would knock me sideways, that I’d get swept into the upending, tsunami-like
rush that seemed to power all the best love stories. My parents had fallen in love
as teenagers. My dad took my mother to her high school prom, even. I knew that
teenage affairs were sometimes real and lasting. I wanted to believe that there was
a guy who’d materialize and become everything to me, who’d be sexy and solid
and whose effect would be so immediate and deep that I’d be willing to rearrange
my priorities.
It just wasn’t the guy standing in front of me right now.
My father finally broke the silence between me and David, saying that it was
time for us to get my stuff up to the dorm. He’d booked a motel room in town
for the two of them. They planned to take off the next day, headed back to
Chicago.
In the parking lot, I hugged my father tight. His arms had always been
strong from his youthful devotion to boxing and swimming and were now
further maintained by the effort required to move around by cane.
“Be good, Miche,” he said, releasing me, his face betraying no emotion
other than pride.
He then got into the car, kindly giving me and David some privacy.
We stood together on the pavement, both of us sheepish and stalling. My
heart lurched with affection as he leaned in to kiss me. This part always felt good.
And yet I knew. I knew that while I had my arms around a good-hearted
Chicago guy who genuinely cared about me, there was also, just beyond us, a lit
path leading out of the parking lot and up a slight hill toward the quad, which
would in a matter of minutes become my new context, my new world. I was
nervous about living away from home for the first time, about leaving the only
life I’d ever known. But some part of me understood it was better to make a
clean, quick break and not hold on to anything. The next day David would call
me at my dorm, asking if we could meet up for a quick meal or a final walk
around town before he left, and I would mumble something about how busy I
was already at school, how I didn’t think it would work. Our good-bye that
night was for real and forever. I probably should have said it directly in the
moment, but I chickened out, knowing it would hurt, both to say and to hear.
Instead, I just let him go.