"Don't tell me he proposed on Valentine's Day".
"No, he proposed at the Patriots Parade", I tell him.
My ex-boyfriend looks at me in shock. In a soft voice he asks, "When Gronkowski was dancing on the duck boat"?
"No, when Brady passed us by". I look at him. Searching for...
the whispered conversations I had at night with the idea of you. When tears ran down my face and I forgave you. Where I let go and you crept back into the shadows, back into my memory. This is the man who first proposed to me when I was in my twenties. Without a ring, without my father's consent. A promise that was later shattered. Years passed and he was kept in the grey area of my life. I tell him about my proposal not for redemption or retribution. I tell him because I didn't want him to hear this from someone else.
"I just wanted you to know".
"Why?"
Once we were in love and that love evolved into what our relationship is now, nothing. After all these years later here I am still protecting and caring for you. After all of your accusations and pointed fingers. Fingers that I wanted to break, lies I wanted to expose. Because I don't want your ghost lying around anymore, a shell of a memory fueled by human emotion.
He doesn't wait for a response. Our eyes locked on to one another. Two sets of brown eyes mirroring, there is nothing left to say.
"So now you told me, Julie. Go (blank) yourself".
He turns and walks away. A sigh of relief. A chuckle escapes my mouth. "Thank God, I left you all those years ago", I whisper to his back. Each step he takes is an affirmation. Knowing that he will die from lung cancer pretty much makes up for all of his exasperation. God, help him.
I make my way to the cafe where I'm suppose to meet my fiance. Someone has recently shoveled the snow on this street.
...something I'm working on.
