Archive for lost love

COLD STORAGE

Posted in writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 24, 2013 by kimmy

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He probably remembers the details, but many of them are lost to me, buried under heaps of crazy emotions.  Fear, anxiety, mortification, desire.  I was only nineteen, so maybe I can be forgiven the last one. Even so, it was a pivotal moment in time for me.  It spelled the end of something that never quite began.

He was the kind of boy that a girl fantasizes about.  Not the happily-ever-after kind of fantasy, but the sweaty kind usually found in romance novels.  That it was discovered outside of books and imaginings was a pleasant surprise considering the disappointment that most adolescent girls face.  Awkward teenage fumblings were dismal compared to the promises made in literature and the popular 70s sex how-to manuals read in secret.

I wanted nothing more than uninterrupted time to explore these new-found sensations, maybe a lost weekend or two, to hole up with my playmate and plumb the depths and scale the heights, but there were endless obstacles.  He lived far away and visited only rarely, and when he did, there were roommates, housemates, work and school associates, and a maze of personal entanglements that constantly challenged me.  The moments we had became a torture because I wanted more and couldn’t have it.  It seemed the stars were always stacked against us…

… until one bitterly cold night.  We were driving my father’s giant Chrysler back to town when the unthinkable happened.  The car died and left us stranded somewhere on a lonely stretch of Illinois interstate.   And that’s when things really got interesting.

Not in the way one might suppose, but in the unexpected way deeply buried emotion percolates to the surface in time of crisis.  At first, paralysis, like I used to experience as a child when our family car would occasionally break down and my mother would collapse in hysterics and I would face the emergency alone knowing there wasn’t a sane adult to rely upon.

Then anxiety, wondering how on earth I could resolve the problem.  It never occurred to me that mechanical failure occurs on occasion; only that there was a pressing need for me to find some way to immediately resolve it.  Followed by mortification knowing that I was helpless to correct the problem and despite being finally alone with my dreamboat, the circumstances hardly lent themselves to torrid romance.   We spent the night huddled together against the cold until a state trooper came along and called for a tow truck.

Ironically, it was only the heater hose that needed replacement.  Within hours we were on our way, but for me, something had changed.  Maybe I finally recognized the patterns that had sabotaged my plans.  Perhaps I needed the derailment to shake me out of my stupor.  Whatever it was, it worked and as I watched the frozen landscape roll by, I realized that no amount of effort on my part or his would stop that vehicle from delivering us to our individual destinies.

It was my first conscious encounter with the randomness of fate and I mourned it a long time.  Karma felt like a prison and I hadn’t yet learned to pick the lock.

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ROADKILL

Posted in writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , on January 14, 2012 by kimmy

 

 

Remember that crush you couldn’t live without?  You thought you’d go mad if he/she didn’t pick up the phone.  How about that love interest in high school?  College?  At work?

I just saw their picture on Facebook.  Consider yourself lucky.

Better that you treasure the memory than dig up the past.  Time has not been kind to your former love, which may or may not please you… depending on your appetite for revenge.  In fact, time has steamrolled over the beauty you remember and left it squished on the road.  It’s inflated the stud of your memories to a Macy’s balloon, the cheerleader to a cow and sleek athlete to unrecognizable blob.  That once-unattainable perfection has been rendered by time and now, only the occasional bit rises to the oily black surface.

Yeah.  Like I said… lucky.

So stop living in the past.  There’s no point mooning over something that doesn’t exist, especially if you’ve been shortchanging your current companions.  They deserve more.  Hell, you deserve more. 

Did you ever stop to think that perhaps there was a good reason why you didn’t end up with Mr/Ms Right?  If they were all that and a Prada handbag, logic dictates that their behavior would reflect the same.

 Ah… but that’s not what happened, right?

If you’re like most folks, you got your ass handed to you… after it was smacked around, battered and kicked for several blocks.  And you know what’s really sad about that?  You still sighed over them.  You invented excuses for their behavior. You wanted so desperately to belong to their world that you bent over and offered up your ass for future kickings.  Thank you, sir.  May I have another?

Love is not an exclusive fraternity.  The keys to your happiness are not in the hands of some arbitrary moron… or love goddess.  They belong to you and only you.  The standards are set by you and not by an elusive wisp of memory. 

Instead of feeling wistful and disappointed, think of those emotional beatdowns as lessons in what not to do.  If life had allowed you to settle for less, your disappointment would be far greater than you could imagine.