Watching my reflection in the glass, I vaguely acknowledge the passing terrain on the other side, but mostly study my own figure as it
flies sideways across the now sunny Minnesota landscape. They seem a different
person, somewhat lonely and stunned. For a time, I observe myself this way, as
if apart from the being before me, and I pity it. Not for their tragic
stillness, not because they are sad, not even because they are alone. They
actually are none of these things. More, I pity them because there is
something so obviously missing from their whole, something that when removed,
leaves them only a part of a greater being. That greater being, the best version
of themself that they had come to know, was tasted, touched, felt, lived,
loved…and now gone.
Ohhhh no no no. We’re not doing that. We’re not going to get
all dramatic, Beckett. We are not going to fly off into some monologue about
how the world just isn’t the same, life just isn’t as fun, I’m so alone and
just want to sleep these 3 weeks until she comes home. No. Because, honestly, I
feel fine. I miss her. But I’m fine. I just can’t shake this feeling
of….lacking. Is that it? Close as I can get, I suppose. There is something
lacking, and that is all. It’s knowing how great something can be, and then
settling for something that’s “less than.” Our apartment is lovely. It’s homey,
comfortable, vintage, full of life and memories, and sunshine pouring through
the windows to illuminate our trinkets and thrift store finds in golden rays.
Dust and incense smoke cut through the rays in gentle wafts, and a bust of
Brahms looks over the scene in a steady and knowing expression of neutral
contemplation. The roses I gave her at her graduation ceremony now sit in a few
wine bottles on the window’s edge, and several petals have fallen to the side.
Fur lays invitingly draped over pieces of antique furniture, beckoning, “come
sit, stay awhile.” It’s beautiful. More so than I could have ever imagined
possible when I first moved in. She left her marks in my home. She warmed it
with her energy and presence. It’s still lovely. It’s still our home, the one
we made together. It’s just lacking an element that once there, then removed,
leaves the home like the rose in the wine bottle. Still beautiful and fragrant.
Still the rose. Just missing a few petals that had once filled it out to it’s
complete bloom.
After I arrive home from the airport, I stand for a moment
in our living room. For some reason, I don’t quite know what to do. Do I sit? Maybe
I’ll go to the kitchen. The bathroom? I think I need to pee. Maybe I’ll do
that. I do. Ok. Now what? I’m stunned. Wow. What do I…do? Of course, the answer
is: anything. Anything and everything that I would normally do otherwise.
Instead, I wander the apartment, letting my fingers fall on items that are
either her’s or remind me of a memory of her. I need a shower. Yes, I already
had stepped in and briefly rinsed off when I woke up, but I feel like another
one. I let the hot water relax my muscles and give me an excuse to put off doing
anything. I scrub. Hard. As if eradicating an itch or scratching out a stain, I
force the soap into my pores. It’s been a while since I paid much attention to
myself. That’s a new freckle on my right knuckle. Like a little pen mark. How
long has that been there? I should clip my nails.
Amazing how focusing all your attention on another person
makes you not notice certain things about yourself, and how when you are left
alone, you are forced to really take a long, hard look. I brush my teeth again.
Hard. Thoroughly. I take some tweezers to a few stray hairs. Grabbing the
remaining glass of wine from last night’s party, I hold it up in a salute to
the sunbeams in my window. Last glass. Resolve. I will really take care of
myself these 3 weeks. I will sleep enough, exercise daily, eat clean, cut out
alcohol, and make myself useful by completing the various projects that I’ve
either started and forgot or didn’t start at all. Productivity and self -care will be themes of this
Separation. I slip into her favorite brown sweater and some of my boxers. I
text her family as she asked, and charge both our phones. I’m suddenly struck
by the realization that if I call or text her, I will not be able to reach her.
I look down to my own phone and find she messaged me online. She was online 9
minutes ago. I missed her.
Face-palm. I could have talked to her one last time before her flight
took off? Arrrrrgh. Oh well.
I text with a friend briefly, making arrangements
to hang out a few days from now. No point in isolation, I must be sociable. The
temptation to lie down on the bed is overwhelming, but I know I must resist.
Sleep will come later, in its time in the routine. I must stick to a routine.
No unscheduled naps. Now, I must
write. I must plan and create a schedule for myself to adhere to religiously. Now
I must use my time intentionally. I must stop looking up every time my phone
whistles and feel that heart-skipping thingy and expect it to be a text from
her. That last one may be hard. Over three months of seeing each other every
day, and now the Separation begins. I’ll be fine. Really. And I will get a lot
done.
But, to be honest, I think I want that nap first.
I wake up cold. Freezing really. Instinctively, I grab my
phone to check and see if I have any texts from her. I always wake up confused
anyway, but the lack of her presence both physically and via technology leaves
me befuddled. Her phone is here, her keys are here, her smell is here, then
where is…my mind refocuses. Oh. Right.
I don’t want this blog to be a daily exposition about how
much I miss my partner. Really, I don’t. So I’m getting it out now. I’m
allowing myself a wallowing day. A day where I can stay in bed, not get
dressed, eat pickles and coconut macaroons for dinner, and accomplish nothing
whilst drifting in and out of sleep. I will write. Oddly enough, those days
where I am most lazy and unproductive are the days when writing comes easiest.
My fingers fly over the keyboard, and my mind takes on a certain flow and
clarity that otherwise is lost to the jumble of activity and action. Maybe
that’s it. My inactive body evokes an overactive mind. Surely, there must be a
balance that I can find between the two, but for now, I embrace my
word-saturated brain, my un-perfumed and sweet-smelly odor, my shock of unkempt
hair that stands up in one spot, and my body that lays dormant and vegetative
on a futon mattress. I embrace it.
I embrace that tomorrow will commence my rigorous routine. I embrace that
instead of “riding it out” or “getting through” these 3 weeks, I will make good
use of my time and strive towards positive changes and growth. After all,
that’s what she’s doing over in Spain. Challenging herself. Growing. Pushing
herself to become, day by day, mile by mile, a more intentional and developed
version of the already exquisite person she is. And that is what I need to do
on my end. Whether in Spain or in Minnesota, we both need to have the same
goal. To constantly move forward.
As wallowing day comes to a close, I finally feel as though
I have broken through my fog. I feel like getting dressed now. I will go to Gigi’s.
I will walk out into the last bits of today’s sunlight. I will embrace. Count
my steps to keep pushing for one more. One more. One more. I will move forward.
I will move. I will move. Forward. Forward. Forward.
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