I guess it was inevitable, being that I work near his house, I’m friends with his friends, I take bart near his work, I hang out at his hotspots…
I ran into the Sicilian today.
To be honest, it was so anti-climactic that the sentence hardly deserves its own paragraph. We walked, we talked, I made fun of him. He didn’t make fun of me, and that was really the only thing that might be called a reference to the whole issue of our relationship/breakup – not mocking me, because I am the Wronged Party.
I have such a nice life. I’m doing stuff all the time, instead of waiting for him to get home. It felt wrong to have him in it now, in my neighborhood, or sitting across the table from me; like if a Saturday morning cartoon bought you a cup of coffee. We even talked about our friend in common, Frank, who I went out with for a while post-breakup.
Where is the pain? Where is the shouting? Where is the china plate flung at his unsuspecting head? I didn’t even feel my teeth get kicked in, except for that first unpleasant jolt. And now it’s over, and now I’ll stop talking about it, I promise. Upon cautious examination, I have determined that none of my teeth are broken, and my smile is exactly the same.