!!!!!*****WORKING DRAFT*****!!!!!
Seven AM, the traffic flowing out of downtown LA was light, not at all the gridlock heading in. The sheer breadth of the freeway overwhelmed me, compared to the narrow streets and cobbled alleys of Boston/Cambridge. An interchange loomed, four levels deep, its southward arc carrying us several hundred feet high, the endless basin spread out below.
“You don’t need hills here, I guess, this is how you get your views?” I queried the cabbie.
He gestured vaguely to the left, “No, we have mountains there, miss. Snow’s there in the winter.”
All I saw was muddy brown air, hiding any hint of nature. Soon, we pulled off the highway, aiming towards what appeared to be a UFO, suspended within two spider-like narrow arches. Outside the PAS terminal, I paid the cabbie $35, shouldered my knapsack, and headed towards the gate. Airborne in my window seat, I stared down as we circled over the vast human-built environment below, abutted by the curving shoreline on the west and – finally! – mountains to the east and north, falling abruptly to the water.
“That’s Malibu, there,” came a voice from the woman on the aisle, as she leaned across our vacant middle seat. “First time flying?” she asked sweetly. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, dark hair neatly pulled back in a side-hanging ponytail, highlighting the gentle tan aglow in her smiling face.
I laughed, “No, but first time in California. It’s not like this where I grew up, not even in New England, where I am now.”
“College?” she asked pleasantly.
“Back in Boston,” I answered. I turned to face her. “I’m going back next week. First, I want to visit my Aunt and Uncle up in Marin County. And my cousins. I haven’t seen them in years. I thought since I was out here anyway, I should take advantage of it.”
“What were you doing in Los Angeles? Thinking of moving here?” she wondered.
I hesitated. A strong urge swept through me, to spill my story to this stranger, safely knowing we’d never meet again. I looked down at my hands, folded neatly in my lap over the New Yorker I’d hoped to read, then back up into her friendly, expectant eyes. With half a smile and a nostalgic, wistful shake of my head, I admitted, “I just said good-by to my boyfriend.”
She returned the smile, and said, “Do tell…”
I briefly filled her on my four years with Michael, leaving out all the false starts (or were they false endings?) of the past 18 months. I told her how we’d driven around LA for several hours the day before, talking about, but never stopping to see any of iconic sights: the Brown Derby, the Griffith Planetarium, the Coliseum. “I think I was reluctant to do anything more with him, to make any memories we could never share. I told him he should be the one to discover his new life here.”
She pointed to the middle seat, asking, “May I?” Lifting the armrest, she inched her way over. “I think I know what you mean. Yesterday, in that stuffy lawyers’ office, I signed the papers, finally. Divorce. Ten years I gave that man, no kids, thank God. All I got was this plane ticket, the clothes on my back, and a chance to start again, redeem myself, I think.” She frowned a bit, then brightened. “Oh, I’m Justine.”
Without thinking, I said, “Sarah.” Shaking hands, I went on bravely, “Why did you split up?”
Another wistful smile. “He was a louse, plain and simple. He never really wanted to be married, couldn’t settle down, if you know what I mean. Good riddance, I’m thinking. And you?”
“It wasn’t like that with us. We still love – loved – each other, I think. But it was as if we were sailing different seas, in the same boat.”
“Different seas, same boat,” she murmured, as if trying out the idea.
“Yeah, I knew he’d never give me all I needed. He talked about wanting to support me, what I want, where I’m going. But he had his own agenda, you know?”
“Oh, don’t I know it, Sarah.”
“He’s going to be a doctor a psychiatrist, and I want to go into psychology, clinical psychology. We like the same music, loved to talk endlessly about the world, were best friends, really. But…”
“There’s always a ‘but’, isn’t there,” Justine said, as if to herself.
“But I wanted to change the world, the war, women’s rights, things like that. He…he resisted the resistance, what he valued most was having fun, taking life as it came to him, not trying to make it better, you know.”
Justine nodded encouragingly. She was proving to be a very good listener, exactly what I needed.
“I felt he’d never give me all I needed, at least not now. He talked a lot about kids, and families, and I like that too. But, you know how it is, women, we don’t have that luxury, a family before a career.” Justine looked blank; maybe I’d overestimated the universal nature of sisterhood. Nonetheless, I plowed on, as much to myself as her.
“It was like we’d carved out our own separate island in life, one of dreams and love. But it wasn’t real, it was…”
“Like Disneyland,” she interrupted.
“I don’t know, I’ve never been there, but, yes, maybe a fantasyland, that’s what we had.” I pictured Mike and I seated in a Dumbo car, flying endlessly in circles, up and down, up and down. “I knew he’d never give me all I needed, would never give up his dreams to help me find my own.”
“You must have gotten something out of it, all that time together,” she prompted.
That surge of honesty I’d always felt with Mike erupted once again. “Yes. Yes I did. Now I know how to love, how to be loved in return. I know it’s possible, what it looks like, what it feels like. What I needed, what we did have – I needed a companion, not simply a lover. Someone to share the journey with.” Justine said nothing, her face again a blank, so I went on. “It wasn’t really sad, the way we said good-by. I mean, I didn’t, haven’t, cried or anything.” That didn’t feel quite right, so I added, “Or, maybe it just hurt so bad, I couldn’t cry.”
“Sounds like you still don’t know what’s right, what’s wrong. I hope you don’t have to wait too long to find that out.”
“Oh, he’s still got some growing up to do, that’s for sure, so I guess I do, too. It’s not really fair, though. He gets to start his search now, I haven’t gotten on with mine, not yet.”
“You’re so very lucky Sarah, you truly are.”
Puzzled, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“Your four years with him, it wasn’t really wasted time. Don’t think twice about it. It’s going to be all right. Everything will be all right for you, you started out with a good man, someone to remember fondly. Not everyone gets that, you know.”
Overhead, a tinny speaker carried instructions from the stewardess: “Please return your seat backs to their upright position, in preparation for landing. Check and make sure you have all your belongings…”
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