Little Victories

I tried to avoid the neighborhood for a while after we broke up. It was too hard to be there; the memories were too fresh. But I have friends who live in that neighborhood and I was headed to a party on Friday night when I made that left hand turn down memory lane. I’d been down that road before but I never know when the memories are going to jump up and bite me in the ass. Sometimes, I feel nothing. Sometimes, it’s just any other street. Then there are the times when I feel everything; times when it’s our street.

My stomach started to turn as I turned left.

I passed the liquor store where he would pick up a bottle of red for the meal I would be cooking at his house. I saw the greasy spoon joint where we would go for Sunday breakfast. We would read the paper in our respective sections: he with Business and Sports, me with Real Estate and Lifestyles. We read the comics together. I passed the garage where we took my car the day it started to make those strange noises. I saw the Thai restaurant he tried to take me to one autumn evening. We had to leave when I saw bugs crawling on the wall.

As I drove, the “what ifs” made me a bit crazy.

What if we’d made it work?
What if we’d found that old house we talked about and redone the kitchen with the granite counters and stainless steel appliances?
What if we’d taken that vacation to Jamaica instead of just talking about it?

And then a funny thing happened – the “what ifs” took a new turn.

What if he’d loved me as much as he loved his job and the money it made him?
What if he’d worried about us as much as he worried about his receding hairline?
What if, even on a really bad day, he was happy to see me when I walked into a room instead of wallowing in his own bad mood?

My anger was elevating when I looked around and realized I was lost. I’d spent so much time thinking about him that I’d let myself get totally turned around in a neighborhood that once felt like my own. I pulled up to the next intersection to figure out where the hell I was. I looked up to see that I was on the street I needed to be on, just one block in the wrong direction. I had to laugh at myself.

I pulled up to the house, turned off the engine and sat in my car for a minute. I smiled at the fact that I’d gotten so mad I’d let myself get lost. It was just such a typical KC thing to do.

Because I always force myself to find the silver lining, I came up with this: The bad news was that he was still creeping into my thoughts, making me sad. The good news was that I no longer stayed sad. That may not seem like a lot, but I’ll take the little victories where I can get them.