Chapter Twenty Three; Shattered

It is Sunday morning. Two days after Nick told me he needed time.

Seven days after we’d just gotten back together. And now, we’re apart again?

I just didn’t understand.

I watch the families filter into the worship space at church as I stand behind the microphone and prepare my sheet music. I’ve been singing in church since I was 14 years old, up in the choir loft of my small town Catholic church.

This Sunday is my Sunday to cantor, to lead the music. And I couldn’t be more grateful. When I have the chance to sing at church, I always feel a profound sense of peace, and the presence of, well, The Holy Spirit. And right now?

I could use all the holy I could get.

The past few days I had been trying to process Nick’s Thursday words. He needs time.

Time.

I could still see his blue eyes in my mind. Leaning against the entry way of the fire station. Pleading with me to just give him that one thing he needed.

Time.

Whenever I sing, I always choose one person to focus on, to dedicate all of my words to. Someone in the pews who looks troubled. It helps to calm my nerves and remind myself that I am not there for my own glory, but for the glory of God.

The night before, an email came into my blackberry from a woman in the congregation who had been widowed two years prior. Her husband had died of cancer at the age of 44. And this week, it would have been their 25th wedding anniversary. Just last night I’d read her words on his Caring Bridge Site, “Dear Murray. I never thought I would celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary sitting on this bench next to your grave in a cemetery.”

I’d wept as I’d read her account of so many vivid memories of their wedding 25 years before. The ceremony. The reception. Their first dance to “Under the Boardwalk.” But my tears were not rooted in pity. I was almost envious. What deep love they had shared. Although he had died, they’d had 23 years together.

In this life of mine, and in my failed marriage, I’d never even had one.

And this particular Sunday morning, there she was. Sitting in the pews before me.

And so I dedicated every note I sang to her. To her grief, and to the love for her husband that could not be extinguished by death.

I let every measure be a prayer of faith. Faith in love lost. And in love found.

Love present. Love past. And love someday.

And not just for me.

But for all of us on this human road.

A profound sense of peace overcame me at the close of mass. And as I left the church, an old man stopped to shake my hand, “Great job today, young lady.”

I smile.

I feel peaceful. And I trust, that no matter how things are supposed to unfold with Nick, they will happen as they are supposed to happen.

Ding.

My blackberry beckons.

Someone loves me.

My girlfriend, Allie, is inviting me to join her and her daughters for Sunday brunch at our favorite restaurant. The August morning is unfolding into a gorgeous summer day, and I can't think of anything more perfect than pancakes on a patio with a dear friend and our children.

My youngest daughter and I are on our way, but shortly before we arrive, I look down at my phone and see another text from Allie.

OMG! What are the odds? Nick is here. Table next to us. He is with a woman, probably just a friend. Do you want to still come?

My heart skips a beat. I can’t not go; my little girl is anticipating her pancakes.
At the next stop light, I decide to text Nick and tell him I am on my way. I don’t want him to feel awkward. Maybe he would like to leave instead of sitting next to me during Sunday brunch? I should be respectful and give him a heads up that I will be there.

I don’t even think twice about who he is with. In fact, I know a lot of his friends, I figure I know the woman and fully expect to recognize her when I arrive.

On my way to meet Allie and her daughters for brunch. U r sitting next 2 her? I would just not come if awkward but kiddo is looking forward 2 it.

He doesn’t reply.

Odd.

He always replies.

When I pull into the restaurant I see him right away, baseball hat, Oakley shades.

He is laughing away.

I take a deep breath.

Allie was right. What are the odds? This town is not a metropolis, but it’s not that small.

I hug Allie when I get to the patio, deposit my daughter in her seat. Nick’s back is to me, so I walk up to him and gently put my hand on his shoulder.

He looks up.

“Hey . . .uh, hey,” he stutters.

I mutter quietly, feeling bad for the unintentional ambush, “Um,” I start, “I sent you a text message letting you know I was coming?”

“Oh . . . uh,” he mumbles, “I . . . uh . . . my phone is in my bag, I didn’t see it.”
That’s strange. Nick’s phone is on him at all times. It is like an appendage. The only time I’ve ever seen him not use it was on our first few dates.

