The Tattered Chapter

Over the course of my adult life, I’ve been single more than I’ve been a couple with someone.  My marriage lasted 9 years though we were unofficially separated by the 8th.  Since our divorce in 2001, I’ve been on 1,836,523 coffee dates, managed to have a few hopeful relationships sprinkled in between and been proposed to three times.   

Proposal #1 was the most memorable.  Mike and I had only been dating for three months but when he invited me to go with him to Hawaii with his friends, I agreed (it’s Hawaii, after all).  On just our second evening there, we found ourselves walking along the moon lit beach when Mike began slowing his pace, eventually stopping to kneel down on the sand.  I thought his shoe became untied.

He was definitely not tying his shoe.

You haven’t lived until you turn down a marriage proposal while still having four arduous remaining nights in Hawaii with a man who you absolutely know will be an ex once the trip is over.   

I’d live through eight more years of alternating between dating and single life when I finally met Aaron.  I reveled that my tragic, though sometimes comical, dating life was over.  It felt amazing to finally have someone with whom I could enjoy life.  Admittedly, it was nice to not be alone anymore.

And, then suddenly I was.

It's familiar territory, though.  I'm no stranger to eating out by myself and seeing movies alone.  It’s just that I thought that worn out chapter, the one with the dog-eared, tattered pages and scribble written in the column of every page, was over. 

But, I thought wrong.

I picked up that chapter and carried it into Scramble this morning...it’s one of my favorite breakfast joints.  As I stood at the back of a long line I noticed there were eight people ahead of me; all couples.  Shortly after I walked in, another couple came in behind me.   

The pair in front of me didn’t have an inch of space between them at any given moment and I wondered if they were newlyweds.  Each couple talked over the menu, held hands and looked overly couple-like.  The inner dialogue in my head dripped with sarcasm:  Really?  Clearly, I was in a coma this whole time and awoke to February 14th.   I guess while waiting for a damn shovel to break ground on my lot, I missed the couple-memo.  Oh look...everyone’s holding hands.   Yay for pockets.

I thought about leaving.

But, I really love their vanilla yogurt.  And, plus, I have to get used to the alone-thing again.  No better time than the present to iron out the tattered pages of that chapter.

But still, the lump that had formed in my throat was beginning to burn.  I finally approached the gal who would take my order: two eggs scrambled, crispy bacon, vanilla yogurt in place of hash browns, sourdough toast and a coffee.  

“Would you like a cup for water?”, she asked.

She became blurry as noticeable tears welled up in my eyes.  Determined to proceed with grace, I made it my mission to somehow make light of this awkward moment.

“No.  Thanks though!”, I said as I began smiling.  “...Water makes me very sad...as....as you might be able to tell.  There’s nothing more sad than water....”.  My sentence trailed off and in place of a period at the end, I shot her a quick wink thankful that a tear didn’t jump ship.

Handing me my coffee cup she giggled at my attempt at humor and her face softened with an expression that begged to ask me if everything was all right.

Yes.  Yes it is, young lady.  

Those tattered pages may be damn near falling apart but crisp, white, blank pages await the rest of the story.   Is it possible I may never meet anyone with whom to share the rest of my life?  Yep.  Anything is possible.

But, if anything is possible, then some day I could actually meet The One.  There must be someone whose love actually stays?  And, if I'm so lucky as to see that day arrive, I can, for once and for all, throw out that single/dating-life chapter.  Actually, I’d douse it with gasoline, light a match, set it on fire and watch as every single page goes up in flames, burning them to a crisp as they fall to the ground in a pile of ash. 

That was dramatic.

But, regardless, it’s a possibility.

I could even get remarried.  

But, yeah, if that actually happens, could someone remind me to also change the beneficiary on all my assets and financial investments?  That would be great... 

To this day, my ex husband (and dear friend) still occupies that line on all the forms.

Layers of Paint

A letter to my little cottage on 14th Street:

Dear Home,

A friend of mine suggested I write this letter. She said when people get ready to sell their houses, writing a letter can help bring closure.   So here goes...

You should know that when my real estate agent pulled up to your curb, I hadn’t even stepped out of the car before telling her I’d take the house.  I knew you were the one.  She insisted I see the inside, though, before making a decision.  After stepping through the threshold of the doorway, I repeated “I’ll take it”.  She implored me to look at the entire house.  So, I walked through and eventually made my way into both bedrooms where I silently picked out my room which looked out into the fenced backyard, beautifully lined with oleanders blooming with pink flowers.  The yard was lush, green and boasted five grapefruit and two orange citrus trees, all with trunks that were painted pristine white.  I signed the contract within the hour.

As a kid, my mom and I moved around a lot.  The longest we ever stayed in one place was five years.  We’ve been together for fifteen years!  That’s the longest I’ve lived in one place my entire life.  This is also the only place that has ever felt like home.

You’ve seen me grow from a young and newly divorced woman who couldn’t even cook for herself into the mature adult that I am today...who still can’t cook for herself.  But, you know I make the effort ~ and, yes, a crock pot does so count.  

We’ve been through a lot during the years.  You received a fresh coat of paint on the walls after every storm that brewed in my life;  every layer, every color, was a witness to the tears, pain and struggle but with each new color came the promise of hope and a new beginning.

And, there were always new beginnings!  We’ve shared so much laughter, happiness and peace together.   I cherish the fond memories that were created in this very space; memories of all the pets, friends and loved ones that made this house a home.

And there were tragic times.  You and I would see my mom and Aaron draw their last breath in the bedrooms of this home.   

And, another layer of paint was added to your walls with each goodbye; a new color...the hope of yet another new beginning.

My dear home, I have added the last layer of paint.  

I never thought I’d leave here; I thought we’d be together forever.  But here I sit, writing a goodbye letter through the tears.  You’ve been so good to me; this home has seen so much laughter, love, contentment and peace.  I don’t want you to ever forget that.  I know I won’t.  You will always have a piece of my heart.  And, my wish and prayer is that whomever moves into this house will love it and cherish it as much as I have; that they will enjoy good health, happiness and make fond memories here.  

You no longer need to carry the weight of all your layers of paint with me here.  I am in search of new walls; a blank canvas on which to write my next chapter...a story that I hope is filled with hope and a new beginning.