Love this photo, she remembered as she excavated it from a deep dive into the social media photo file. Why not recycle it for the page once again? It’s seasonal if nothing else. The shiny black enamel of the rental car he insisted they needed.
She ended up driving halfway there even though he’d promised she wouldn’t have to.
So many promises broken over the years. When do they collapse under their own weight?
What an odd weekend. Even more so in retrospect.
Slow burn thinker because words are hard. So many thoughts swirling around from so much – life.
He’d moved out suddenly. The announcement made over Sunday pancakes she’d just spent an hour making.
The first words out of her mouth. Are you fucking kidding me?
Then tears. So many tears.
And then he was back. But not. She kept the sanctity of her threshold but allowed him into her bed. If nothing else the sex was worth it. Put her on crutches more than once.
Even worth this?
Peeling the band aid off slowly while still having the cake and eating it with two for a bit?
When he was there he was completely in but he shrugged it off at the door and left it behind in her keeping.
She was always the archive.
Was it time to do a bit of deaccessioning?
He rented a car so they could go away for the weekend. The only time, just like the flowers, and bought with the same plastic.
Money rushed away like water from him. She was tired of being the dam.
The weekend was odd and frenetic. She wanted to spend it in the woods. To sit by a rocky stream and absorb a bit of that peace.
Instead they wandered through shops they couldn’t afford being shoved about by people.
So many people.
She cooked most of the meals to save a bit. Saw it as her contribution. He said the weekend would be carefree for her but she still had to fill in all the details. And then to get slammed for it instead of it being seen as a joint effort? Wasn’t this supposed to be a joint effort?
It was very confusing.
Even years later a blur of feelings and conflicted moments. What was wrong with the people they were? Why did they have to pay for the privilege of pretending to be someone else knowing that there were extra bills at the end of it?
Where’s the fun in that?
He’d always been a chameleon but told her, with so many words between them in so many ways over so many years, that the skin she was seeing was the bottom layer.
The true core.
He was wrong.
And so was she.
She really hated to be wrong.
People on the bottom don’t always recover from their mistakes. Whatever they are.
There was another layer to peel.
They returned from the Northern Kingdom and he ghosted again.
And they went through the process. Kicked recycling cans and garbage bags of stuff sent off into the night and all.
At least they were alone in the house. It’s difficult to end something like that.
So much behind it and nothing ahead.
She saw him months later when he was picking stuff up from the garage she no longer went into.
He didn’t smell like himself anymore. This wasn’t the person she had known for all those years. Her person.
The skin had been fully shed.
At least I got a good photograph out of it.
