The trip took three hours and most of the scenery was barren land and an occasional shrub. I can’t explain why I agreed to drive. It may have even been my idea, I don’t remember now. I only remember wanting to see him. There was no expectation or even desire to rekindle our failed romance—we enjoyed each other more when there was no commitment between us. We never stopped loving each other, we stopped wanting to live together and be responsible for each other, but the genuine friendship remained. I packed my tiny Mitsubishi for a long weekend against the wishes of my friends and family. They thought it unwise, and even unhealthy, to keep seeing my ex. I cut them some slack. I knew they were just as confused as I was. From the moment I rang his doorbell to the moment we got into bed is a blur of obligatory pleasantries. Someone will have to explain to me how sex can be better with a man after he’s broken up with you. Maybe for the same reason sex is so passionate after a good fight. All I know is as soon as he put himself inside of me, I came. And for the next three days, all we did was make love, sleep, eat, and start all over again. When it was time to leave, there was no sadness, no remorse for a life that could have been—just acceptance that what was done was done, and that somehow, things were better this way. I had driven an hour toward home when my engine died. There I was in the middle of nowhere and yet, miraculously, I could see a Mitsubishi sign across the highway. I took that as a sign that God was watching over me.
June 4, 2013