Odder.

I look across the table. This is not a woman I recognize.

“Oh, sorry. Just wanted you to know I was coming,” I say quietly.

Awkward silence.

“Um, do you want to introduce me?” I prompt him.

Nick just sits there.

The girl at the table smiles broadly and says, “I am Brenda,” as she extends her hand.

Nick mutters, “Uh . . . this is Audra.”

I grasp her hand and wait for Nick to fill in the blanks about who Brenda is and how he knows her.

Silence.

That explanation never happens.

I look at Nick. He is looking away.

I look at Brenda.

And inside my soul I am flooded with the realization.

Oh my god.

He is on a date.

This is a date.

Nick.

Is on a date.

I do not yell. I do not cry. I freeze inside and somehow manage to utter, “Enjoy your lunch.”

I move in what feels likes slow motion back to my table and sink in disbelief. Staring straight ahead.

“Oh my god,” Allie whispers as the truth descends in her direction, “oh my god. Is that a date?” she whispers in hushed tones.

I stare at her. And do not answer.

My face void of color.

My silence is loud.

“Are you sure?” Allie prods, turning her own head to watch this reality unfold just mere inches from our own table. Our daughters laugh and squeal away. Their little voices sound like they are at the bottom of a deep pit. I feel my vision closing in.

Brenda is smiling at Nick, his back is to me, but her face is beaming. She is animated. She is giggling. Her leg is tucked up and she is hugging one knee.

My livelihood is sales. I get paid to be intuitive. To read people’s body language. To decipher what they are thinking. Feeling. Contracts with clients depend on my ability to read people. And Brenda’s body language is loud and clear.

She is in full on date mode.

I turn away. The voices around me drown in the deafening sound of my own heartbeat.

Allie looks at me with pity, “Are you going to be okay? What should I do? Oh, Audra, I am so sorry . . . this is unbelievable. He just told you two days ago he needed time! Who does this?! How can he be doing this? Is he really doing this? ”

I just stare at her. I don’t answer. I don’t know what to do. The man who told me just two days before I am the second person in his life he’s felt this strongly about.

Is on a date with another woman.

Right next to me.

The next 15 minutes march by like the cruel methodical beat of an executioner’s drum. I simply exist. I simply do what I must. I take my daughter inside to the buffet. I have no idea what she had for breakfast that morning. She could have loaded up her plate with nothing but butter and I wouldn’t have noticed.

I remember absentmindedly putting two strawberries and a slice of French toast on my plate as my hands shook.

I leave the buffet line, walk back out the door onto the patio, and stand in the darkest sunlight of my life.

I have a perfect vantage point of Nick as I walk back into the August morning.

I will never forget this vivid moment. I am wearing a pretty floor length strapless summer dress with a wide ruffle at the bottom. I’d fallen in love with it the minute I first saw. And it remains one of my favorite dresses, its floral hippie pattern makes me feel like a free spirit every time I wear it.

I feel the breeze gently moving its wispy material, my hair twirling ever so slightly in that same wind.

And behind my aviator sunglasses.

My eyes lock with Nick’s.

And as I stand there in that beautiful sunshine, in my beautiful dress, I watch everything I believed to be beautiful about Nick smash into unrecognizable slivers of something completely opposite of beautiful.

And while it does.

I just stand there.

Holding my goddamned plate.

Of French toast.

What was probably two seconds is seared into my memory forever as a defining and eternal moment.

Of ugly certainty.

And pain.

The term “heartbreak” is a dramatic one. In fact, who knows if our emotions have anything to do with our literal heart? But they definitely are connected to something. Because at that moment, in that sunlight, on that patio, something inside of me exploded into a thousand shards of glass. And the fragments raced through every artery and vein, ripping and tearing at my matter.

Hurting me.

On a level I did not even know.

I could hurt.

When I reach my seat I want to scream, but I can’t. I want to make a scene. But I can’t.

So I do everything I can.

To just.

Keep breathing.

After minutes that seem like centuries, Nick gets up to leave. His exit requiring him to walk within six inches of my chair.

And so I do it.

I say something.

I simply must know.

