I was her, or should I say had become her, and whatever she was. She always seemed to be stuck in the middle of being who I am and who she thought she should be. She never chose. Or at least that’s what she told herself. She’d been happy with life’s progression lately. Blissful again even. She was succeeding at her own business game and found reason to get out and find new friends. She was living, more present than ever and graciously inspired by each step. Still, there was something else she wanted. It was a feeling as she put it. So she made a decision to act upon the feeling. Normally when she did, she got what she desired in the end. Whether she wanted to keep it or not was always a choice, she would convince herself that by not choosing she kept her power. I could never tell. This time, she claimed she felt different. We’d talk about the difference for days, going back and forth about what she’d witnessed to support her “feeling different”. She’d go on and on about how she felt like things had finally changed. For the better. She’d finally let go of some things that she’d been holding on to for a while. Dark stuff. Stuff that almost cost her her very intestines. She’d gotten horribly ill a while back and sometimes found the gall to tell that story. Then one day she started to tell me about how the life she claimed to have had a glimpse of reminded her of something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She described this life, if you will, like it was a passionate tango with deja-vu, at first, it was surreal and had a rhythm to it. Eventually, it became more and more vivid with each turn. It was a full-fledged picture show. And she had me convinced. We were finally going to live as she desired and because we were, I could look forward to being at peace because she’d be happy. That’s how it had always been. So when she started telling the part of the story where she’d met someone she thought much of, a man; I listened intently. In the past, that’s where she’d start her tactical persuasion. By intimately describing how intelligent he is, how funny he is and how considerate and so on and so forth. She’d remember how he looked at her at one point and just sit there and smile for minutes. Zoning off to who knows where. She’d just stop talking. When she came to, she’d remember that she had something else to do. Something that required her presence mentally though I’d rarely seen her completely and totally there while she did those things.
Sometimes she’d return for another talk, and she would go on to talking about how grateful she was. How much she appreciated The Divine for willing her back to life after dealing with some of the most devastating chain of occurrences. She gave constant thanks during those talks and would sometimes cry hysterically. She said they were tears of joy, having learned the things that she learned when she did so that she could become her. She would refer to herself in a hyperphysical way. I was still learning what all of that meant. Afterward, she would go away to do something else. Something else for her children and her business, sometimes her friends and now this man she thought of often. I’d only heard of his name; I’d never been privy to meet him, so I had to listen to what she said about him out loud at different times of the day. Then she would zone out with that smile and be back at her computer within minutes. I’d vaguely remember her telling me that she met him on a dating app. Him and 12 others. Three of which had a brain, the rest courage. This new guy apparently had both and from what I’d hear her say he also had heart. She liked him; he gave her the familiar feeling she’d known before. It was a deja vu curtsy, and she liked that sway. Now she liked him and the feeling. She hadn’t had both in I don’t remember how long. It didn’t matter; she was happy. And I finally had a moment to watch the rain quietly.