I’ve been trying to focus more on telling stories as a form of reflection lately in an effort to relate emotion without being preachy. I will continue to write the occasional reflection but will complement those with vignettes and hopefully short stories. For now, this vignette is a first stab at it.
We are sitting on our balcony on a 23rd floor staring out onto Biscayne Bay drinking red wine listening to Fleet Foxes. She’s just arrived from the airport and for the better part of an hour we have been catching up on her trip to Nova Scotia. Earlier that day I ran out to the Whole Foods around the corner to get fresh yellow roses and her favorite wine.
I ask “Did you have a chance to think things through?”
“I did” she sips her wine “I think that I have a lot to work through but I will be fine”
“So then we can continue to work through this in therapy?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I’m sorry if I haven’t been clear or if you misunderstood this conversation. I’m saying things are over.”
I feel my face go red and I shake. In that moment, I rush inside, pull the roses out of the crystal vase and beat the kitchen counter with them until there isn’t a petal left on the stems, then I dump in them trash. I sit on our brown leather couch, the one where for over three years we shared most of our time.
Still shaking I sob into my hands asking “Why?” She begins to answer but I tune out already knowing that no answer will suffice.