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How he did it
It’s 11:40 in the morning and in my mind I finally decided to say yes.
Seventy minutes ago, he picked me up at my house. I was freaking excited to have our date. We were in a long distance relationship and he came home for Christmas. His presence was the best gift I could ever imagine.
We went to a cafe and he started blabbering about how he hated college and how it was tolerable because of me. He said he really appreciated me being there for him.
He told me he loved me and he was thankful that I loved him back.
He told me about the job he was offered in another country. I told him I was proud of him. That is his dream–to start a career in a global company with a glorious pay and a prestigious title. He still has something to prove.
But then he said he is planning to settle there and he is trying to fit me in the picture. And in every attempt he had, he failed.
“I am laying all my cards here,” he said. “I will be gone again. It will be indefinite this time. I do not want you to wait for me any longer. You deserve better.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“We have to end this now.”
I told him I needed time. I deserved more minutes, or hours, or even more days.
He said he would give me all the time in the world so here we are at the cafe in awkward silence as I am replaying how he did it.
He seemed to have thought about it for months now. He had consulted everyone except me.
It’s 12:02 and I wanted to say yes. But I still could not. How can you just throw away almost four years of your life?
It’s 12:11 and I am waiting for a good song to be played so I would have a good song to hate.
It’s 12:24 and he excused himself to go to the restroom.
In our relationship that seemed distance was the only problem, we failed to solve it. We gave it a good run with a few hits and bumps.
It’s 12:27 and he came back.
I said, “Okay.” It was not for me to say yes or no. He made the decision without me because it was all about his selfish self.
He needed to cut the last string that was holding him back from his dreams–and as painful as it sounds that last string was me.
The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.
Terry Pratchett
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