Chapter Twenty One; Say It To My Face

I have thought about this day a lot in the two months since it happened.

About how when I woke up that morning I was so happy that Nick and I had been able to be honest about this crazy momentum. About how we decided to continue to see each other. To just see where things go.

I’ve thought about the things Nick said that week. How he’d teased me for “running away” with my middle of the night email ultimatum. How he’d joked he was going to steal my running shoes so I couldn’t do it again. How he made a picture of us taken on our third date his blackberry screensaver. And about how happy we looked, smiling up from the screen with expressions on our faces that seemed to illuminate from some secret special place we had only just discovered within ourselves. How everyone who saw that picture seemed to freeze in awe. “Wow. You two look amazing together. I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people look happier.”

I still have that picture.

And people still say the same thing.

He wanted me to stay in his life. And all that week, I was consumed by the joyful possibilities that that reality presented. I was just given the chance to pursue a relationship with someone I thought was so honest. So smart. So kind. So interesting. And so real.

And even though it was August.

It felt like Christmas.

I’ve thought about how giddy my family and friends were to learn we’d worked things out.

About how even Naomi forgave his ambiguity, and made sure to remind me that if she is ever a bridesmaid that she looks terrible in fuchsia.

And about how all of that lasted.

Four days.

I’ve thought about how mad I got when I read that email from him on my blackberry. Telling me goodbye. That I deserve someone better. How he needs to go because if he stays he knows himself.

He’ll just hurt me.

I’ve thought about that roller coaster of emotions and I remember wondering how my life just turned into a Katy Perry song.

You’re in than you’re out. You’re up then you’re down.

I’ve thought about that afternoon at the fire station over and over. How I stood outside until I saw his pacing silhouette through the murky glass of the door. How I meant to knock. But instead pounded.

My little fists betraying my big anger.

How he’d walked out into the station foyer. His face twisted with emotion.

How I’d pressed my manicured finger into his starched blue uniform where his hard chest housed a harder heart and told him to say it.

Say it to my face. Fine. Tell me goodbye.

But tell me.

Why?

I’ve thought about how he’d taken me outside and sat on the curb. His head in his hands. As he tried to explain.

And how I tried so hard. To just understand.

I remember thinking I’d never seen him in his uniform before, and how that simple fact underscored how briefly we’d known each other. At the same time, I vividly remember having the thought, “His eyes are the same color as his shirt.” And how I thought that was so stupid to think that right now, how beautiful he looked.

I’ve thought a lot about that conversation. On the sidewalk. Where cars drove by. And construction noised hummed. How the world just kept going on around us.

Even though everything felt so halted. As if the earth had just decided to suspend its orbit around the sun.

I’ve thought about how Nick tried to so painstakenly explain to me the years he lived before he’d ever heard my name. Seen my face. And how those years made him who he is, a person he hasn’t yet shown me.

And he didn’t think I would ever want to see.

I’ve thought about how I sincerely, not desperately, pleaded for him to show me. Assured him that I wanted to know. That I could handle it. That I thought he was worth it.

And I’ve thought about the words he said. And the story he tried to tell me, an edited abbreviated version of his life that I could not possibly grasp in the half hour we sat crouched together on the unforgiving cement.

I’ve thought about how at that moment heaven decided to rain on us. Big drops of water splashing in our hair and on our faces. About how we didn’t move.

We just let it rain.

And how perfectly heaven scripted that part.

Because in my shock and confusion.

I wasn’t crying.

But the angels were.