No one, not even the rain, has such small hands

Today, I wore the same shirt that I wore when he and I finally met: a pale blue cotton Gap shirt with taupe and pale yellow flowers. I don't think he noticed it. What he said--on seeing me at the United gate at Dulles, after getting off the last plane in--was "You really do have small hands." And then I kissed him; I think he was impressed by that, but I'm not sure.

It--we--developed online, as his marriage and my engagement were falling apart, independent of each other. One of the things that happened while he was here visiting me, during the couple of days after we met, was that my one-way ticket west arrived in the mail.

Yes, I--we--was that crazy. Before we had a chance to meet, we had already decided that I would move Out There. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time; it seemed like the only thing. In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have stayed married to his first wife any more than I should have married my then-fiance. I suppose that if we enabled each other to step out of those relationships, that the rest of the heartache we caused each other...

No, it wasn't worth it; we treated each other badly and it sucked all around.

I don't really know what he's doing these days. The last time I had any contact with him, he was unemployed and happy. He said he was doing a lot of writing. Through the grapevine, I know he's read this diary, which is fine. I've also heard through the same grapevine that he got his dream job again, which is also fine.

I don't have any lingering feelings or emotions about the time I spent in Seattle. Three years have passed since I came back, and in that time, what alternated between being the best and worst time of my life has become just something that happened, just another place I've been.

The funny thing is that those occasional good times lasted almost until the end. We always talked of running off to Vegas to get married, although I think we both knew that was never going to happen.

When I came back here, I left Sea-Tac early in the morning, before dawn. I wore all black and carried Lola in a soft-sided bag that fit under the seat. I fell asleep shortly after takeoff, but I opened my eyes as we flew past Mount Rainier in time to see the red-ribbon sunrise wind around the peak.

In that moment, I knew that leaving was the right thing for me; but in retrospect, I can't see myself choosing any differently when I think of moving out there in the first place. I don't think there's anything that could have kept me here.

It's just an interesting thing to realize.

before - after