I went to the grocery store with my mother this evening - yesterday evening, I guess, since it's after midnight. A while back they moved things around in the store so if you want to get bread or cheese, you have to go down an aisle where one side is all liquor.
Tortillas were on the shopping list. The tortilla endcap is on the end of the aisle with the chilled liquor. Normally if I pay any attention at all to the booze, it's to give a look of disgust. Most of the time I try to ignore the expensive poison that is so prominently displayed. Today, for some reason, something in the chilled liquor aisle caught my eye, and when I glanced behind me I saw a shelf full of familiar-looking boxes - cases of Miller High Life. H's favorite, as I recall.
Make no mistake, I wasn't really excited about being with a drinker. I've never been a fan of alcohol. But it was something H did, and I accepted it. It was part of who he was, and I loved him, so it wasn't a big deal to me, for the most part.
Something about the sight of those golden-colored beer cases got to me, and I found myself missing H like crazy. It was the weather, too, I think. It was sort of cold and rainy and it reminded me of when H and I were together. That summer was a particularly rainy one, and we used to sit together on his couch, listening to the rain and talking and cuddling. It was nice. I felt loved.
I miss that. I miss him - who he was then, who we were then. I miss the way he made me feel beautiful and important and loved. I liked being in a relationship. I miss that, too.
I have these crazy moments now and then where I want to call him - H, I mean - or drive to his apartment, or e-mail him, or send him a text message. I never would, of course, because the H I miss isn't the H that exists today. But I have pictured, in moments of weakness, crawling back to him and begging him to forgive me (for what, I don't know) and him holding me and telling me everything's okay.
What a foolish little girl I am! I know that if I ever saw him again, I'd probably want to scream and run in the other direction. I'd likely pretend not to see him and make a quick getaway. My therapist has asked me time and time again what I would say to H if I had the chance. I can't think of a thing anymore. I don't think I could say or do anything at this point that would make a bit of a difference.
And yet I sometimes miss him and the way things used to be. For now I'm just going to have to live with that.