I’d like to think Ignatius himself laughed at my tourist tears as I drove from the jazzman’s airport. In a city full of poor, I was the poorest of them all. I merged onto I-10 with a wet steering wheel.
The love was like the city. Perfect despite imperfections. Charismatic, passionate. Fun and different. Fast and intense. Unlike anything else. But it finally happened. The city and the love gave way. Irreparable cracks. Visible damage. Signs of collapse. Never to be the same.
I knew this day was coming. I had braced for it the day I met her. But there was no preparation for this. No preparation to say goodbye to her. The last kiss tasted like fried shrimp and desperation. Big moments in the heart happen with small significance to the body. I told her she didn’t have to go. She told me that she did.
Devastation crept into the Pontiac. I couldn’t tell if I was a lot stronger or a lot weaker than I thought I was. It didn’t matter, really. All that counted was that she wasn’t sitting next to me. She was up in the sky with her gorgeous blue eyes and bag of peanuts. I was heading west with a damaged soul and an empty wallet.
The silver bullet and my mind both spun grey. Evidently I was able to notice more than the hurt. Blank overcame pain. I focused on the road. Only a few hundred miles from the state line. I’d be back in Texas soon…