“So, uh, Nick,” I quietly say from my seat as I turn to him and tilt my sunglasses up toward his face. I lean back in my chair, my skirt cascading all around me as I shift my entire body as dignified as I can.

He stops. And slowly turns to me. He doesn’t even say a word as I begin, “Uh, just wondering.” I pause. He says nothing. I continue softly, “How do you two know each other?”

He does not make a sound.

He does not utter one word.

Brenda, still smiling, completely oblivious as to what is happening, chimes in, “Mutual friends introduced us,” cheerfully confirming the horrible truth.

It is a date.

Allie turns away from the scene. She looks as if she is going to be sick.

I stare not at Nick, but into him. And flatly respond.

“Oh.”

He says nothing.

He only.

Turns.

And walks away.

I just sit there like the stone I feel myself turning into. And watch him leave. And soon hear his Harley roaring to life in the parking lot. His broad form hurtles past the patio and I watch him go. Baseball hat on backward, sunglasses into the wind, and backpack over his shoulder.

And that was the last day. The last moment. The last time. I ever saw Nick.

For I never heard from him.

Ever.

Again.
*****************************************************
Dear Dating Land readers . . .
Thank you for your committment to this story. I know many of you will ask me...what happened next? Honestly? Nothing. I sent Nick three text messages from the restaurant basically asking him to "tell me what I just saw" and that if that was a date "you are a piece of work." I also remember telling him to "Get some balls and respond to me." (Not one of my finer moments . . .)

He never replied. I left him a message later that afternoon saying, "My trust in you is gone. I never want to see you again."

So. Who was Brenda? Was it a date? I will never really know. Because Nick never replied. He never explained. I sent him one email that week telling him my heart was broken. And another email a week later acknowledging my blog and that if he ever feels uncomfortable about my writing about certain dimensions of my life, then he just has to let me know. I will take anything down he dosen't like. He never replied to either email. And he never contacted me again. And I never contacted him either after I sent those two emails. I simply wanted him to know that I pride myself on my professionalism as a writer and feel it is a gift. Never will I use my passion for writing to do harm. And so after I communicated that . . . there was nothing left to say.

Besides? What was he going to say? I have tons of texts and emails from him telling me how much he loves my writing. I wrote an entire blog about life and relationships before I ever met him. It is something he told me over and over that he loved about me, that I was a writer, and that I wrote so beautifully. I'm not some chick who emotionally vomits on the internet. I harbor very deep writing aspirations and my goal is the same goal of all artists...to find that human connection and create something beautiful with it, something that says, "Hey, I know how you feel. I've been there too."

And that, was ultimately my purpose for writing this story. To simply share some human pain in an artistic way, a way that connects all of us to the larger human family. And to one another.

As for Nick, really, let's not be too harsh. There's two sides to every story and he has zero representation here. None of us are perfect and we've all done/said things that have hurt others. If anything, let's not just identify with ME in this story. I think the real lesson is identifying with him. When have WE been "Nick"? How have we hurt others? I think all of us have, in some way shape or form. And that's the real lesson here.

We all hold the power to shatter another human being. With our words. With our actions. Let us be cognizant of that power, and delicate with each other's hearts.

The coming Dating Land chapters will be some residual commentary on this story of Nick and I. . . but ultimately, I am done writing about him. I will instead focus on what having Nick come in, and out, of my life, has taught me.

And yes. I learned a lot. About other people. But also, about myself.

As for that day, in the long run. It was a gift. I know the chapter got long, but I felt it imperative to comment on my experience that morning at mass. For I feel, the serendipity that allowed me to be seated next to Nick that morning was God. God wanted to show me something. Even if it was going to hurt. He wanted me to know. He needed me to know.

It is now two and half months later. And yes, I think I did basically cry for all of September. October was better but I just felt numb. And I certainly didn't trust anyone with a penis, I can tell you that much. However, time is on my side, and time does heal. I went on my first date since that day on the patio just this past weekend. And so . . . I am trying to move forward.

Thank you for your devotion to my writing. Here's to life...and its endless joyful possibilities....

Blessings....
Love,
Audra
P.S. MUAH! :-)