COLUMN: No more summer love
It’s one of those nights you dread. You know how it goes. The tension between both of us has been building for weeks. We are still spending time together, but it’s not like it used to be. It’s getting harder and harder to put my whole self into it, knowing that one day soon, it will be time to part ways.
I try not to think about it. I try to go on like everything is normal and things are as they have always been, but it starts to feel like the whole mess is strapped to a time bomb. I seem to feel the clock slowly winding down, ticking off the seconds until it will all go up in smoke.
I have my moments of delusion. I almost convince myself that it will work if I keep trying, that even the tilt of the earth’s axis can’t keep us apart. Memories of all the happy afternoons spent together this summer flash through my mind. I remember days when I woke up before the sun, so excited to spend the day together that it didn’t even seem early. I think about all the nights I lay in bed with thoughts of us racing through my mind and a smile on my face. I want to believe that we will always be together, that nothing will change. Still, it’s getting harder and harder to convince myself of this.
Then one cold morning, I wake up and know that it has to end. I almost tear up. The pit in my stomach serves as a brutal reminder that this is real and not some horrible dream. Our time together has come and now, is nearly gone. I know what I have to do. I have to end it.
We go up the canyon to go climbing and to bike a trail with a few friends. Only I know that it is our last. My mind and heart aren’t in it. A compulsive thought seems to bounce off the walls of my mind. “It’s over” is all it says. But how do I break the news? As I turn this thought over, my resolve almost slips. But then, a sign from the heavens arrives. With a gust of wind, large snowflakes begin to fall. The storm quickly begins to worsen and we rush to the car. I know what this means.
Not a word is spoken during the drive home. The storm is getting worse outside, and a new one is brewing inside me. We make it home and go inside. I know that it’s time.
“Can I talk to you about something?” I say. I take their silence as a yes. Gathering them into an embrace, I slowly spit out the words, feeling the bitter taste of each one. “We can’t be together anymore. Winter is coming, and it would just be too hard on you. This is for the good of both of us.” My climbing rope and the handlebars of my mountain bike that I am hugging don’t say anything. I know that they are hurt, though. I am feeling the same pain. “Maybe we can take the occasional trip down south together, but we can’t see each other every day like we used to. You aren’t made for it. I am trying to protect you.”
I try to reassure them that one day things will be like they were, someday in the spring. Still, they only sit there, silent and immobile. Knowing that lingering will only make it worse, I gather up the rest of the climbing gear, and push it far back in the closet. It hurts to shut the door. I take my bike to the farthest corner of the garage and cover it with a sheet so I don’t have to look at it.
I then sit on my bed to think. I feel numb and directionless. The wind starts to blow harder and I stand up and look out the window. As it starts to stack up, I realize that climbing and biking season won’t be back for a while. It’s starting to look like a long winter.
Just then, I catch a look at pair of skis stacked up in the corner. I could have sworn they winked at me. Looking back out at the snow I think, “Maybe moving on won’t be so bad.”
– dustin.nash@aggiemail.usu.edu