Somewhere Else And Later

Two years ago on this day, I yawned out a tear of dual responsibility – I was sad and tired – as I laid on the couch in my living room trying to fall asleep. She had moved out a month ago, but I still hadn’t grown comfortable sleeping in the bedroom again. The space where the bed had been (it was hers) was empty, much like the reservoir of my patience for feeling held back by our love.

I’ve spent a lot of my youth looking for a way to reconcile love and my aspirations into coexistence. Two causes worth fighting for, but I end up on both sides of the picket line sometimes.

Today I woke up in my own bed in that bedroom, my bedroom, with a beam of sun piercing through the gray curtains I normally am so good at closing all the way. The light of a new morning must not be bothering me as much anymore. I’ve been thinking about getting new ones, actually. I don’t like the way these hang when I open them all the way up – they hang heavy and ready to close again. I want ones that don’t put up a fight; ones ready to let the outside world in; ones more like how my heart is today.

She had always complained about the curtains. She said they were ugly and that was probably the only thing we wholeheartedly agreed on. I just never did anything about it because I knew we’d never agree on which ones to replace them with – my heart was in a different place back then – and I was starting to feel like I wanted to do things at my own pace in my own time anyways.

These days nothing stops me.

I don’t have a chair tall enough to stand on, so I push the couch in the corner of my room across the carpet and position it in front of the curtains. I climb up onto the arm of the couch and start to take them down. I figure I have nothing to hide in this room anyways, not even myself.

The curtains give me a little bit of a struggle. They’re married to the rod via their round metal clasps, unwilling to let go. I pry until my fingers hurt, but to no avail. I couldn’t help but be reminded of the times she’d come to me telling me she felt like she was stuck in a rut in her life, but when I tried to help, she’d never really listen. I notice the screws holding up the anchors supporting the rod have started to come out of the holes they’ve long known as their home in the wall. They’re ready to let go, much like I was just over two years ago.

My phone vibrates. I reach into my pocket to see a message from the new gal I’ve been seeing. I’m supposed to pick her up for lunch today. We've been seeing each other for a couple months now. Her name is Abby. She’s bright, driven, and wears her heart on her sleeve.

“I’m ready :)” her message reads.

Excited, I toss my phone on the bed, grab a handful of the curtains, and jump off the side of the couch. The exhausted screws I’d noticed didn’t put up much of a fuss and with no fight left in them, the curtains stood no chance against my body-weight-backed determination.

I pick up my phone from my bed.

“So am I. Be there soon!” I replied.

I walk out the door ready to love again and if our dates were any sort of sign, Abby and I would be there soon. She’ll probably make fun of me for how I took the curtains down, but I have a feeling I can count on her to help me find the perfect ones to replace them.