BAM

Isn't it amazing how our hearts can play cruel tricks on us? Just tonight, on my way home from work, I saw my ex-fiance' walking into the grocery store. Prior to this sighting, I have been moving along freely, not missing him, even thinking about getting back into the game. BAM. There he was. My arms literally steered my car over a curb into an empty lot and parked. Then I walked into the store, grabbed a basket--I don't know why, I didn't need anything--and walked around cautiously looking for him. After a few moments, my mind relayed the fact to my body that I looked silly walking around the store not getting anything, so I began pulling things off the shelves and filling my basket. I ended up with a block of cheese, Mrs. Dash, peppermint tea (of which I already have two full boxes), soy milk, baby carrots, granola, and an enormous bag of apples I won't possibly finish before they rot.

Finally I found him--at the meat counter. Odd. He's a vegetarian. Suddenly, I just wanted to touch him, as though these past few months he had been dead but now he stood before me alive. His locks were exactly the same--tied back just like he always wore them. He had his glasses on as usual, and a crisp white shirt with dark jeans. He looked really good. I took a moment for personal assessment. Hmmm. A silly pink t-shirt with Tinkerbell on it. Great, real mature. Dark blue "lounging" pants speckled with baby schmootz. My hair? Well, I'll just leave that one alone.

I found myself wanting to fill him in on everything I've been doing--school, quitting my job, all the amazing stuff I'm learning, the research proposal I'm working on that I knew he'd be proud of. I wanted to throw my arms around him and feel his strength as I pressed my head against his chest. I just wanted him. Not "wanted" him. I wanted him. But I couldn't have him, and I can't have him. Not only because I broke up with him. Not only because he turned into a controlling meany. Or even because he once half-threatened to hit me.

I couldn't have him, because when he turned around--it wasn't him. It was some other man. Some other man with the same locks, glasses, and build. Some other man, about whom some other woman was probably thinking.