Moving Out, Moving On...

It is amazing how saying goodbye to one person can buoy you, while saying goodbye to another leaves you bereft. Over the holiday I took the opportunity of being off-island to remove personal belongings that were still in my former boyfriend's apartment. After the break-up three months ago, all has been cordial, if superficial. Obviously I have been wrapped up in life on the island; free at last to embrace it fully, to wander at will without worrying about getting home to spend virtual time with my partner. I ended the relationship with no regrets, and until the last few days, little enough reflection beyond a deep relief.

While I was intrigued by the narrow boy, he had no bearing on the dissolution of bond- and when the Doc and I broke up, the Dark had not yet set foot on the island. Distance was reason enough cancel the contract, and we left it quite simply at that. Sometimes you just don't need to go beyond the tip of the iceberg- you see the ice, hear the sound of a ripping hull, and can safely say you are fucked without thoroughly examining the extent of the damage. So no conversation of guilt and recrimination, just civility and the earnest intent to remain friends. It is a comfortable lie, and an easy end to a two year trial.

Saying goodbye to someone after two months- that is a labor indeed. Two months is just enough time to become smitten in spite of yourself, and not enough time to get bored. In sixty days you have discovered details, can list off little charms, have developed a heightened sensitivity to their presence. After sixty days, you might find yourself wanting the luxury of sixty more- or six more- or whatever you can get. I rushed back to the island ahead of schedule, hope a fluttering song bird in my rib cage, so that I might get two or three more hours.

Better judgment did prevail. I made the late boat, getting home the evening before I had originally scheduled. But I did not pick up the phone to let him know, to see if he was still here, only two miles away. Because we had already said our goodbyes. And it was a full-stop "goodbye," not a soft and sweet "aloha." And he would need to pack, to spend the last of the hours with his family. Grown-ups are graceful: grown-ups let go. And dammit, this is me, letting go.

So tonight, the next-to-last night of 2008, I will claim this face-saving victory as my cold comfort. Back to thermals, back to buttoning up, back to bound hair. Resilience, you know, is a virtue.

Huh. Sounds like someone's at the door.