The Old Neighborhood

I was in the old neighborhood last night. The neighborhood we first moved into, before we were married. The one we live in for the first two years after. The lobby of our apartment building has been gentrified. Instead of the austere marble, there is pseudo wood paneling. The awning is also gone. There really was no reason for it in the first place, I suppose. And there is an air conditioner dangling from what was our bedroom window.

The Mexican bakery where I used to fetch our morning biscuits is a clothing store. The used bookstore is still there. As is the World Market. And the independent movie theatre. In the eight years since we moved in, not that much has changed.

Our troubles started when we bought the house and moved to the suburbs. It didn't help when I was laid off a week before our trip to Europe. Maybe the dogs were more than I was ready to handle. At any rate, we both made our mistakes. I know what mine were. You know what yours were. I thought of you as my life partner. I thought we would be together forever. Of course, if you had asked me not to move out I would have stayed. And if I had asked for counseling, you would have agreed. We would have continued to live under the same roof.

Walking through our old neighborhood brought it back to me. How you and I would spend hours in the bookstore, excited over our discoveries. The time we spent selecting furniture. How we would watch eye other in the gym, each mimicking the other's facial expressions. And make each other laugh. The restaurants we explored. The park. The lake. The afternoons in the bedroom, making love until we were both exhausted.

I hope you are happy. I hope the collapse of our marriage did you no lasting damage and that you are with a good man. I accept that there will always be more sadness than joy in life and I accept that death is the final end to our hopes, aspirations, strivings, failures and tears. But as I walked through our old neighborhood, I thought of the walks we took in the afternoon. The secrets that we shared. The way that we communicated with our eyes and our smiles. And I found comfort remembering how, for a time, I loved you, you loved me. And we were happy.