A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Myself….

Hey, boy.

You. Handsome Mister. Sit down for a second. I have to tell you something.

I’m here to tell you this funny thing that happened.

Seventeen years ago you collided quietly into my bruised solar system . Remember? Neither of us wanted a relationship. We were not each other’s type. I had a kid, a life, a plan. You had… a car. Sunglasses. Blue Puma’s. You had cool.

Oh, man. How I wanted you. And I wasn’t hiding that from you, I was hiding it from me. That summer, it was so hot. Remember? You drove me to Fordham and then I was stuck in the Honda because the alarm wouldn’t open the doors. In the White Castle parking lot. What a night. We were breaking that thing off, that pseudo relationship. I HAD PLANS. No man needed. No ball gown, no prince, no fairies. Hard working Suzanne with a chip on her shoulder and a kid to raise.

You left your t-shirt there that night. And the next day, when you were gone… I picked it up and held it to my face. Cried into it for a good hour. Saw a roach, freaked out and went to the hardware store with my baby for something non toxic get rid of them. I thought I was going to die.

You came back mid week. Surprised me with a bottle of Champaign and a kiss. No promises.

Seventeen years. An adventure, for sure. And still…. I need to tell you something. God, Bill… I love you.

I never even knew how much until just recently. You know why? Because I wasn’t myself. I left her back there in Six Year Old Land. A NEVERLAND of sorts. I ran. I was running, babe. All these years. The books brought her back. I broke in two. It is only when we are broken that we can begin to recognize our own beauty. I tried to hold that last string of the NOT ME together for years until I cracked up for good.

So, here’s the thing: This funny thing happened a few months ago. I woke up early on a weekend and you were still asleep. I moved toward you so that I could be close to you, feel you breath. The air was full of sleepy haze and moonlight morning glow. It occurred to me, at that very moment that it was you.

Oh babe. It was you. All along.

I may have not known me but you did. You always knew HER. The me that was she. You loved her, that girl you saw. I suppose she loved you from the start. And now that she’s here with me… she whispers to me late at night (she sounds like cicadas and candlelight giggles) how you took care of her. How you made her laugh, and understood her crazy. She told me lightening doesn’t scare her anymore.

Thank you for keeping her safe while I was on the run.

It’s so funny the things we learn when we finally stop running.