Need to Catch Up? Quick Links: Part 6 Part 5 Part 4 Part 3 Part 2 Part 1
April 24, 2023 - 7:15 am
Russel was leaving again.
This time, he would be gone for four weeks, leading another GOLS course in the backcountry. By now, I was beginning to understand that his work came with a certain rhythm, one that I would either have to learn to live with or eventually decide wasn't for me. There wasn't much middle ground. When Russel went into the wilderness with his students, communication simply wasn't an option. No texting, no phone calls, no checking in at the end of the day to see how things were going. He disappeared into the mountains, and I wouldn't hear from him until he came back.
I knew that going into the relationship, at least in principle. Knowing it and experiencing it were two different things.
We had spent the preceding days together, making the most of the time before his departure. There was always a little sadness attached to these goodbyes, although I was beginning to wonder whether the anticipation of missing him was becoming almost as difficult as the actual separation.
So, once again, I waved goodbye and went back to my life.
Fortunately, my life in Greymont was beginning to take on a shape of its own.
Work at River Falls had become something of an anchor for me. I was particularly close with my little circle there, which had gradually become what we affectionately thought of as our core four. Sage and Emm had been part of that circle from the beginning, and Paul, who was the newest addition, had somehow managed to work his way into our little group almost immediately.
Paul was initially a rather shy guy. He wasn't necessarily someone who commanded a room or went out of his way to make himself known, but there was something about him that made him easy to like. Once he became comfortable with us, his personality started coming through, and he fit into the group surprisingly well.
He and I developed a playful rapport, with a fair amount of teasing and occasional flirtatious banter. It was entirely innocent, as far as I was concerned, and I think we both enjoyed having someone at work who could keep the conversation interesting.
One afternoon, the four of us had gathered together during a lull in the workday. Paul was sitting nearby, looking considerably more comfortable than he had when he'd first joined us.
"So, Paul," I said, looking over at him, "have you figured out what you've gotten yourself into yet?"
He looked up. "What do you mean?"
"Us. This little group. It's a lot to take in."
Sage laughed. "He's still in the honeymoon phase. Give him time."
"That's reassuring," Paul said.
Emm glanced up from what she was doing. "Don't listen to them. We're perfectly normal."
I looked at her.
She looked back at me.
"Well, mostly," she conceded.
Paul laughed, and I think that was about the point when he officially became one of us.
He was married, although from the way he occasionally spoke about his wife, I wasn't entirely convinced he was head over heels. There was a certain ambiguity there, and I occasionally wondered whether he liked being married more than he actually liked being married to her. I never gave it much thought beyond that. He was fun to have around, and our little group had become a welcome part of my daily routine.
Sage, meanwhile, was dealing with the increasingly unpleasant aftermath of her breakup with Jade. Anyone who knew Sage knew she wasn't exactly conventional. She had her witchy interests, her own particular way of looking at the world, and an intuition that sometimes made me wonder whether she knew things before the rest of us did. But beneath all of that was someone who was trying to navigate a pretty painful chapter of her own life.
Jade wasn't making things particularly easy.
In fact, things became downright ridiculous when Jade apparently decided that the appropriate response to the breakup was to slash one tire on each of our vehicles in the office parking lot.
I remember the general disbelief that followed.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I asked when we realized what had happened.
Sage looked thoroughly unimpressed. "Nope. Apparently, she's decided to take the scenic route through her emotional breakdown."
Emm shook her head. "That's not a breakup. That's a criminal charge."
Paul looked between us. "Wait. All of our cars?"
"One tire each," I said. "Apparently, we're all getting equal treatment."
Sage sighed. "I told you she was crazy."
"Well, I don't think anyone needed a psychic reading to figure that one out," Emm replied.
I couldn't help laughing. It wasn't particularly funny, of course, especially considering the inconvenience and expense, but there was something so absurd about the whole situation that laughing seemed like the only reasonable response.
We had enough going on without having to add unexpected tire replacements to our list of daily responsibilities.
Emm was the other constant in our little group. She was an accomplished therapist, and she had a way of approaching just about everything with a combination of kindness, practicality, and an almost supernatural ability to cut through bullshit. She was one of those people who could make you feel completely understood while simultaneously making it abundantly clear that she wasn't going to let you get away with any nonsense. I adored her.
Between the four of us, there was a comfortable rhythm. We could talk about work, relationships, whatever ridiculous thing had happened that morning, or absolutely nothing of consequence. We teased one another, offered opinions whether they were requested or not, and generally made the workday more enjoyable.
It was nice having people around me who were becoming more than just coworkers. They were becoming friends, and during a period when so much of my personal life was changing, that mattered more than I probably realized.
Outside of work, I was settling into my little apartment above Silver Fork.
The novelty of having my own place was beginning to wear off, replaced by something that felt a little more substantial: routine. I was learning the sounds of the building, getting used to the neighbors, and figuring out how to make the small studio feel like home. My belongings were finding their places, and the apartment was gradually becoming less of a collection of boxes and more of a space that belonged to me.
