“We dated for two years. He looked great on paper. He was a...

“We dated for two years.  He looked great on paper.  He was a composer.  He was tall and handsome and went to Yale.  He convinced me that we were soul mates.  And he was big into grand gestures.  One time he rented a convertible, handed me a foldout map of Canada, and said: ‘Pick anywhere you want to go.’  He did keep cheating on me, but he’d blame that on his bipolar disorder.  He’d tell me that his high sex drive was a medical condition.  And I believed him.  Because I was young, and stupid, and in love.  For my twenty-fifth birthday we were going to take a vacation to Seattle.  He’d just gotten back from a two-week trip to Israel.  He was really quiet on the train ride to the airport.  And just as we’re arriving, he tells me that he met someone in Israel.  I start crying.  He’s stone faced.  I’m thinking if we can just get on the flight, everything will be fine.  We go all the way through security and get to the gate.  At this point I’m musical theater girl sobbing.  Our flight begins boarding.  Everyone is staring at us.  Eventually we’re the last two left, and the gate agents are waiting for us to make a decision.  So I decide we should go home.  But he insists that I let him buy me a ticket to Chicago, so I can spend my birthday with my family.  So that’s what I did.  And the next day he calls me to wish me a happy birthday, from Nashville.  He’d flown out that same night.  To visit the girl he met in Israel.  That was the last I spoke to him.  But he did email me a few years ago to tell me that he’d written a musical about his life.  The airport scene was included.  And he wanted me to attend the show.”