2003-07-18

2003-07-18 - 9:22 p.m.

This is some heavy stuff. There's lighter stuff from earlier today; take a look if that's more what you're after.

Almost every night, while driving home from Miss Beek's, I pass T's house. T, for those not following our story, is the woman J cheated with. She's also his ex-girlfriend, his co-worker, and was my culinary instructor for more than a year. J fell in love with her, they dated, she treated him like dog shit she'd stepped in. That was before he and I met.

Last October, when I found out he'd been sleeping with her, my world came apart. I'd trusted everything he said. I sat my car in a Trader Joe's parking lot wailing into the cell phone long after the conversation was over. When I opened the car door, I fell out into streaming rain, huddled against the left rear tire. Eventually an unknown shopper stopped to pull me out of the puddles.

The part of J's betrayal that I never could understand - I still don't - was how quickly it happened. He had only moved out a few weeks before; we were together almost every day and were still lovers. For me, the betrayal negated everything positive he'd ever said to me or about me; I felt as though the entire three years he'd been waiting to leave me for her. No one has ever made me feel so worthless.

So. It took us another six months to finally cut the cord. He hasn't tried to contact me since, and I don't feel it would be fair for me to contact him. I do miss our friendship sometimes. There were things we could talk about that I can't share with anyone right now. But I do not want to be with him.

One night this week I rode the bike down to Beek's. As I said, T's house is on the route. I saw T's blue diesel Mercedes in its accustomed spot - and then parked on the street, I saw a newish silver Jetta. With a license plate that looked familiar.

When I reached the corner, I turned to look more closely. There are an awful lot of silver Jettas - even those with 1.8 Turbo - in this city. This one had a license plate that was one digit different than J's.

I don't know what the feeling was that rushed through me. It may have been relief, or sadness, or anger. I had to sit still for a little while to get my breath back, and even then it was hard to keep going. It was the first time I understood that I've been waiting for this; I've been waiting for him to go back to her. It's going to happen. One day I'm going to pass her place and his car's going to be there.

I don't know what I'll do. I like to think that I'll be able to wish them well. Maybe not. But at least I'll know that I'm in the right place - outside, on my own, not wrapped in them any more.

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former / latter