The One That Got Away

Yet another formal event, another day at the hair salon getting the locks to look just right, at the manicurist to ensure toes and fingers look presentable. Another day choosing the dress that will make me look thin and young, hiding the fact that I am 40 and approaching a size 6. I said yes to him, knowing that I wasn’t his first choice and knowing that my interests would be replaced by a keen and unswerving focus on what is important to him.

He never hid the fact that he still loved her. He was honest with me even though I chose to hear differently. I am provided with a good life – one of privilege and comforts. Most days I can cope and hardly ever think about my past life, a life that had me concerned about making rent, stressing over job responsibilities and commiserating with friends over dollar drafts. I dreamed of living the good life. Is that what I have now?

We leave the limousine and he stops before we enter. He checks me from head to toe, pushing my hair behind my right ear and draping the rest across my left shoulder, moving my bracelet to the other wrist and asking me to dab my lipstick. I now am presentable so we continue in.

I am careful to smile constantly, to hold gently to his arm and to speak only when spoken to. We stop so he can introduce me to his recent client. After usual pleasantries, the client comments on my pose and beauty. He should be happy that others have noticed his hard work with me. Instead he simply responds, “You should have seen the one that got away”.