Letting Go (A Short Story)

Once upon a time... doesn't always end with And they lived happily ever after... In fact, on many occasions, a love story ends before the conflict is resolved, before the prince rescues the damsel in distress.

Maybe the problem with me is that I'm no damsel in distress... but I am in distress, especially now since my proverbial prince has placed me in distress. It has been three months since our last big fight-- an ugly one wherein I was throwing everything at him, from my bag, to my cellphone, to even my left shoe. He stood there taking all the blows, like the handsome brave prince charming braving the wicked witch. But he wasn't a prince, and at the moment, he wasn't the least bit charming-- or maybe he was the fact that he was TOO charming that was the problem in the first place.

Sometimes moments went by unnoticed since then. I recall watching movies, eating dinner, playing Wii with him--I even recall sleeping together, waking up alone, or rushing out before he wakes up. I recall many times in which we could have talked but just merely launched into something to do, something familiar and comforting, something to distract us that we were falling apart.

In the future, I hope that you and I will get to sit on this bench again with what seems like a familiarity only present among two people who have once thought they'd be each others' forever. But right now, for that to even be plausible, we need to let each other go.

In a few minutes I will still be sitting on this spot with tears on my eyes, grateful that it was over quickly. That the ugly words came fast and it ended there. I will imagine setting an imaginary defibrillator kit next to me, absurdly proud of myself that I didn't try to take back my words, and didn't try to shock back to life our now nonexistent relationship. I wiped the tears streaming from my face and stared at the cheery warm sun, who seems to mock me. Taking one last steadying breath, I will stand up and walk away-- away from the bench that became witness to you an I becoming an "us."

Three years ago, we sat on the bench facing each other eating slices of cold pizza and stale beer, happily celebrating. We even marked our presence by carving a heart with the letters X+Y inside, laughing at the joke that the letters weren't our initials. We called each other X and Y since then, and fought because we both wanted to be Y. Now that bench becomes our love's gravestone, a silent reminder of what we had to give up to move on with our lives.

In a few years from now, you and I will bump into each other in the rain. You were getting some watermelon slices for a girlfriend I don't know you had, two months pregnant with your first born. I will feel a tiny twinge of jealousy at the prospect of you finding your special someone before I do but dismiss it, give you an awkward hug and wish you all the happiness in the world.

Six months from now, you and I would see each other on the MRT and wave hello without any sarcasm. You will be standing with your new Y, and she will be pretty and tall and thin and I will be secretly relieved that I wasn't the one clinging onto your arm for support.

A year from now we'll see each other on the ATM queue, and I would be with someone who I hope would be my forever, who makes me coffee in the morning, and who texts like a jejemon just to piss me off. You will be raising your eyebrows in apparent curiosity, and as I pass by you, you will whisper, "Oh my Darla, oh my Darla." And I will blush furiously knowing you're mocking my new guy because he looks a lot like Alfa-alfa from the Little Rascals.

Three years from now, I will see you inside a mall we used to frequent before carrying shopping bags filled with party supplies while being pulled along by a beautiful little girl. And I would grin at you and say, "I always knew you were a pushover for pretty girls..." You will laugh and hit me with one of the bags.

In four years, we will finally get to talk on the bench. You will say that your marriage is on the rocks and I will offer you my sympathy. You will say sorry for cheating on me and I will say that it doesn't really matter anymore. I will say that I haven't been in love since you, "Alfa-alfa" didn't last long but I'm not unhappy. I'm writing again and listening to love songs doesn't hurt anymore. You will ask me if we could have made it work, and I would honestly answer, I don't know. You will rush back to pick your daughter from school and I will sincerely wish you well.

Six years from now, we'll unknowingly sit next to each other at Church, hold hands awkwardly at the Our Father. I will remember that you and I had on many occasions heard Mass on this very church-- how we never really let each others' hand go throughout the whole service. You're there with your daughter and wife and I'm there with a guy we both knew from college. A guy who never kept me waiting, who makes me laugh, who is my husband, the father of the soccer player kicking my insides into mush.

I will remember the day we broke up on a sunny day on a bench not far from here-- relieved to not feel any regret, happy that we let each other go before our love turned into hate, before any chance of this situation becoming any more awkward than it already is.

After holding hands, you squeezed mine briefly, and I knew that we would never regret that our story ended, that we would never be sorry that we loved each other, once upon a time.