Twenty Ways to Say Goodbye

         I once thought I knew everything, but I was only half right. Turns out I had all the questions and none of the answers. So much for that plan. I think what disturbed me the most was my confidence in the face of utter ignorance. Still I have a nice smile, and that has to count for something. I’ve always been intrigued by the female mind, just as I’ve always been enamored of the female body. I should have known better, women are never the answer, they just present more questions.

         Still, they are an incomparable experience. They can smile and change your entire political bent or cry and break your heart like a coffee cake. I never really understood them until I started listening to them, which complicates life, believe me. They’ll say the most beautiful things and draw you into their lives, and the next thing you know, you’re at their folks’ house for dinner. The first time that happened to me, I was so far spun I couldn’t point to the west if the sun was burning my ass. She was a sweet and controlling girl, but not for me. So I said goodbye to her.

         That was only the first time and the first way. You see, there are many ways to say goodbye, twenty ways, in fact. I’ve counted. That’s how many times I’ve said goodbye, and each time was unique.

         There was number 12 which ended with a letter and some of my share of the month’s rent. Or number 7 which ended with a rose and a tearful parting. Number 16 was the only time there was break-up sex involved. Number 4 had aspirations that I didn’t meet. And numbers 8, 13, and 6 left me for another man, another woman, and their cousin, respectively. I left number 11 for number 12, and we know how that ended. Number 2 was too ready for too much more than I could commit too. And number 17 wasn’t ready for our own future together.

         I almost married number 15, but her father talked me out of it. I was her number 3 and he always liked number 1 better. Numbers 9 and 10 were both at the same time, but the experiment was a failure. Number 9 thought I was too sensitive and number 10 thought I was too masculine. Number 3 left for school and I didn’t. Number 14 was number 3 again (a few years later). She wound up leaving for her career and I stayed behind in mine. Number 18 couldn’t stand the fact that I smoked. Number 5 smoked too much and got me hooked in the first place.

         Number 20 almost isn’t worth mentioning. Rebound relationships generally aren’t. I suppose I could have been happy with her if I wasn’t so miserable with myself. But then, that was (as always) caused by a woman; which brings me to number 19.

         I don’t think I ever loved a woman before her. I wanted to give her everything she asked for, and to spend all my time with her, and to have children with her. I scared the living hell out of myself, and I scared her too. That was the 19th time, and the 19th way. If you believe nothing else I tell you, at least accept it as truth when I tell you that the 19th way is the most painful and difficult way. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do after that, about anything. My life, my dreams, and all the things I cared about were wrapped up in her. I wasn’t sure I could ever feel again. I didn’t think I wanted to either way.

         Six weeks later, number 20 walked through my door and I was cured, for a time. But all roads led back to number 19. I’d pass her house at night, not really certain why I was there. I’d drive around thinking about her and wind up lost in the suburbs near her office. Everything that could be wrong with me after saying goodbye to my first great love was actually wrong with me. I broke down once and told number 20 that I still dreamt about number 19. Amazingly enough that was not the end of our relationship. But it was the end of any hope I had of number 20 ever loving me.

         We wound down after that, and I found myself here, thinking back on all the different women I said goodbye to. Twenty is a large number. It’s a lot of chances, a lot of opportunities, and (in my case) a lot of failures. My fault…her fault…it doesn’t matter. The fact remains that twenty have come and twenty have gone. Maybe I could have been successful with number 1? Perhaps if I tried harder, then I could have found happiness in a companion? But what measure of success would it have been? Or is the success I’ve earned expressed in countless trials and errors? Why is nothing ever simple or easy, especially when you truly want and need it to be?

         I once thought I knew everything, but I was only half right.