August182011
Dressed Up For Heartbreak
“I’m on my way,” was the message I read as my heart dropped and I got up off of my bed to get ready. I touched up my eye shadow, eye liner and mascara that I knew would be taken off by my tears later in the night. My turquoise and white striped shirt was fitting around my waist and ran off of my chest in a way that you could see my curves that I hoped would make him want me. My denim shorts showed off my legs desiring to tease him. My perfume was hopefully sweet enough to draw him closer to smell the scent that steamed off of my neck. My hope was he would think that he would wish and want so deeply to be with me again, but believing that he could never get me back. Me, knowing he could if he really tried. I’d never admit that.
Three nights before, we danced, his sturdy hand on the small of my back screamed more than friends but less than lovers. He held my world in place for the four minutes that band played that song. Of course, I made myself watered down promises that I would not hope for anything more. But here I was, three nights later, dressing up to “see” him again. Who was I to agree to this? Who was he to break me, shatter me, into a million little pieces… again?
I walked to his truck, hands shaking, heart in my throat, praying for tranquility. I jumped in as cool as could be, him oblivious to the fact that I had spent the last hour pacing back and forth in my room, hyping myself down for the our first and probably final encounter since that March night he had ended the love I thought ran so deep. I was dressed up for heartbreak, he of course was dressed down. But I didn’t care. I had an hour more with him than I had had in the last four months and I was going to take advantage of it.
His voice was the same, still husky, quirky and curious. His car smelled the same, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to explain it. A few memories passed through my head as I quietly inhaled the scent into my heart. He still talks with animation and his personality still fits like the puzzle piece to my heart. He still makes any story intriguing to listen to, even if it’s the most simple thing. We talked just like old friends. Old friends with a past, of course. I still told him my stories that he probably didn’t care about and he still told me his funny stories that I always loved watching him tell. He laughed, a genuine laugh, his laugh. The laugh that pulled me up from my darkest times and put me to sleep on my happiest of nights. The laugh that was the soundtrack to my senior year. Then, he did the most amazing thing. He kissed me. Not once, not twice, but four times. And as he pulled away, he stared me deep into the eyes with the soft, kind smile I always used to see. It was the unspoken, “I miss you” words that hung over our heads but blazed through his eyes. In his truck, even for the one hour I was there, I was home again. My soul felt light again, like I was coming up for air after four months of suffocation.
As I got out of his car, I inhaled one last breath of my past. One last breath of happiness that will hopefully carry me through the next few weeks. One last breath of home. I took a picture of that moment, this last goodbye, in my head to always hold close to my heart. I had always imagined a mind-blowing “goodbye” with my first love, together or not anymore, before I left for my new life. It was a little different than I expected, but I still got it. One more goodbye. Farewell to the greatest lesson I ever learned. I turned over to you for one last smile, hug, kiss. I stepped out of my dream world and into the blur of calamity I’ve called My Life Without You. Dressed up for heartbreak, I turned to face the lonely world without you one last time.
