Toward the middle of July I was able to escape in every sense of the word when Norm and I took our second vacation together. I knew the week would grant me time and distance required to objectively view my troubled "romance." The trip meant a chance for both fun and reflection.
We stayed, once again, in the basement level unit of last year's motel. Upon entering, we quickly noted that no changes had been made. The same relic radio still graced the dresser, and the same avocado crushed velvet bedspread sagged drearily to meet the worn carpets covering the floor. It was somehow a pleasant sight, albeit the fact that the place desperately needed attention; I guess it was like a worn out pair of tennis shoes, ugly yet be-loved for the sake of the mileage and memories which they represented.
The following morning, as we strode toward the car, we truly felt at home when we noticed the sadistic mailman of the previous year busily engaged with Marion. We looked on with amazement. The one undesirable factor of last year's vacation had reappeared!
Hoping to escape recognition, we quietly loaded the car while he jawed away, absorbed in his story of the hour. We might have slipped from the parking lot had it not been for Marion's eyes flicking repeatedly from him to us. We both had one leg in the car when a huge bellow resounded from his direction.
"Hey! Weren't you the folks with the Dart?"
We felt as if responding with a "yes" would be an admission of guilt for some heinous crime. "We were the ones!" Norm replied, pulling himself into the protection of the car and starting the engine. My brother was artfully combining politeness with perpetual motion. A brief exchange ensued as the car rolled slowly backward from its parking space, then a shift into low gear signaled that the conversation had ended.
"Catch ya later," the man yelled after us. He never did.
Five days dissolved, one into the next, until the week's peaceful interlude came to an end. The time had allowed my emotions to rest and my mind to clear. Questions which I feared to answer now appeared to have lost their malignancy, and I had gathered the courage to enact the unsavory business of breaking up. Nothing would dissuade me; my decision had been made and its certainty felt like the cool breezes in which it had been developed.
I came home feeling revitalized and cleansed. Nature's splendor, Norm's companionship and time to enjoy for its own sake; these were the aspects of life which, for me, made it uncomplicated and full.
With my decision firmly planted I was a changed individual, and it was obvious to my boyfriend that the summer would not bring us closer together. Confidence helped me to overcome his heartiest attempts to reroute my intentions or confuse my thoughts and within days after returning from Colorado, I did what we both knew was inevitable. As we parted, I was drowned in sorrow. . . for myself and for him. . . and although confidence helped to dispatch a prompt conclusion to a floundering relationship, it did nothing to absorb the pain which accompanied such an end.