If only . . .
This rocking chair has become my best friend.
When things get too much, which is often, rocking keeps me sane. Just like a baby, it soothes me until I feel better. In slow motion, the gentle rays of gold disappear over the mountain as the sun sets.
Six weeks without him.
Without a kiss, a hug, a private joke . . . love.
And some days fly by while on others I feel like I can hardly breathe.
Barely clinging to life.
I dial the number, and I wait. The voice recording answers.
The mobile phone you have called is switched off.
“Where are you, Eddie?”
I’m getting worried. I haven’t heard from him for a couple of weeks now. We take turns calling each other, and it’s his turn . . . but he hasn’t called, and now he’s not answering.
It’s so unlike him. I can almost set my clock to the minute by how reliable his calls are.
I hope he’s okay.
He is. Stop overthinking it.
Darkness falls, and the warm breeze blows over me, whipping my hair about my face and bringing a million beautiful memories home. I smile at the thought of my beautiful Christopher. I don’t regret for a single moment falling in love with him, because now I know how it feels to be in heaven, when just for a while . . . he was mine.
I lean back in my rocking chair and pull the knit blanket over my legs as I relax into the night.
If only . . .
Ten days later
The plane touches down in Barcelona, and I watch the tarmac speed by through the window. I haven’t been able to reach Eddie, and I’m really beginning to worry. I know that surely there’s a reasonable excuse for why he’s not answering his phone, but I can’t relax until I’ve checked on him.
And besides, I needed an excuse to get out of town. The farm is making me feel claustrophobic.
Honestly, I don’t know where the fuck I’m supposed to be at the moment. Everywhere feels wrong, and I’m hoping distance will give me some clarity.
I haven’t started working again yet. Every time I go to commit to a position, something holds me back, and it’s ridiculous, because I really need to get my shit together. I’m twenty-six, and I don’t even have a job.
Ugh . . .
I’m trying to be kind to myself. Once I’m over this heartbreak, things will be different, I’m sure.
I go through the motions and get off the plane, collect my luggage, and catch an Uber to the hostel, and as the car pulls up to the curb, I look out through the window in wonder. A million beautiful memories come flooding in.
There it is . . .
The hostel where we met.
The driver gets out of the car, interrupting my thoughts, and I tentatively get out.
I wasn’t expecting this place to bring back so much emotion.
“Here you go, miss.” The driver puts my suitcase down on the sidewalk.
“Thank you.”
“Have a good night.”
“You too.”
He gets in and drives off, and I stand and stare at the hostel building. I don’t even know if I want to go in now. Is being here going to undo all the healing I’ve been going through? Too bad . . .
I need closure. Just go in.
I wheel my suitcase in and up to reception. It’s just before 10:00 p.m., and I know reception closes soon. The desk is unattended. “Hello,” I call.