A romantic breakdown…
I was on my second true love since my first true love, Lovegod, and things were not going well. I had decided at the end of the first six months of this relationship that I wanted marriage. Now that’s not an easy shift to make if you don’t start the relationship there. All of a sudden we went from…
“… whatever you want to do tonight, honey…”
to…
“… well, when already?” Meaning marriage.
Anxiety was at a fever pitch between us. I was still an artist. He was in the early stages of a surgical residency. At a renowned medical establishment surrounded by world-famous doctors who had people fawning all over them from Reykjavik to Rio. He had left some skiing gear at my apartment two weeks before. On the morning I turned twenty-five I met him at his apartment, his ski boots in one hand, my ultimatum in the other. And I laid it on him.
“Hi, Lovey,” he said opening the door.
“I just stopped by to bring you these.” I raised the hand holding the boots to show him just how deeply entwined our lives had become.
He rubbed his eyes. Obviously he had been asleep.
“I’ve been on call for three nights.” He fell back from the door and settled on the couch looking half dazed.
“Do you want these?”
“Sure. Were we supposed to meet this morning?” He yawned.
“I can’t go on like this any longer.”
“Well then, why don’t you just drop the boots if they’re that heavy? You don’t need to hold them up.”
“I’m not talking about the boots, you bastard.”
Dr. Ski ran a hand through his thick mop of curly hair. He was textbook handsome – like Michelangelo’s statue of David.
“What’s the matter?”
“I already told you. I can’t go on like this. Not knowing. Just floating.”
“Can we talk about this some other time. Maybe when I’ve had more than three hours sleep in four days?”
“I cannot go on like this any longer.”
“Please can’t we just postpone this for a couple of days?”
At that point I threw the boots across the room.
“You can take your boots and all your other stuff back. I’m through.” I slammed the door behind me.
