Sidewalk Reminiscence

Sunday, April 16, 2006

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I hate how life is sometimes just like a country song - a long, slow, sad one that stays in your head for days.

As I sit here typing this I do believe that I'm as sad as I've been in months. Just yesterday I was riding my bike innocently enough down the street when there just ahead of me was walking a couple of young people.

A man and a woman strided carelessly down the sidewalk, hands held, both with beaming smiles on their faces taking in the midday sun. On the right was Tara, my ex-girlfriend. On the left was a tall, broad, handsome man of probably 30 years or so.

Tara and I were together for about a year. I will say that the year we spent as a pair was one of the most blissful and memorable years of my life. I remember making love to her with the french doors open ... watching her sleep early in the morning well before either of us had to get up for work. I remember how her dog had an insatiable appetite for belly rubs.

I really don't think there is an evil or ill-willed bone in Tara's body. She always was ultimately compassionate and respectful with only the highest regard for matters of the spirit. Though deaf in her left ear, Tara could pick up on any vibe, anywhere.
She was amazing.

She broke up with me for the last time by sending me a package of all the personal effects I had left at her house the last time I stayed with her. A belt, some shirts, my old Specialized biking hat ... all carefully folded and shipped with care along with a 5-page letter explaining her decision.

Tara was 38. I was 26. This 'relationship' didn't stand a chance and we both knew it. It was she however who had the wherewithal and courage to up and sever ties with both our interests in mind.

But none of this makes it any easier today.

As Tara and her beau passed me on the street I tried to get a solid look at her. I couldn't, because the glasses she was wearing were very mirrored. What I could determine though was that she was very, very happy. Walking hand-in-hand with a healthy, smart (I'm sure) and kind man who I hope takes excellent care of her, she was smiling broadly right at him, looking up with an expression of care and perhaps even love on her face.

I had to stop pedalling about 30 yards after I passed them. I put both feet down on the concrete, straddling my bike, and silently wept for a few seconds. Though she may be off to a new relationship with someone fantastic, she's still inadvertently yanking the strings sewn into my heart.

But as much as it hurts to miss her, I know there's no sense in stewing. Nor is there any sense in hoping for a rekindling of any sort as I'm sure she's learned better than to date men so much younger than herself.

I think I've only felt this low about a relationship-gone-sour when my heart was first broken about 10 years ago. I wish it got easier to stomach with age. Unfortunately it doesn't.

Through my few tears I made it the rest of the way home and parked my bike against the wall of my apartment. I took my helmet off and pet my dog Loki, who was, as ever, happy to see me. I shook off my gloves and plopped on the couch, sighing heavily.

There I sat feeling sad and rejected, thinking to myself:

"Well, at least she's happy."

And I guess I can be glad about that.