How do we move on gracefully after a break up? I go out for the first time after months of heartbreak and discover that graceful or not, moving forward is an adventure.
I am standing in a puddle along the freeway shoulder, holding my bike, rain pouring all around me. I have a nine-hour road trip in front of me and before even exiting San Diego County, my bike rack, along with my attached bike, has slipped off the trunk of my car. Twice. And this is how I find myself one Saturday morning; having run a sloshy 14 miles before departing on said trip, – standing in the pouring rain, exhausted and feeling like a drowned rat.
Zapped of any remaining upper body strength after a failed attempt to stuff my bike into my Civic backseat, I stand in the rain a moment, look back at the freeway from where I came and consider turning back and going straight home. Instead, I make one last heave, shove the bike fully into the back seat, tilt the wheel up and push the door shut.
I realize that, given the light is still on, that the door is not fully closed. I stand, hands on my hips. It rains. I shift my weight back and forth between my feet, weighing the risk of driving all day in the rain with the back door not fully shut. And so, lacking any appropriate lesbian road trip gear, I take off my scarf and weave it through the door handle, knotting it to the ceiling handle. The metaphor of a door neither open nor closed doesn’t escape my notice.
As I drive mile after mile along I-5, it occurs to me that the first half of the past year has felt much like my soggy attempt to close the door: with me wildly unprepared, tired beyond reason, and highly motivated to move forward and get on with it. I wonder: when life throws you a curve ball, like when a long term relationship ends, how do we move forward? How do we take all we learned in the relationship and move on without regret? Without judgment?
When it comes to breakups, I want to be the Jackie Kennedy of graceful moving on. I want to be the kind of person who always remembers the canvas bags who reads my bookshelf full of books on equity in education instead of watching the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. The truth is, sometimes I just choose the least complicated thing.
And so I find myself getting talked into meeting a friend out at a lesbian event for my first time since my Facebook status changed. I don’t really want to go but it was easier to agree than to create an excuse.
I tell myself not to bail on my friend and to have just 1 drink. As I get ready, I feel a knot of regret in the pit of my stomach. One drink and then I can leave.
In the hotel elevator, I hear music pumping and the sounds of chatter as the elevator climbs up. I catch my eye in the mirrored wall of the elevator as it comes to a stop. I mumble, “One. Drink.”
20 minutes later, I am sitting next to my friend and a drunken woman on her left. I stand, smooth my dress and motion my head toward the bar. “Another mojito,” my friend requests, the drunk woman holds up 2 fingers to indicate another for herself. I fold down one of her fingers and tell her, “No more for you drunky pants”. This makes everyone around the circle laugh and I suddenly feel more at ease. Drunky winks at me.
In line, there is a tap on my shoulder and I turn, making eye contact with the dark haired beauty behind me. I hesitate for a moment, thinking maybe I cut in line in front of her. I offer, “Sorry, did I cut you?”
She laughs, looks down, then back up and says “Nah, you’re fine here.”
Awkwardly, I turn back around and mumble, “Oh ok, ok, good, good. Good. …” I seem to have lost all my social skills.
I return to my friend, drinks in hand, nudging drunky pants with my hip to make room. My friend and I cheers and take a drink. She says something to me and I lean forward, unable to hear. “What?” I yell, over the music.
“You look hot mama!” She looks me up and down as I comprehend her compliment.
I look away and offer, “Awww thanks.”
Turning back to her I confess, “I was super nervous and almost wanted to bail.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t,” and we toast again.
And then, I look up, and there is dark haired beauty holding a mojito my way.
“I’m so glad you didn’t too,” she offers, and smiles. I’m so out of touch with talking to girls that for a moment I’m confused, and look around and behind me, assuming she’s talking to someone else.
3 hours later I am atop a bar stool in Hillcrest, surrounded by beauty and her friends. My feet hurt from dancing on the rooftop. As I look around and take in the past 3 hours, it occurs to me that while I still feel uncertain, for the first time in a very long time, I can feel the light return to my eyes.
I shake my head, resting my face in my hands, smile and remember. There were photos taken. There were shots. There were hugs with my friend, and “I’m soooooo glad you came out!”. There were more mojitos, dancing with reckless abandon, phone numbers exchanged.
There may have been some making out with beauty in the elevator, and again in the cab on the ride from downtown to Hillcrest. And this is how I find myself, soberly remembering plan for the evening. I shake my head and mumble, “one drink.”