We were in the airport, rain against the windows, we sat next to each other, we were beyond speech. It was good-bye, we both knew that, but the words would not come. They were caught in our throats, not even to be acknowledged or admitted. Neither of us could speak of what was actually happening. A certain amount of denial was necessary. “Oh, absolutely we’ll see each other again … this isn’t FOREVER …” I was getting on the plane. He was seeing me off. I was settling in another city, starting up a new life.
We had sucked down two margaritas each at dinner, rain on the windows, on the city streets, and we got into the kind of sloppy hilarity that only margaritas can bring. We made each other laugh so hard that messy tears streamed down our cheeks. We staggered down the rain-wet sidewalk, guffawing over this or that private joke.
But now we were at the airport. It was time for me to board.
This was it. It was over.
We clutched each other. It was almost frightening, the power of the emotion. I didn’t think I would be able to bear it. I am not exaggerating or using that language as a cliche. I know it IS a cliche, but cliches are based on truth. I honestly didn’t think I would be able to bear my own emotions. I heard him and felt him start to cry, choking back tears, in my shoulder.
It was the worst sound in the world.
I wrenched myself away from him, my face covered in tears, tears rolling down my cheeks, off my chin, an Alice in Wonderland river, and walked to the stewardess to give her my ticket.
He stood back, in the waiting area, watching me go. I walked down the corridor towards the plane, holding onto my chest, feeling like it was going to burst out of my skin, and kill me. I turned around to look back at him only once. I had to. I had to see him one last time.
I knew. I knew in my heart, even though I maintained the facade that this was just a “break”, we were going to “stay in touch”, this was just for “a while” … I knew it was over. This was it. The end. I knew it as well as I knew my own birthday, my address. It was over.
And it was that secret burning knowledge that made me turn around. To look at him one last time.
He stood there, at the doorway of that long corridor. The light was behind him, and he looked like a black-paper cut-out. His form in shadow, become two-dimensional, already receding, and his arm was lifted to me, in a frozen farewell.
I raised my hand to him, too. And then turned back to walk into my future without him.
He was married within the year. It turned out, too, that I had been right: it would be over ten years before we saw each other again. My last image of him a black-paper silhouette.
