Idyllic Misfortune

Honestly speaking, she said. 

I've always thought it was strange to announce you're about to tell the truth.

To be honest, my father found someone better.  A better wife, a better daughter, a better home.  To be honest, she said, you can have my heart, I'll give you my soul and my body is yours for the taking.

There are certain things I am not interested in; like, your astrological sign or being your surrogate father or being a consolation prize.  I won't let you settle for me, I said.  Honestly speaking, I am not what you need.  I am not what you want.  I am disappointment cloaked in manipulative armor.

And we agreed to part ways.

I heard she died in the arms of a dealer.  Years after the fact. 

I was angry at God.  The omnipotent scapegoat. 

Honestly speaking, it's easy to do.  Kick the dog.  Punch a hole in the wall.  Scream at the Creator.

I had this friend who couldn't walk in a straight line.  His hands trembled.  His voice was shaking.  Smartest man I ever knew died in the arms of his pride.  I was angry at God.  Sometimes, to be honest, I still am. 

It's easy to do.

We speak of do-overs and hypothetical possibilities.  I must think I am so wise that I would do things differently.  I must have come to the conclusion that I'm stronger than this.  Who am I kidding?  Who are we kidding?  Do-overs would always result in worst case scenarios.

We always get it right the first time.  Right for our lives, right for that moment, right how it was meant to be.

To be honest, I could never ask for another chance or a new start because I know, I would only make my life worse.  We all would.

Honestly speaking, she said. 

I stopped her mid-sentence.  You're about to tell me a lie, I said.  An honest person never announces the truth. 

And she smiled at me with a guilty look on her face.  I think, at that moment, I loved her more than I cared to admit.  And she never finished her sentence.  We never finished our story.  We just parted ways.

And sometimes, I dream of a do-over and my hypothetical wife with our invisible 2.5 kids, chasing each other confined in the yard of a white picket fence while our hypothetical dog plays in the sprinklers.

Maybe, it's better that this is who I am and this is how it is...  And maybe, that angry God doesn't laugh as hard as I imagine... And maybe, someone in a better place is looking down at me and shedding a silent tear that I dare question any of this... And maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll see them again.

Honestly speaking, I said.

She stopped me mid-sentence and told me she loved me.

And then I woke up.