An anniversary
It’s been a year to the day since I met him at a French coffee shop on Hawthorne and handed off a hasty birthday gift. I brought oddly flavored M&M’s and suggested we share them, try them together. My mouth dry, from nervousness. Just asking for something so previously mundane to us made my teeth clink together like they were made of glass. My smile hesitant and too wide, unsure he would even consider the request.
“made my hope jump up and up”
It’s been a year since we stood from our little formica cafe table and he pulled me into a hug. He held me for three seconds, maybe four, but it was one of those brief forms of affection we used to share constantly, well constantly four months prior. The surprise of this made my heart sputter to life, made my hope jump up and up, higher and higher. As we walked out the door he took my hand and we walked together like this for the first time in months. It was a stroll in this warm orange nostalgia and I felt like he was coming back to me. The space between us had been growing, and I kept turning a blind eye to it, trying to plot a way around it. But in this instant, as we walked and touched I thought, “It will be ok, he loves me still.”
It’s been a year since we took our seats in couples therapy. I looked to the loveseat thinking we should sit closer, touching even. But he’d already found his place in the armchair, so I sat down in the chair opposite him and waited. I thought this week’s session might be a turning point. I started to wonder where we would end up. I sipped tea and tried in vain to push my hopes away from my heart.
It’s been a year since the therapist asked who would like to start and he immediately said, “I’ve been falling out of love with you for the past two or three years.” I went still, so very still. I counted my breaths instead of crying. I watched him talk to the therapist. I felt a cold concrete begin to fill my veins. It was solidifying and nearly suffocating me. I needed to break it up, it was too heavy, and my stillness was making it worse. I eyed the door. The therapist took note and asked me to speak. I hesitated, I knew that if I started I might not stop and that the only words inside me were not in anyway kind. Eventually, with prodding, I found a question, “Why did you hug me? Why did we hold hands? Why?”
“I’ve adapted, using strange and beguiling techniques”
It’s been a year since we left therapy going our separate ways in our separate cars. I’ve spent the intervening days in a strange new world. At first everything around me was harmful, made me double over in regret and loss. Made me sob uncontrollably without knowing the reason. I’ve adapted, using strange and beguiling techniques. I’ve pretended the things around me weren’t harmful and ignored the poisonous sorrow flowing through me. I spent months sorting these new surroundings into careful categories, attempting to make sense and strike bargains with the worst parts. Then I’ve turned around and grown furious when these perfect deals I signed with myself didn’t pan out.
It’s been a year since I set out, alone for the first time in thirteen and a half years. In that time I’ve walked the halls of myself learning something new and subtle each day. I know now that I need someone playful and agile beside me. I’ve seen my enthusiasm, a trait I love so dearly, make shaky situations worse as I wield it to try and win others over fully, immediately. I spent months re-learning how to exhaust myself with honesty, a trait I insisted was of the utmost importance in high school. I maybe spent too much time mad at myself for forgetting such important aspects of my identity.
“I know I am far better off”
It’s been a year since I moved from being a we to a me. Exhaustion and obsession paved my way to discovering the who I am now. And to be honest, I’m not even certain I know. It’s taken me a little less than a year to realize I may never fully comprehend what specifically a Jessie Rainbow is, and what she holds most dear. Yet when I look at myself now, I know I am far better off here, in this year, on this day, and with this me.