The Love of My Life

I met the love of my life twenty minutes after I lost the love of my life. Reeling from an unforeseen breakup, I boarded a plane for Los Angeles on a warm June day in 1998. During the one-hour flight I was resurrected and set adrift into what would ultimately become my life. So crazy, that awful mix of pain and promise, and so confusing.

Apparently, Raymond had been planning the breakup for some time. To avoid a scene and any long discussion, he purposely chose to tell me his news when he knew I had to get on a plane. Two seats were booked and paid for, only one was to be used.

He was talkative on the way to the airport, as if letting me get a word in might derail him. I’d witnessed this kind of hyper monologue when he was drunk so I attributed it to excitement over the trip. I didn’t have a clue.

We’d both packed carry-ons so he was safe there, no baggage going on with the jilted party. After we took our seats in the boarding area, ten minutes had gone by when he said, “I’m not going with you.”

“When?”

“Now. To L.A.”

It took several seconds for this to sink in because it made no sense. When I understood what he meant, it still made no sense. “What?” I said.

“You heard me. I’m staying here. And while you’re gone, I’m moving out.”

“What?”

“Stop saying that.”

I turned toward him, though he kept facing forward. I spoke to his brown brush cut, to his ear. To the neck I’d kissed that morning. “This makes no sense,” I said.

He sighed heavily, as if annoyed with my incomprehension. “I’m breaking up with you,” he said. “There’s someone else.”

“And you chose to tell me now, when you know I have to get on a plane?”

“Yes.”

The weight of his betrayal, coupled with his blatant manipulation, began to press down on me with a heaviness that started in my chest and ended in my stomach. My heart began to pound. He was leaving me by default, leaving by way of staying.

“So you’re leaving me?” I managed.

“Yes.”

“Just like that.”

“No, not just like that. I’ve given it lots of thought, agonized over it actually. It didn’t come easy.”

“And you couldn’t tell me there was a problem?” I said. “Couldn’t give me a chance to speak up? You had to wait until…” I looked around at families, at couples with their vinyl bags and strollers and kids, their magazines and their lives.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, his voice sinking a notch.

“Nothing?” Seemed to me we had everything to talk about.

At that moment the flight was opened for boarding and people began to move toward the gate in a polite stampede. I didn’t move. “What’s your number?” Raymond asked.

I clutched the boarding pass in my right hand which hung limp between my legs. I didn’t resist when he pulled it up to look. “One-thirty-two,” he said. “You’ll be in the last group.”

The heaviness spread over me to such extent I felt there was no way any plane could get me airborne. I wanted to dive into the matter at hand, but all I could do was skate blindly along the surface. “Poor planning,” I mumbled. “If we’d gotten here sooner, I’d have been given a lower boarding number and I’d now be on the plane, but you’re stuck. Another ten minutes at least.” I stopped to do some quick addition in my head. “Eight years,” I said, “four months, six days, and ten minutes.”

He sighed again, uncrossed his legs, and glanced at the herd of people.

“What happened to forever?” I asked.

“I was wrong,” he said. “I don’t think things are meant to go that long. I just didn’t know it until now.”

“Who is he?”

“You don’t know him.”

“Where’d you meet?” I asked.

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

“Look, what we had was great—”

“What we had?” I cut in. My voice rose and I heard it as so much noise, disturbing the hubbub around us. Heads turned, but I kept going. “What we had?”

“Calm down,” Raymond said. “This isn’t helping.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to help? Help you dump me in an airport for God’s sake? An airport of all places. You’re such a shit!”

“Stop shouting.”

Rows thirty-three to one-hundred were boarding. Raymond took note. I could see him calculating our remaining time together. His eyes flitted everywhere but to me. I wanted to scream, but found myself suddenly empty. When I went quiet, it made him attentive, which in turn made me want to throw up, maybe on his shoes. When the final numbers were called I rose and joined the throng of people. I passed the threshold, moved down the jetway, and didn’t look back.