I’ll See You Again
Heartburn was just starting to set in when I saw her standing there. It made me wonder if it was the fast food breakfast I’d just wolfed down or a sign from God that he was about to play dice with my universe once again.
Why did it have to be her? In that same airport? Just past 10 years since I last saw her.
What am I saying? It's me. Of course she would show up.
Call it, God, Fate, Karma or Sally Silly Shoes… something is out there and it has a sense of humor that is both cruel and whimsical.
But then, that was always the way with her and I. We would break up and get back together. Didn’t matter the amount of time or the circumstances. There always seemed to be an invisible tether that would yank us back into each other’s arms. Or maybe it was just us.
She was always my drug of choice. Even after all this time, I could still feel her across the room. I can remember her smell… her touch. Like any addict, no number of years sober can erase the need in the pit of your stomach.
And there she was, standing at an airport Starbucks. I didn’t think she saw me, but then, who knows? Maybe she was just avoiding looking me in the eyes. If that was the case, then nothing really had changed in all that time.
I can still picture her sitting across from me. I’d been there for half an hour, before anyone else had shown up at my gate. I think I was listening to an 80s rock playlist. I know I was silently rocking out, ignoring any judging stares from strangers. And I looked up and she was sitting there, pretending we had never met. Pretending she hadn’t just cut me out of her life without a word a few days earlier. Pretending we hadn’t been with each other for 24 years (off and on).
That was only the 500th time she’d broken my heart, but it felt like that was going to be the last.
It took me well over a year to get over her. She’d really carved my heart out that time. By then it was like losing a limb. I could still feel her there, even though she was gone.
And yet, slowly, but surely, time moves on.
Of course the change of scenery helped. I didn’t move away from my hometown because of her. I never wanted to be there in the first place. Losing her was one less reason to stay. But I never really fit in there. Over the years, I’ve had a thousand interactions with strangers. Every time one of them finds out I’m from New Orleans, they get that look in their eyes. The one that says “I went to Mardi Gras once and I can’t wait to tell you about it!” And every time… EVERY TIME… I stop them. “I’m the most disappointing person from New Orleans you will ever meet. I cannot stand any of the things you want to talk about.” It's a necessity. Because if they get to saying “laissez les bon temps rouler”, it could end in a homicide. Though I admit, I always get a wicked sense of joy from taking the wind out of their crawfish-laden sails.
I had to leave. It's just sad it took me so long.
I could never shake my nomadic nature. If I had to be alone, I wanted the road beneath me. I always said that the problem was I didn’t belong in New Orleans. But if I’m being honest, I never felt like I belonged anywhere. Or with anyone. So much of my life has been about me being scared that people will see me for the alien that I am.
None of it’s a choice. There were other girls. But none of them looked at me the way she did. And when you’re an outsider and someone gives you that look… well, you would turn over Heaven and Hell for her.
I’ve dated here and there. There’s a girl back in Tennessee that I’ve been seeing. She’s nice. I could see it going somewhere. But we’re still in that period where we’re trying to feel each other out, just in case one of us is a serial killer. But then again, by the time you’re in your 50s, serial killer is acceptable as long as she doesn’t smoke or steal the covers at night.
Even then, who knows if that will last. I travel so much and I get the feeling she wants someone who will be there. What you want more than anything at this stage isn’t sex, its companionship. Stability. That’s been a continuous problem. It’s hard to put down roots when you’re constantly moving. But that’s the job and it’s what I wanted.
I have always loved telling stories. I spent years learning how to hold a camera properly so that I could see places and meet people and tell their stories. And now I do. And it is an honor to get to do what you want to do for a living. But it isn’t without its costs.
I’m still kind of lost, but I guess it's more on purpose now.
I can’t help but wonder how she fared over the years. She looks good, but I always thought she looked good. She lost a fair amount of weight. But is she happy? Did she tame all those demons that she lived with… the ones she would turn in my direction when she was angry?
And yes, I’ll admit it. I wonder if she’s single.
I’m still an addict. And at that moment I was at the proverbial bar, trying not to drink.
I could have walked over and said “hello”. I told myself it wouldn’t hurt. There was enough time since the last time. It didn’t have to be a thing. It was just one drink. One more drink.
And just then her boarding was called at the gate. As if God decided the joke was going too far. So I pulled out my camera and took a photo of her walking out of my life once again.
And I can’t help but wonder if it will be for the last time.
When I started writing this, my inclination was to paint my future in a negative light. And I stopped. Why? Why would I do that to myself. So I asked a few friends what they think their lives would be like in 10 years. More than half had a negative response. Why is it that in a life filled with a prosperity that almost no humans in history could conceive, we can’t imagine ourselves successful and happy? So I tried to rethink my future in a positive light. And I still couldn’t hit the mark. Because I felt like a life with me happily married would be a lie. And I didn’t want this to imaginary scenario to be fake. In life, I consider myself a pragmatist, but in the personal, I am a pessimist.
I don’t know how to fix that.
