The Wedding of Relief
In 23 days, I’ll be a free man.
On September 4, 2021, we’ll officially sever all hidden ties and deal the last hope of a reunion a deathly blow. At least for the near future. Hopefully, forever.
For a few seconds, I’ll convince time to stand still. In awe, I’ll watch as a trail of dirt rises to chase the silver SUV carrying part of me away. I’ll watch as the Swede Wagon gallops into the sunset.
A brief backstory
I’ve known her since 2005. We were lovers for ten years. After all the steam in our love affair evaporated, we fell back into friendship. Yes, even after we parted ways, we were in touch, abreast of goings-on in each other’s lives: school, family, church, work.
I’ve had a few girlfriends come and go; she’s had a few guys come and go too. Even after our breakup, whenever we’d talk on phone, I’d feel some forces drawing us into that hidden magnetic field of attraction we once basked.
I made sure our rare WhatsApp chats were terse and cold, cold enough to douse any smoldering passions. I felt we were just one word away from coming together for a friendly date.
But who knew how awkward the goodbye hug would have been? Would there be a goodnight kiss? Would that be enough? I may not have gathered enough energy to say no if she had proposed a date. I figured she’d have found it hard to wag her head, too, if I had.
Secretly, I still held faint hopes of us getting back one day. I dare say she did, too. Except none of us knew how that would happen. Perhaps it wasn’t quite turning water into wine, but it would have meant all the stars aligning for us, the moon blessing us, and forgiveness bathing us.
The call of relief
One afternoon in February 2021, she called.
We hadn’t been in touch in the new year, so I wondered why she had called. I ignored the call, thinking it was a mistake.
A minute later, she called again. Same treatment. The third time, I decided it could be serious. Besides, the vibration was getting uncomfortable in my palm. I swiped right and pretended I had…