Friday, 23 January 2009

Walk on by


Padre e Figlio
Originally uploaded by docfuz
It has been a long week. So tonight I thought I'd treat myself to dinner out and a couple of drinks before heading home and to bed early. I was well into my second Moscow Mule by the time He walked past outside the window.

The man who broke my heart, whose heart I broke, and every time I see him, my body remembers that. I shall call him A. I guess there have been others after him, doing the same thing, to whom I've also acted cruelly, but never with such desperation as when I aimed for him, when I was 17, 19, 21. You can read the story of our past here.

It belongs to the story that after all these years living far from home, I've chosen to return to the city where this man lives now. We haven't kept in touch that actively, I guess for obvious reasons of not wanting to be reminded of how stupid we once were, and on my part, how cruel I once was. But of course we have friends in common, and he happens to own a lot of books I need for my course. Because he did it a few years ago.

When I see A, my heart skips a beat still, especiallly if I am not expecting it. And he looks at me, he sees me, I know he does. His girlfriend is lovely, and I actually wouldn't dream of breaking up that union. But I am still me, and in some hidden corner of my heart, I guess there is still an "us", even if I would never let on to J about this.

So anyway, there I was, innocently sipping my drink, though I know he lives nearby that particular bar, which I had gone to at the suggestion of my friend. He walked by with his preschool age son in tow. In tow being the best description, the boy was hanging back slightly, while A was hauling the kid's weekend bag and another backpack, probably heavy so he was in a rush to get home. I knew that it was kiddie weekend this weekend.

I didn't run outside to say hi, I just knocked on the bar's window. A didn't hear it, but his kid did. His kid, though, obviously, didn't recognise me, as we last met about 4 years ago. Pre J. But anyway, this stupidly cute, blonde kid turns around, hanging from his dad's hand, and I wave at him. And I am amazed at how grown up he looks, because he is the living counter of the time that has passed since I drew a line below the thing that was A and I, and although he is no longer a baby, he has opinions, he will go home and ask his dad who that funny woman in the bar might have been, despite this, I know that I haven't really managed to draw the line at all.

I guess now that I feel that J and I are much more of an item, my mind drifts off more easily, it shouldn't be that way but it is. When I meet A, I always write afterwards. He tells me I speak in poetry, and I know that in his eyes, I will always be a genius with words, published or not. I am not the person he thinks I am, but I am in love with her as much as I am with him. So I have chosen not to pursue the literary path, I have shut that writer off inside me, because I think she is the one who so deeply connects with this man who is not her keeper's boyfriend, that she has to be silenced, possibly forever. She dreams off, she creates fantasies, there is always divorce. On one hand I know I'll never act on this. I respect A, and even more so I respect his partner who's been lovely to me since I moved here. I need to stop this. I just don't quite know how to fall out of love with that part of myself.

2 comments:

  1. I agree a big part of falling in love is falling in with the person we ourselves become under another persons gaze.
    So enjoy your observations on life... don't give up the literary path

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