"I thought I'd get it in while I can...happy birthday, kiddo".
You looked up, waved, then, with one more wave of the hand, you turned around and were gone.
It wasn't the sort of reaction that I expected, but what, really, could you do more than that? Sure, it could have been louder. It could have been a total verbal dismissal, a "get the hell out of here", or a phone call to the police, whatever. But the wave, without words, with that heavy, silent turnaround, was almost too much to bear. I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness in the gesture, the inability to do anything more than what you did. It must be forbidden for you to say or do anything when it comes to me. Quite a turnabout for the woman who, at one time, would come in through my kitchen door and jump into my arms.
I wasn't even planning on being there. I was out and about after dropping off my weekly applications at the post office. I drove up the street and took in a long browse at the video store, grabbed a baked potato and chili at Wendy's, and then, to my amazement, decided to do an impromtu "stations of the cross". It was dusk, breezy, cold. Why would you be out walking? What could I possibly expect to see? No matter, I took off, pulled over to get gas and then hit the Woods. Before I hit the playground I noticed a large truck or van in my rearview so I pulled over onto your street to get out of the lights. So did the large vehicle behind me. I pulled over once again and then realized that it was your car's lights shining in my rearview mirror. You drove by, I backed up and then, well, we know the rest of the story.
Well, I shouldn't have stayed. I should have backed up, watched for you, waved and left. But I sat there, rabbit in the headlights, and watched you unpack your car. I felt both priviledged and a bit wrong about the whole thing. I wasn't lurking. The car was running, the lights were on, and I sat there with the driver's window down. It wasn't as if I planned it, it all just happened so quickly. You went upstairs and turned on lights and I sat there for a moment longer thinking "should I leave? go to the door?" But before I could act or drive away you came back down to finish unloading. That's when I called out. Did you even know who it was at first? Did you finally recognize my voice and then, knowing it was me, turn away?
Afterwards I thought of Love in the Time of Cholera, how the hero had to watch his true love from distance, watch as she made her way through her life as he went about his. I felt that characters' pain tonight as it wasn't a whole heck of a lot different than that what's been going on with us. Watching you from a distance, finding out how you are through friends and coworkers and the 'net. I can't see you in person so I find traces of you as I go through life. It's alot like chasing bits of colored paper around the floor after a party. I feel I'm always one step behind, always in places where you have been. I feel more and more like a detective but one without a case to solve. A man with a hunch and not much else to work with.
I saw you, and, once again, all you could do was wave. I felt the weight of our lives in that gesture, in the way you turned around and headed back to your life. Whenever I think of that moment I will always wish I said more, but I know to have done that would have required a mutual desire. More, when I go to replay that wave of your hand in my mind I will always think of that woman I once knew, the one who had distinct hellos and goodbyes for me, the one who used to light up whenever I came into the room.
Witnessing that silent wave will always make it clear to me that I will never love another the way that I once loved you. Never. We both paid too dear a price for that love, for that silence you bestowed upon me tonight, for the sadness that hung about in that simple gesture, for that moment where you had to turn away from me without so much as a single word.
Love always. Your WHMB
You looked up, waved, then, with one more wave of the hand, you turned around and were gone.
It wasn't the sort of reaction that I expected, but what, really, could you do more than that? Sure, it could have been louder. It could have been a total verbal dismissal, a "get the hell out of here", or a phone call to the police, whatever. But the wave, without words, with that heavy, silent turnaround, was almost too much to bear. I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness in the gesture, the inability to do anything more than what you did. It must be forbidden for you to say or do anything when it comes to me. Quite a turnabout for the woman who, at one time, would come in through my kitchen door and jump into my arms.
I wasn't even planning on being there. I was out and about after dropping off my weekly applications at the post office. I drove up the street and took in a long browse at the video store, grabbed a baked potato and chili at Wendy's, and then, to my amazement, decided to do an impromtu "stations of the cross". It was dusk, breezy, cold. Why would you be out walking? What could I possibly expect to see? No matter, I took off, pulled over to get gas and then hit the Woods. Before I hit the playground I noticed a large truck or van in my rearview so I pulled over onto your street to get out of the lights. So did the large vehicle behind me. I pulled over once again and then realized that it was your car's lights shining in my rearview mirror. You drove by, I backed up and then, well, we know the rest of the story.
Well, I shouldn't have stayed. I should have backed up, watched for you, waved and left. But I sat there, rabbit in the headlights, and watched you unpack your car. I felt both priviledged and a bit wrong about the whole thing. I wasn't lurking. The car was running, the lights were on, and I sat there with the driver's window down. It wasn't as if I planned it, it all just happened so quickly. You went upstairs and turned on lights and I sat there for a moment longer thinking "should I leave? go to the door?" But before I could act or drive away you came back down to finish unloading. That's when I called out. Did you even know who it was at first? Did you finally recognize my voice and then, knowing it was me, turn away?
Afterwards I thought of Love in the Time of Cholera, how the hero had to watch his true love from distance, watch as she made her way through her life as he went about his. I felt that characters' pain tonight as it wasn't a whole heck of a lot different than that what's been going on with us. Watching you from a distance, finding out how you are through friends and coworkers and the 'net. I can't see you in person so I find traces of you as I go through life. It's alot like chasing bits of colored paper around the floor after a party. I feel I'm always one step behind, always in places where you have been. I feel more and more like a detective but one without a case to solve. A man with a hunch and not much else to work with.
I saw you, and, once again, all you could do was wave. I felt the weight of our lives in that gesture, in the way you turned around and headed back to your life. Whenever I think of that moment I will always wish I said more, but I know to have done that would have required a mutual desire. More, when I go to replay that wave of your hand in my mind I will always think of that woman I once knew, the one who had distinct hellos and goodbyes for me, the one who used to light up whenever I came into the room.
Witnessing that silent wave will always make it clear to me that I will never love another the way that I once loved you. Never. We both paid too dear a price for that love, for that silence you bestowed upon me tonight, for the sadness that hung about in that simple gesture, for that moment where you had to turn away from me without so much as a single word.
Love always. Your WHMB
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