Please Don’t Walk Away
I promise I have the right words this time.
“Please wait.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Please! I know I fucked up.”
“I said I don’t want to hear it.”
“Please just give me a minute to explain.”
“You already explained everything in your texts this morning.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Look, I have to go. I have plans.”
“Is that why you look so dressed up?”
“Yes. And I’m actually happy for the first time. Happy to be going out, instead of feeling guilty about it.”
“I suppose it’s my fault you felt that way before, huh?”
“You said it, not me.”
“No, you said it yourself. You’re happy.” I said. “I just want you to know that I’m happy for you.”
“I doubt that’s why you followed me all this way. I’m sure you want something more.”
“I don’t know what I want. I just don’t want this to end.”
“Everything ends.”
“That’s a pretty fucked up way to look at life.”
“It’s either that or everything starts all over again.”
“So…who’s the guy?”
“Someone you don’t know.”
“Try me.”
“He’s a writer.”
“Seriously? A fucking writer? Like a fake writer or a real one?”
“He’s an author.”
“Does he have anything published?”
“Yes.”
“So then I probably know him. What’s his name?”
“No, you don’t know him, because no one gives his work the time of day enough to be on bookshelves in the places you frequent.”
“Got it. Look, I just want you to be happy. That’s all I want to say.”
“Do you want to help me right now?” She said, looking at me.
“Yes, of course.”
“Imagine someone else coming into your life other than me. And see her the happiest she’s ever been in her life. And that will make this easier for the both of us.” And now she’s looking down at her phone.
“Do you love this writer?” I ask.
“I’m meeting him for the first time in person today.”
“That’s not an answer to my question. Do you love him?”
“I love the idea of him. And that’s good enough for me.”
“He could be the total opposite of what you expect.”
“That’s fine.”
“How so?”
“I love both sides of him already. Just the idea of him reading my pages every night, makes me fall in love over and over. Just the idea of him telling me how much he appreciates me and believes in my work builds trust. Look, I entertained some pretty bad thoughts and feelings with you for way too long. It led to a lot of bad things happening between us. And I did this same thing that you’re doing right now with you, and other men, out of fear of letting go. Here’s the thing: I love this man already, and that’s why I’m meeting him. Because this is the last chance I get to do things right. And so even if I’m a fool, I’m going all in. Because this is me at my best, looking my best, feeling my best, ready to give my best.”
“Why can’t you do this with me?”
“Because the thought of doing that with you makes me sick to my stomach.”
“Fuck you.”
“No. Never again.” She said, turning to look me in the eyes. “Never.” And she turned and walked up the stairs.
That was the last time I saw her.
I hear she’s happy now. Married this writer. They publish books all the time, and get this — everything’s written on old typewriters. Fucking hipsters.
I don’t know how she does it. I want to wish them well but I don’t know how.
I suppose I’ll figure it out eventually.
