Worth It

So I had lobster and white wine again like the old days. He took me around, all over the city, the beautiful places I remember. I wore shoes and got all dressed up in perfect hair and jewelry. It felt good to be that girl again, the person I'd missed without knowing it. I admired a crab cake on another table, "Go and ask for it," he said, like it was nothing. The waitor brought me two. We walked through the lit park and I felt happy again, free to discuss art and culture and know the other person was listening, I'd forgotten what being listened to meant.

He said, "What took you so long to call me again? I waited for you." I couldn't answer, I didn't know. But I was happy to know I am worth the wait.

I felt valued, I felt like I mattered. I'd lost that feeling in all this mess, a year of my time given over for a cheap thrill in Mexico.

"What are you thinking?" he asked. Nothing, I tell him. Nothing. "Is there anything else you need? Let me know and I'll get it for you."

So much, I want to say. So much, and more still.

But I'm not holding any expectations. He's the same as I left him, a pretty, wonderful thing like fireworks, meant to flash in and out, never lasting too long. Or will it? The ball is in my hands now, I like knowing that.

I went to the geyser today only to find out what I had admired for long was only a fountain constructed for wedding photos. I guess it's like that; a year of something beautiful only to see that maybe it wasn't after all. He says he thinks it can be good again, when did he ever have the power to make that choice? Who gives him any of that? Not me, never again. I ran the same Reservoir as Jackie O., alone. The sun was beautiful, he always promised me we'd run together. That never happened, no surprise there. But it was beautiful, just going and doing it, not waiting to be lied to with these empty promises. I deleted his friends, I deleted his number. If he had anything to say, he'd have said it. If he comes up with anything else, he'll have to come to me to say so.

I'm still sad, but angry more now, at myself. For letting it get that far, for forgetting that I am and always was worth the lobster and white wine. That if I am ever to need anything, I have friends and strangers willing to give it.

That I am worth a wait, and then some.