The One That Got Away

I’m moving back to my hometown. It has been almost 20 years. I saw her last night. She was visiting my mother. Her strawberry-blond hair is exactly as I remember it. Probably a bottle dye job, now, but it looked authentic. So did her smile.

She asked about my family. They are moving up from Chicago as soon as I find a house. She asked about my new job. It is going well.

Then there was a moment. She had no more questions, she was standing in mother’s kitchen wearing her coat, keys in hand. She paused. I paused. Our eyes connected. I saw an alternate universe. We never drifted apart. We married. We had children, a boy and a girl with strawberry-blond hair. We traveled. We laughed. We made love in a home near the beach where she grew up. We were drunk with love, fulfilled, assured, and living without regret.

Another moment, and the fantasy was replaced with reality. I know she saw in my eyes the same pain I saw in her’s. The year’s have not been kind. Mistakes. Hurt. Regret.

She left.

An hour later there was a new Facebook message. She said it was nice to see me. Her words were full of tension, longing, and loneliness. The same washed over me. I remembered the feel of her strawberry-blond hair running through my fingers and the low moan of contentment she would make when I did that. I reflected on the timing of it all. It was me, really, who drifted. She always made me smile.

I replied, returning the sentiment. I waxed eloquent. She always liked my writing.

She asked about the past. What happened, anyway? I didn’t really know. I fumbled out a reply, then deleted it and took a moment. What did happen?

Life happened. And it hasn’t been easy. We went our separate ways.

I scrolled through her Facebook profile. She married a man. They have four children. One she named Whitney. I knew she would, she wanted a Whitney since we were kids. Whitney has strawberry-blond hair; beautiful.

I married three years after we split. My wife is kind. We have two children. I adore them. Being a husband and a father has been incredible. I treasure my family.

I replied. I wished her well. I explained that though I was moving back to Michigan, we wouldn’t be seeing each other much. I told her I was happy, which is mostly true. I told her I want her to be happy, too. I used the word ‘boundaries’.

She thanked me. She explained she would be “unfriending” me on Facebook. She wished me well, too.

I lay in my bed for a while thinking of strawberry-blond hair and love. I pictured my wife’s face, dwelled on it. I love her. I don’t know what happens in alternate realities, but I live in this one. And I am thankful.