beginning, middle, end, and begin again. part deux.

there was a sudden fall of rain. there was a lot of rain. a warning interrupted the movie i was watching. Rachel Getting Married. but the sky here was clear. the rain was counties away. and then there was a lot of rain, and there were sirens. i live across from a fire station. there were sirens alerting the neighborhood that somewhere hearts were breaking.

i was safely inside. but my heart was breaking.

we tried again.

it took nine months. i wasn't sure i wasn't still mad. it was 3 am, and i was drunk. drunk at 3 am you can forgive most things. even forget about nine months, and the 5 before then. or the 6 before them. the chapters, i guess. or maybe a series. a trilogy. the raise, the fall, the aftermath.

and then there was the prequel.

it was like we were strangers. but we were also too familiar. we had seen the other three episodes, but we were starting at the beginning.

i had bad dreams that first night. wouldn't let you hold my hand. i put my hands in my pockets to keep warm. or out of reach. or both.

you paid for dinner. you gave me options, but you didn't make me choose. you knew i didn't enjoy being the one to make the decision. making the decision means you have the responsibility when the meal is bad. the service is poor. the bill too expensive. the decision maker goes home with the guilt.

i didn't make the decision a year ago either. you had to be the one to say it. the one to say it was over.

i kept calling. mostly i listened to your voice mail.

your voice mail greeting is still the same now. i hear it and it hurts my heart. you used to work late. you wouldn't answer the phone. sometimes i would fall asleep and wake up hours later, trying again. you wouldn't be working then. restaurants close at midnight. i accused you of sleeping with other women then too.

i don't remember the pain then. we kept in touch. you still called me beautiful. you told me you had loved me. i didn't want to hear that then.

you were coming to visit. every time we did talk, you would tell me you were coming back to visit. i mostly called when i was drunk. getting ready to go out, to meet someone knew, move on. i wanted to hear the way you used to run your fingers through my hair, tangling it, in your voice, the familiarity, before the strangers and the smoke and the vodka had their way with me. tossing me through another dark night of cold fingers and untangled hair.

you were coming to visit. it was july. you would come in august.

i was in California at the time. San Diego for my grandparents sixtieth wedding anniversary, steeling wireless internet from the neighbors. and then there were the photos.

there are some things a woman knows. there are some things a woman just knows. i knew.

i sent you a message. i needed you to know that i knew.

you didn't understand. and then you did.

there was a call. i hit ignore. i didn't have your number saved. even now, i don't have your number saved. you left a message. i was sitting on the back porch reading a book, looking out onto the charred side of a mountain from fires the fall before. i remember telling you about the fires. i remember being scared. scared for the memories, mementos, the vanity i wanted for my own house one day. but my grandparents were okay, safe. three houses on their street burned. i walked to the end of the block to watch the construction workers rebuilding what had been lost.

your message. you understood. you were going to tell me in august. while you were staying with me, in august, you were going to tell me about her. the other her. the new me. while you were staying with me in august you were going to tell me about the her that replaced me.

her ass was bigger than mine.

i hit 9. delete. the same for you. you stayed away.

nine months later i was drunk. i had been drinking and there is no good reason why i called you but i did. i was laying on Caroline's couch, no, i was passing out on Caroline's couch. it was 3 am and i felt like forgiving someone. there were only 2 options. you won.

i was full of Waffle House hashbrowns. the last time i at Waffle House hashbrowns was with you. maybe it was the smell of the grill, fried eggs, and the smoking section that put me in a forgiving mood. we had been on our way back from Auburn. technically we were broken up at the time. thanksgiving weekend. you met my mother, brought wine to the house, ate leftover sweet potatos.

so i called. i didn't have your number saved, except in my head. you didn't answer. i don't know if you were sleeping, awake, in or out, in someone else's bed, or your own.

i woke the next day, in my own bed, the sound of the phone ringing. your number flashing on the screen.

it wasn't good talking to you. you weren't happy to talk to me. you didn't apologize. you didn't tell me you loved me.

i was cold.

and then it was the beginning again. and i was going to be there anyways, for work. so you picked me up at the airport. you met me there, and we took the train into the city. i was nervous and you were wearing a leather jacket i had never seen before and didn't like. you looked foreign. i didn't realize i was nervous until i searched for the sign to baggage claim. but i wanted to be taken care of. i wanted someone else to make the decisions. i wanted you to make the decisions.

i didn't let you hold my hand, but i don't know if you wanted to, i didn't make it available. you pulled my bag behind you. carried it up the 3 flights to your apartment. there were hardwood floors and the couch i made you buy. the leather one, that looked like it wouldn't be, but was comfortable, even though the backs of my legs stuck to the leather with sweat. we'd sat there before, had a conversation about how you wanted to be something, but you couldn't be anything, to me. i helped you drive the couch to Chicago, where it sat now, on the hardwood floor.

we slept like strangers that night. me on the drivers side, you on the passenger. i drooled on your pillow. you got up early in the morning to pee. i rolled over to your side. the whole night i had dreams about you and other women. all of the other women who weren't me that had existed, lined up in a row. i had dreams of you with her. the other her you were going to tell me about when you were staying with me in august. i woke up and i wanted you to kiss me.

and then it was the beginning again. and you held my hand, even though it was cold.

but i was hurt. hurt by you and by things you never knew that had nothing to do with you. i cried most of the second night. cried hard. the white hotel pillow black with mascara. i left similar stains on your pillows before. i could never wash it off enough.

i didn't tell you, but i cried because i thought you were high. i still do think that you were high that night. you were acting funny and your eyes were red. i was sitting in bed. if i reached out my arm i could touch you. you were miles away. so i cried.

you apologized, for everything. told me you had made a mistake. that you didn't know then. that you know now. you were not very specific, but i didn't need you to be. at the time.

i told you i loved you the next night. i had six martinis. i only remembered saying it like you remember a dream. i had to ask you the next morning.

you are leaving again. selling the couch, the hardwood floors. you are leaving again. i told you i loved you and you said nothing back. i told you i loved you again in the morning so you didn't think it was the vodka. i told you more times after that. you said nothing back more times. and you are leaving.

you are leaving. i asked you to stay but you said no. you asked me to wait.

i want to leave with you. i am confused and lost and hate it here, where i am right now. you are not here, but that's not why i hate it. i want to leave with you in a hurry. let you make the decisions. let you run your fingers through my hair. you told me you didn't like my hair this way. you asked why i cut it when it was so pretty long. you said you wanted to have kids with me. you wanted them to have my eyes. and my hair, but only when it is long, i guess. i want them to have your nose.

i liked seeing the future. knowing what it could look like. knowing what it could sound like. and taste like. i wanted to dock my aimless ship onto your plans and let them carry mine away.

you asked me to wait. but i can't wait for you and you say nothing back.