Leaving him behind is such a depressing thought.
With my friends, it's different. We're leaving each other but, not behind. No one's staying here. We're all going off somewhere to do something that'll consume our lives. It doesn't mean we'll forget; it just might take ten years- when we take a second while packing for the move to our first home- or sit back with a glass of wine and a spouse- or babysit our college friend's two-and-a-half-year-old who has a fascination with names- and we'll pull out or stumble upon the old photos and will be reminded, happily, of the "good old times." Ten years from now when we can afford a moment to reminisce, we'll do just that. Until then, life is happening.
But with him, it won't be so simple. An excited chat on Facebook or the occasional call to see what's up won't make sense. It'll be the residue of three years of intense companionship that'll muck up the happiness that would come of hearing from each other. So many times I've attempted to imagine what those last minutes might be like until I click my heels and get on my way. Every time I've come to nothing. I simply can't fathom what might be going through my head, or what I might say, or what his reactions might be. I'll be so conflicted; I'll be so indescribably happy to be going out into the world, but I'll be leaving what was once my future- him- my love, behind.
I'll be looking back out of the rear window- or from my front door- or from the escalator- or wherever- and he'll be looking back- or walking away- or gone. I just know I'll look back. I'll see in the expanding distance all the happy weeks spent in Longmont, delicious anniversary chicken, Our-own-dance-party-with-only-us-because-we're-awesome-and-prom's-overrated Party, our movie series marathons, him stepping on a tack, his arms lifting me to the sky, the bouquet of my favorite flower, the sex through New Year's, the frolicking in stores, the never putting the annoying things he says on FML to not give him the satisfaction, the egg sandwiches... I'll see the sun rotating in a perfect circle as the car flips, his hug after I collapsed in front of him and the two pink lines, his hand wrapped around my stomach as I nearly lose consciousness from the medication, his expression when I show him my wrist, the moon on the tears that ran down his face as he left me, his anger and desperation burning through my eyes once I completely lose it, vibrating waking me up at four in the morning to notify me that I was alone a second time, a glaze that signified the coming down of a brick wall I was talking to, trembling cellular waves bringing me his painful scorning- and the deep wish that, as heavy as they are, they can carry cross-country to remind her of her abandoned son... I'll see our two boys and two girls, the beautiful home in Washington, the late college nights in each other's dorms, our novel, his dad patting him on the shoulder at Thanksgiving, my reluctantly welcoming his mother to her seat before the ceremony, Band-Aids being applied by a father's gentle hands... I'll see it, gushing out all at once, a sea of photos sweeping out from my peripherals and dancing in the wind before me like forgotten fliers. I'll have time only to see a few, in the elongating trail, settle to the ground. And I'll witness those dissolve into unseeable particles.
So many times I've attempted to imagine what those last minutes might be like until I click my heels and get on my way. Every time I've come to nothing. Until now. I found a connection, a memory, an image- that somehow makes perfect sense of things:
My pacifier was a dark teal, with either a yellow or clear nob to suck on. It was a special build my mom had found that wouldn't make my teeth form an angle outwards. All my deepest affection was within it. I can't remember anything before that where I didn't have it. I was nearing four years, and my mother prepared me: "You're getting older, Tahlie, soon you'll have to stop using a pacifier"... "What about today? Be strong, you can do it. No? Alright, but it'll be harder later"... "None of the kids at school will still use one"... "Tahlie, it's difficult, but it's part of growing up. I promise you'll be okay." Everything she said made sense; I knew it all to be true. I understood. Finally, after one of the aforementioned phrases or another, I walked to the bathroom with my mother. "No, go," I said. "Alright," she stopped in the doorway, "I'm proud of you." I slowly pressed down on the trashcan's pedal that equally as slowly lifted its lid. My heart was racing like I never new it could. I opened my jaw and, threw a watery blur, I saw my pacifier fall to the bottom, a blotch of color amongst the wavy whiteness.
So many times I've attempted to imagine what those last minutes might be like when I leave him behind.
My pacifier. My love. I'll miss you.
