompts to me as before. He has no idea what’s in the box, he has no idea that this is my last time here. The packages don’t exist anymore.

CH 2.

Feb 1

I’ve been focusing on myself for the last two weeks. Or at least trying to. I’ve been overthinking about whether I could become obsessed with focusing on myself but I end up distracting myself and avoiding my feelings. How do people know when the thing they decide is healthy? I throw the reusable grocery bag over my shoulder and start walking home, already thinking of my new push-up routine. Always moving, always doing something. My phone has been on silent because I don’t care about responding to any one else. The podcast I had forgotten I was listening to finally broke through my thoughts. I opened my phone to a text. From her. And then suddenly, a call. As I slide my finger across the green phone, I’m met with silence. My phone is in SOS mode. “I’m walking back from the store, one second! My phone is on SOS!” She hears nothing. The call ends. I push the side button and switch it to Ring.

Feb 12

I risked my heart by including the letters in that package, and the price was the heartache that came with no response. I had nothing in my mailbox other than bills for the last month. Walking back downstairs, I breathed deeply and thought about the positive. I’ve read four books this month. I joined a local club. I started modifying my self-care routine. The deep breaths become shallow, slower, and I feel my body relaxing.

My phone lights up. It’s her! Four bars. No SOS.

“Hello?” my breath heavy

“hey” it’s low, and almost monotone, but there’s something there.

“Are you okay?” I asked. And then listened for two hours.

By the end of the night, I’ve realized two things: 1. That she did respond to my letter and it was lost in the mail, and 2. The universe is trying to keep us apart.

I used to be the type of person who would fold instantly when the universe told me no. I would back down without hesitation, eventually leading to me reading so far into “signs”, that I became a coward. But not now, the universe may be saying no, but I’ve cranked my podcast to full volume and I’m determined to win.

Feb 20

I’ve flown back into town to visit family, and in the last few days, I’ve made plans with her. We are going to meet at the local coffee shop in a few days. The sounds and conversations of my family become background noise to my imagination. I think about that dimly lit, green carpeted café and how softly you sit in the chair, looking at me and smiling, saying “I’m usually the late one.”

The days have passed quickly with the anticipation. Thirty minutes until I see her again. My anxiety takes control as I check my phone again. Two minutes. What? No. That’s not possible. I must’ve glanced at it too quickly. One minute. I start jogging, turning onto Howell Street, knowing that even though I’m late, she is always more late. Ernest Street is next. Why does that sign read Ursa Street? That’s not right. Wait, did they redesign downtown?

Something is very wrong. I don’t know where I’m at, and I’m so late. How could I have lost my way around town? It had only been a year since I’d last been. And yet somehow, nothing looked familiar. A strange greyish haze hung around the buildings. I will make it to this coffee shop. And suddenly, as I round the corner, the hanging wooden sign denotes I’ve made it. My hand curls around the wood carved dolphin door handle and I walk inside.

She isn’t here. Its dim but it’s not that dim. I grab a coffee and begin writing my $2.00 tip on the receipt when I see the date: December 15th. It’s not December. Its February. I had already finished half my sentence when I realized what I was saying, “Why does this receipt paper say December 15th?” The cashier glanced down and shrugged, “Oh, this thing is always doing some weird shit.”

Dec 15

No, it’s not. But for some reason, I’m not able to erase it not even a smudge. And I can’t write it: Dec 15. NO! I don’t know what’s going on but I know that the universe is against me and no one seems to understand. This is the third time I’ve tried writing it on a piece of junk mail I found at my best friend Vera’s house. She said I should come by and catch up, and for some reason I had no problem making it to her house. I try explaining the weird buildings, the haze, the missed calls, and lost letters. Vera is my best friend because she is always an active participant in conversations. She listens well and is astute at picking up patterns, which is why it surprised me when she said, “That’s not really that weird, you know? That happens on a regular basis, it’s just a really emotional time for you.” I looked at her freckled face, in those intelligent brown eyes, and something was different.

“I’m going to use the bathroom.” I grabbed the piece of junk mail and tucked it into my pocket with the pen and turned around, the floorboards creaking under my feet as I take a left into the bathroom.

Letting out a deep breath on the toilet, I write: You aren’t the universe. You are different. You are EDITING my life.

The words appeared slowly, scrawled intentionally underneath mine: No. I am improving your life. If you would have made the right choices, I wouldn’t have had to intervene.

The right choices? The ones that don’t involve me reaching out and trying. How ironic is that, that the one time in my life that I actually try, I’m tormented and rewritten. Not by the universe. But by you.

I dive deep into my mind, the only thing left I know to be real and true. You’re not punishing me because I’m wrong. You’re punishing me because I’m not narratively convenient.

Vera knocks on the door, “Hey, are you good? It’s been over twenty minutes and I know how quickly you poop.”

“I’m good, sorry lost track of time.” It wasn’t a lie. I had sat by and waited for a response but it never came. I heard her footsteps retreat and I opened the door to see Vera leaned against the bedroom door frame a few feet away.

“Sorry about earlier. I know I said it wasn’t that weird, but after thinking about it a bit more it does seem like a weird string of bad luck, you know?” Oh. I know.

“Yeah. Anyways, I’m flying out tomorrow and I have one last chance to see her. I’m about to head out. I’d regret if I didn’t try at least one more time.”

Vera agreed with me.

CH 3.

What was supposed to be a ten-minute walk to her house, was exactly...ten minutes. I was here. And before that, Vera was agreeable. And the date on my phone read Feb 20th. It was quiet now. There was no grey haze. I was here and nothing had tried to stop me. Her driveway was always ridiculously long. The gravel unevenly shifting as I tried to walk normally. I was afraid that at any moment you would intervene and rewrite this driveway to be infinitely long. Imagine that, my punishment being walking down her driveway for eternity. Always slightly out of reach. I was on her doorstep. As my finger slowly depressed the doorbell, the door opened. I looked up and almost smiled. She stood in front of me, the warmth emanating from her smile, her hair falling around her face so delicately, her hands out stretched, and her eyes…her eyes. Aren’t the same blue eyes I remember. They aren’t familiar, they’re uncomfortable.