Mooching

I remember, on the day that my sis and I left, while I waited for the inevitable with my parents and Boobsie, Daddy looked at my somber face and asked, "Should I sing 'leaving on a jet plane'?" And I laughed, a pretend laugh, of course. My heart was in itty-bitty pieces, just as it was a year-and-a-half before (same situation, different person). I finally found someone with whom I could enjoy the secret, grotesque moments of singledom. It was, once again, very painful to walk into the crowded international airport and say good-bye to my family, my friends, and him. Yet, all that time, he didn't know. All that time, he was oblivious. It was hard the night before, when he drove me home, and a block from my street, he says, "You know, tonight is our last night together." I could only answer, "Yeah, I know," because my sinuses were clogged and all I did was think and cough while we were at the movies.

And he didn't know. He didn't know how even harder it was to sit at the airport, on the dingy seats, waiting for boarding time. He didn't know how hard it was to talk to him for the last time and have nothing to say. He didn't know how gloomy my days were from the moment I stepped on the plane. He didn't know that my heart lodged into my throat when he called a week later, that I couldn't breathe for five minutes after we talked.

He didn't know that for weeks all I did was think about him; that I was, somehow, in love. (Blech)

Until now, he doesn't know.

But I have resolved to remain unattached (me, the expert); to set aside my woes, to wait no less.

To enjoy the secret, grotesque moments of singledom with no greater company than myself.