In the Line of Love

Skye

Even as a kid, dragging myself out of bed has been a sport the back and forth between my alarm and I some days feeling defeated and others like a champ. I know my weaknesses and have set my alarm thirty minutes early just to give myself permission to hit snooze a few times. I'm also a full-on tabloid junkie, which doesn't help my mornings. Half-asleep, my hand automatically finds my phone on the nightstand and I start tapping through Facebook, then TMZ, on to Perez Hilton and finally Instagram. Feeding my daily gossip fix before I've even sat up. Eventually, I glance at my texts. 

Alex to Skye: How are you?

Predictable. It's like he's got a preset alarm: time to text Skye. If I scrolled through our history, I'd see the same morning, noon, and evening check-in pattern.

If he hadn't cheated on me back in high school, I'd consider him everything men these days aren't. Consistent, considerate, and steady. The kind of guy my friends and coworkers seem to be endlessly searching for, only to be left venting about their dating disasters.

He was my first everything, the kind of love that you never want to let go of. But like most long-distance stories, ours unraveled. Eventually, I found out he was seeing other girls, yes multiple girls, while away at University.

For years he's tried to make up for it. He never forgets a birthday, Christmas, or Valentine's Day gift with meaningful messages of what could have been and regret. 

I never told anyone why we broke up. At the time I was just a kid, I wasn't prepared to confront the betrayal, embarrassment and insecurities it manifested in me. I blamed myself and part of me wanted to forgive him. I didn't think I was strong enough to stay away from him, my first love, my high school sweetheart. I didn't want anyone to hate him or look at me like a fool if I had made the choice to stay.

We still meet for coffee or dinner now and then, and sometimes I catch myself wondering what my life would look like if I could just forgive him. My high schooler heart use to wish he would have just told me "We have to break up because I want to party, sow my oats, be crazy while at university"... then maybe this could have worked. That would have still devastated me but it wouldn't have felt like a betrayal, like I wasn't good enough to keep loving between distance.  That betrayal and the way it made me feel is just too big to forget. I've always felt so uncomfortable talking about it that the only person I've managed managed the truth to is my best friend, Isa.

Once at work I decide to return the text.

Skye to Alex: Feeling exhausted. I've already worked 60 hours this week! You?

No response.

There was a time I wanted to be a doctor more than anything! I looked forward to building a career my family, my dad could be proud of. But sometimes, like right now, I wonder if it's worth it. I'm bone-tired, I feel like I've aged ten years overnight, and my social life has gone and ghosted me! My mentors promise it gets better after residency, but with the hours I'm putting in, the light at the end of that tunnel is bleak. I'm almost twelve years into it and quitting feels like burning a tuition-shaped bridge. That's just not possible.

My best friend Isa pops her head into my office startling me out of my thoughts.
"Drinks. Fries. Booze. Now? Let's go!" her energy makes it hard to say no to. 

"Jesus, Isa! you scared me!" I clutch my chest.

She smirks. "Sorry. Let's go." Her voice begs. "We can catch up, inhale some fries, drown the week in booze. Please! I need this! I've had a shit week."

"Same," I sigh. "And you know you had me at fries." I smile at her.

"FRIES BEFORE GUYS! Five minutes, grab your stuff!" she points at me as she heads for the door. 

As we make our way through the hospital, big smiles on our faces with the promise of a fun evening she mutters, "I swear, I'll run over anyone who tries to stop me. I can't be here another second. I smell like latex and antiseptic."

That's not the worst scent. I tease "L'odeur de latex."

"Skye, no. Just no! Saying it in French doesn't make it attractive." she hisses laughing  "Once the Chanel wears off and all that's left is antiseptic and latex, it's time to get out of here."

I fist pump my hand. "Exactly! Liberation through fries!" I say.

We're still laughing as we step outside into the last scraps of daylight.