Under the Azure Sky

It started when I was just about to graduate college, only 21 years old.

I was sitting on a rock in Central Park West. It was the first day that it felt like spring was really coming. Everyone was out of their apartments, children were rolling around in the grass, and the sky was a beautiful shade of azure. There were only passing clouds and a light breeze.

I was sitting, reading, A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan. It came out last summer, but I had just gotten around to reading it. I was just flipping the page, “The Gold Cure,” in bold letters facing me when he walked up. And boy, did he really feel like a gold cure.

***

“Ahh I see, A Visit from the Goon Squad, I just finished the book myself. Captivating, right? Definitely deserving of a Pulitzer Prize,” the sun reflected on his bright white teeth, lighting up his face as he smiled.

There was no way this was happening to me, I thought. This is the epitome of a perfect meet-cute.

I’m not one to draw people’s attention. I have a shy way of presenting myself that can come off as cold, but honestly, I am just uncomfortable talking to people I don’t know. It makes me look like I am judging everyone, but trust me, the only person I’m judging is myself. The phrase, “God, why did I just say that???” runs through my head at least three times per conversation. Just on my way here, I went to get coffee and the barista said, “Enjoy!” and I replied, “You too!” and I have not stopped thinking about it. I don’t have time to think about other people, my social anxiety only lets me think about myself and my awkwardness.

But this time, I was thinking about him.

“Yeah, definitely deserving. I can tell and I only started today.”

“So, I take it you’re an avid reader?” he asked.

I smirk and say, “Well, I’d sure like to be. This is only the third book I picked up this year. Better some than none, right?” As I let out an embarrassing chuckle he smiles and says, “Exactly.”

A moment passes where I feel our gaze is incapable of shifting. Our eyes are so tightly locked that I think nothing could possibly break this stare. In reality, it was probably only ten seconds...ten glorious seconds.

He says, “It happens to be that I also have a book on me at all times, mind if I?” and gestures to sit next to me. I nod and scootch while he says, “I’m Rich.”

“I’m Michelle. Nice to meet you, Rich.”

We sit together, mostly in silence, simply reading our books. I thought, “God, how did I get so lucky?”

***

2 years later

“God, how did I not figure this out sooner?”

I was 23 and Rich was...well, 36. Quite a bit of an age gap. Sometimes, when I thought about it for too long I would cringe at the difference. But I validated myself by thinking, “Men mature wayyyy slower than women. Almost like they have a mental lag. So really, he isn’t that old.” No really, Michelle, he is.

Turns out, it wasn’t luck that Rich and I crossed paths on that one fateful day under the azure sky, it was Rich’s streak of looking at younger women.

They say you should be single in your twenties, experience the world around you, and be free. I wish I took that advice. But, I was ambitious, had good intentions, the best really, and the highest hopes. Rich on the other hand had none of the above. I didn’t realize it until I was too far under.

I was swept up in the current because we had a whirlwind of a start. I snagged a job that started one month after graduation. Rich was coming off of a work high, getting a promotion with plenty of pats on the back. His family was proud of him, and I was too. We were able to afford a comfortable lifestyle, one that I had always hoped to have. Not worrying about money, feeling like I could breathe, and be myself and be happy. We were so happy that first year...that was the problem.

I only knew Rich when he was happy. There was rarely a bad moment that he ran into, maybe a slow line at the coffee shop or running late to work because his alarm didn’t go off, but he was constantly pleasant. We moved in together on that high. Because of that, I had no idea how he handled his problems, or how he didn’t handle them.

As his work began slowing down, his nerves heightened. That was when I first noticed his interest in younger women. Well, less of an interest and more of an infatuation, and treating them entirely differently than the other people around him. I wondered if that’s how he saw me. But I convinced myself it wasn’t. I convinced myself that it was different between us because he loved me, he would do anything for me, wouldn’t he?

Shocker, he wouldn’t.

And soon enough, his masculinity was tarnished and could only be shined when he saw me down. When he saw himself as superior again, the older and wiser provider that is picking up his girlfriend when she needs help, he would be able to stand a little taller. Poor little girls, they have no clue about this world, do they?

As he got home one day from clearly a very, very, very, difficult day in the workplace (where he obviously didn’t get what he wanted or couldn’t get enough praise), he walked into our apartment to see me sitting on the couch, strumming the guitar that I was just learning to pick up. I had wanted to learn an instrument for forever and I had just seen a concert last week that made me go out and rent one. He knew that I wished I could play an instrument, I was envious that both my parents had perfected theirs and never taught me. In fact, I showed him what books I was planning on buying and where I was going to rent the guitar and everything. And yet, he entered the door saying:

“Lord, Michelle, could you put that thing down? It sounds like a cat is dying here,” and under his breath, “it’s not like you’ll ever get good anyway...It’s stupid that you need a useless hobby to waste time with.”

That’s when I realized: I changed who I was to put him first. How many things had I stopped doing simply because he asked? I can’t find any ripped jeans in my closet, the pantry doesn’t hold my favorite snacks, I can’t remember the last time that I went out with a group of girlfriends to a bar drinking. Fancy suits, check. Rich’s protein snacks, check. Dinners and drinks with coworkers or other old people, check.

There was no trace of the man who lovingly smiled at me in Central Park with a book in hand. There was barely any trace of the girl sitting next to him either. Girl. I had just turned 21. I was basically still a child, my heart open, and ready to take on anything.

***

Six Months Later

That moment of realization is unfortunately long in the past. From then, my mind went through a series of back and forths, convincing myself otherwise and believing other myths. See, when Rich is happy, we are unstoppable. The world is beautiful and wide and discoverable.

But those are only the good days. There aren’t many good days anymore. And then I get dragged back into his rip current. Those are the days I beat myself up over and over again. Frustrated that I cannot leave, that I didn’t already walk out that door.

At this point, I can’t deny how many times I have tried and tried to somehow fit the puzzle pieces together that do not go. The times that I have been mad at myself for not being better, for not being stronger, for not being the positive one. I have sat in this silence for six months and it’s time. It’s time to bring back that girl who opened up her arms to the world and has kept them closed ever since he walked to that rock.

And so, I think, this is all backward. This has always been backward. I have been hounding myself for nothing when I should have been screaming at him to “Go easy on me.” Instead, I was saying, “It’s okay.” But it’s not okay, and it will never be so I am finally yelling at the top of my lungs, “Go easy on me,” not to Rich but to myself. I am pleading to give myself a break and to open my arms to me, not to the world or to anyone else but to give myself a chance. To not return to the girl I was before but to become someone who is bigger and brighter, like the azure sky on that beautiful day.

***

This piece was inspired by “Easy On Me” by Adele