Our Love Story Became a Ghost Story

All that’s left are the phantoms…

We moved in together ten years ago. Do you remember? Almost to the day. When I think of that time in our lives, it seems like a story that belongs to someone else. Or rather, like it belonged to me, except the me I knew then is dead now, which I suppose makes that memory something of a ghost story.

There’s truth in that. When I picture us moving the furniture in, embracing in the kitchen, tumbling across the mattress in our new bedroom, I don’t remember what it actually looked like. It’s more like seeing two phantoms moving through a transparent, indescribable landscape. If I reach out to touch it, it dissipates like smoke.

It’s been five years since you left us — me and our sweet pup. You were so convinced you had finally found true love with that young girl you’d met at work. You couldn’t wait to get married, you told me — just not to me.

I never saw you or heard from you again.

Five years is a long time, but the funny thing is, you are still in my heart. I really hate that, I have to admit. I’d much rather I never thought of you. But your ghost — our ghosts — are everywhere.

Last month, my mother called me and told me she had run into your parents at the grocery store. I’m sure you must know this. Your mom must have told you by now.

Your mother missed me, she said. She missed me terribly and apparently asked my mother for every detail about my life these past five years — where I’ve been living, what I’ve been doing, if I had written any more books…

I cried when I heard that.

It wasn’t easy to get along with your parents. They had a marriage that made me uncomfortable — the traditional subservient female with the husband who felt he should dominate the household. Your dad was as disrespectful of my political views as you had been, and your mom preferred awkward silences in social situations. Nevertheless, I loved them. I wanted them to be my in-laws someday, and I treated them accordingly.

If I reach out to touch it, it dissipates like smoke.

When you left, I tried to stay in touch. I dropped by their house several times to look in on your dad and leave gifts for your mom, since he was sick and she was working extra shifts to pay for the medical bills. But they never instigated anything and told me that you had instructed them to cut off all contact with me, at the request of your new girlfriend. So I stopped dropping by and sure enough — they never contacted me again.

I was surprised to hear how much your mother had missed me these past five years. I found so much comfort in that. It made me believe that she had wanted me as a daughter-in-law as much as I had wanted her as a mother-in-law.

Of course, I’m burying the lead. The big news she shared with my mother was about your divorce. You and your wife just split up and now you are staying with your parents while you get back on your feet.

You might find it comforting to know that I took no pleasure in hearing this. You lied for so long to both me and her and caused us both so much pain. If there was more pain to be had on your end, on her end — well, I wouldn’t wish that on either of you. There’s been enough pain. I have no interest in celebrating that.

Beyond that, I don’t know what to think or feel. I was shocked, of course — but also numb. After you left, I was so sure you would break up within a year. You didn’t like the way she looked through your text messages and emails every night to make sure you weren’t still in contact with me. I was convinced you would send me an apology email one or two years later. I thought you would eventually be torn up by the cruel things you had said to me when you left, after I’d been so faithful and loving to you for seven years.

I guess it’s more accurate to say that I needed to believe you would do that. That it was the only way I could deal with what had happened. You were a good guy, all along, but had just made a terrible mistake. Right?

But that email never came. And you two got married and moved on with your lives.

There’s been enough pain. I have no interest in celebrating that.

After a while, I figured you had been right — she really was your true love. (Whatever that means.) I thought you would be married for the rest of your lives and have ten perfect babies who would have your beautiful blue eyes.

You getting divorced five years later wasn’t one of the options my imagination had offered up. What does that even mean? What was the point of any of it?

I always think about you at this time of year, remembering those first few weeks of living together. They say in late October the veils between the worlds are extra thin and that we are closer to the dead than usual. You can take that literally, of course, but there’s something symbolic about it, too.

I feel like I see the ghosts of our lives together everywhere, each time we cycle into autumn. I see the ghosts of our figures walking down the sidewalks, the red leaves raining down over us. I see the my own ghost, riding her bike home from work each day, so excited to return home, to be in your arms again. I see your ghost pulling me onto your lap from where you sat in the recliner, growling, nibbling at my neck, tickling me. I see the ghost of our pup sitting at our feet, waiting for our attention.

He died, you know. A couple months after you left. He used to wait for you by the front door. He didn’t understand you were never going to come back. And then one day, I woke up, and he was dead.

We are all ghosts now.

I suppose I still carry my own ghost within me — but I don’t feel anything like her anymore. I feel like a totally different person. Except that…I still miss you terribly. I still love you so much.

But other than that, I’m someone else. I’m brave now. I lost everything and could barely get out of bed after you left, and somehow, I managed to make it through the days, to pay off my student loan, to buy a house all by myself.

And one day — this year, actually — I realized I was happier than I had ever been in my entire life. Without you. Without any man. Not that I don’t want a partnership — but damn, it feels good to know I can be happy without one.

I see the ghosts of our figures walking down the sidewalks, the red leaves raining down over us.

I do still see our ghosts everywhere, but I’m okay with that now. It doesn’t hurt quite so much anymore. I made it, all on my own.

I hope you do, too.

I will probably always love you. I can’t help myself. I loved our life together. Our home. Our family. You, me, the pup. Even if it meant nothing to you, it meant everything to me.

I try not to think of the image of you walking out the door five years ago. I try to go five years further back and remember you walking through that door, into that massive, empty living room. You turned and smiled at me, remember? You held out a hand to me.

I took it, wrapping my fingers around yours, and stepped inside.

© Yael Wolfe 2019