I wake up late. I make coffee. I look at my watch. 2:30 p.m. March 6, 2022. Oh. It’s March 6.
It’s 75 degrees out and I go for a walk. I stream Kacey Musgraves into my ear.
“When the straight and narrow / Gets a little too straight
Roll up a joint. Or don't.
Just follow your arrow wherever it points.”
My arrow is pointing somewhere very different than it was on March 6, 2016.
Today is the first really warm day of the season. On my walk, I pass by numerous couples. Families. The young mom and dad jogging with their baby in a stroller. The middle-aged couple walking their dog. The old couple, the man using a cane.
Each one brings a different kind of pang. Together, all the things we never got to be.
The memories flood, along with the unique wave of emotion I can never accurately describe but I have come to know so well as grief.
“Baby, don't you know / That you're my golden hour
The color of my sky / You set my world on fire
And I know, I know everything's gonna be alright.”
March 6, 2016. We met at Ale Mary’s in downtown Baltimore after having spent most of the previous evening together.
We ordered a ridiculously huge plate of bacon. Just bacon. Along with our 3 types of drinks each (what is brunch other than the meal of many drinks?). I took a deep breath and said, “So I think we should probably talk at some point.”
I’m sure this caused a spike of anxiety, as this phrase often does. But he quickly assessed the situation and smiled. Probably winked. He had mastered the art of winking.
“If it’s a good talk, then sure. If it’s a bad talk, then let’s do it later so I can just enjoy a plate of bacon with a beautiful woman.”
It was a good talk. It was when I confessed that I had developed feelings for him. After months of hanging out as friends, knowing he had a crush on me, though we never discussed it.
We were so giddy and giggly for the rest of the afternoon. After brunch, he was meeting a client. He was parked right outside the bar, so he offered to drive me to my car. Right before I hopped out of the car, I leaned over and kissed him. He told me later he was shocked.
March 6, 2016. Our first kiss. Our first date.
Was that really only 6 years ago?
Six years is an eternity and a blip at the same time. Especially when I’ve spent half that time without him.
“Now if you lose your one and only / There's always room here for the lonely
To watch your broken dreams / Dance in and out of the beams
Of a neon moon.”
I think so often of a phrase he uttered whenever I did or said something quirky, or cheeky, or corny. He would turn to me with a sparkle in his eye and quip, “The rest of my life, huh?”
It was.
It just wasn’t the rest of mine.
Happy anniversary, baby.
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