School is winding down. One more week of classes, finals week, graduation, time flies when you’re lost in a world that moves at the speed of information. It’s time for me to start building this tiny house that I keep talking about left and right, but I have no place to build, no clue where I’m going to live in a month from now, and a broken heart. Sounds like the best recipe for “it can only get better from here” n’est-ce pas?
I’m swimming in the great unknown, and it seems like I should get comfortable with it because it’s not going away any time soon. It was a sudden dunk in this dark pool when my love left, like a well-aimed ball at the fair. One day he said he needed time to think because he was lost to himself, the next – his things were gone and the greyhound was leaving in ten minutes when I discovered the absence. He couldn’t live the way we had been, in a temporary state, suspended between waiting for school to finish and driving across the country towards our building site, all my belongings in tow, with dreams of a life together. One more week, and we would have been on our way. I’m still at a loss as to what thought process and emotional state compelled him to take to the road overnight. He can’t tell me because he doesn’t know either. He will always love me, he said. If that makes the darkness any lighter, it doesn’t clear the murk.
As my heart prunes with the rejection, I try to distract my mind with the overwhelming pile of research I must now do to replace all the months of planning that included both of us. A smaller house, a ready-made trailer, no welding required, but where? My surroundings are filled with good memories that hurt now. My room is filled with boxes ready to be loaded into the small sedan. The trailer he bought and put together to transport my large artwork is folded neatly in the garage. The “where to?” becomes a burning question, because I need a destination before I can unfold the trailer and load it. The plywood and two-by-fours meant to make up the trailer box are stacked nearby. He had a new plan for them that I am not aware of because there are notches cut into the edges. Should I ask him to share this plan? or just go with the initial design? So many new decisions I must make. The load we once shared is now all mine, and until I find my footing it will weigh me down, under the surface, holding my breath.
West. I am certain of few things, but one of them is that I want to go west. North-west to be exact, but since Pennsylvania is fairly up-there, my trajectory will be mostly right to left on the map, left to right as the planet turns along with the continents, following closely in my love’s tire-tracks as the greyhound carries him towards Idaho. I ask why often, and immediately answer my own question: he doesn’t even know, so how could I? I resolve to wonder why less often, but I have little to no control over it. I can only hope that as the greyhound gets farther away, and as the planet turns, the forces that bind us will weaken and break. I know it will get better, but as long as I am holding my breath, my chest will burn.