There was something comforting about coming home after work, closing the door, and knowing that I didn't have to answer to anyone. I could make dinner, put something on television, or simply sit quietly and enjoy the evening. I didn't have to negotiate around another person's schedule or preferences. I could do exactly what I wanted, when I wanted.
Of course, freedom and loneliness sometimes occupied the same space.
There were evenings when I was perfectly content on my own, and others when the quiet reminded me of everything that had changed. I was still adjusting to the absence of the life I'd shared with Vincent, even though I had been the one to walk away from it.
I thought about him occasionally. Not necessarily with the desire to go back, but with the awareness that a significant part of my life had ended, and that I was still learning how to exist on the other side of it.
There were familiar things I missed. Habits, routines, the comfort of knowing someone was there. Even the mundane details of a shared life could leave an impression long after the relationship itself had run its course.
I was beginning to understand that leaving someone didn't automatically mean you stopped grieving them.
And perhaps that was something I hadn't given myself enough room to acknowledge.
Russel was away, and I couldn't reach him. There was no checking in, no exchanging little updates about our days, and no reassurance that we were both thinking about one another. I simply had to trust that he was out there doing what he loved, and that eventually he would come home.
So I kept myself busy.
Work, friends, the apartment, and the occasional visit with people who had become important to me. Life was moving forward, even if I wasn't always entirely sure where it was taking me.
By the time May arrived, I had settled into the arrangement reasonably well. At least, that's what I told myself.
May 23, 2023 - 5:40 pm
Russel was home.
Four weeks had passed since he'd left for the Wind River backcountry, and I was genuinely happy to see him again. There was something wonderful about having him back in Greymont, knowing that I could once again see him, spend time with him, and enjoy the little things that came with having him around.
But something felt different.
I'd experienced this before, when he'd returned from his previous course, although I don't think I'd quite understood it then. There was a strange adjustment period that seemed to accompany every homecoming. We'd spend weeks apart, each living our own lives, and then suddenly we were expected to fall right back into the rhythm we'd established before he left.
Except we didn't always.
It was almost as though someone had reset the progress bar on our relationship. We were happy to see each other, affectionate, and eager to reconnect, but there was an awkwardness underneath it all. We had to find our way back to one another, and sometimes that seemed harder than it should have been.
I think Russel noticed it before I was willing to acknowledge it.
He wanted me to open up more, to let him in, and to be more emotionally available. I understood that. But I was also struggling with his own reluctance to open up in the ways I needed.
It was a curious contradiction. We both wanted vulnerability from the other, yet neither of us seemed particularly adept at offering it.
I was still carrying the emotional residue of my previous relationship, and I don't think I had fully appreciated how much that was affecting my ability to be present in a new one. Russel, for his part, had his own way of processing things, and sometimes I found it difficult to know what he was thinking or feeling.
At some point that evening, we found ourselves going around in circles.
"You're being awfully quiet," he said.
"I'm just tired."
"You're always tired when something's bothering you."
I looked at him. "Well, maybe something is bothering me."
"Okay. What?"
I hesitated. "I don't know, Russel. I just don't really feel like getting into everything tonight."
He seemed frustrated, although he was trying not to show it.
"I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on."
"I know."
"Then let me in a little."
I remember feeling caught between wanting him to understand me and not having the energy to explain myself. It wasn't that I didn't want him close. I just wasn't sure how to get there.
"I'm not trying to shut you out," I said. "I'm just not feeling very social tonight. I think I need some time to myself."
He looked at me for a moment.
"Okay."
There was a little more conversation, but we weren't getting anywhere. Neither of us was particularly angry, and there wasn't some enormous argument waiting to happen. We were simply frustrating one another, each struggling to understand what the other needed.
Eventually, I decided to go back to my apartment.
He could tell something was off. I think he wanted to talk about it, or at least understand what was happening, but he also recognized that I wasn't in the mood to have that conversation.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yeah. I think so."
"Okay. We'll talk."
I nodded, gave him a kiss, and left.
We spent the night apart.
It wasn't necessarily what either of us wanted, but I think we both needed a little space. I went back to my apartment and spent some time thinking about what had happened, trying to make sense of feelings that weren't always particularly easy to articulate.
The following day, I found myself turning to the people who had become my sounding board. I spoke with the core four at work, and I also called Nikki. I didn't necessarily need anyone to tell me what to do. I think I was looking for someone to help me understand why something that should have felt so straightforward was proving to be so complicated.
Naturally, Emm was among the first to offer an opinion.
"So, what's going on?" she asked.
I gave her the abbreviated version.
She listened, as she usually did, without interrupting.
"Well," she finally said, "I think you're expecting yourself to be further along than you actually are."
I sighed. "I know. I just thought I'd be past all of this by now."
"Past what?"
"Vincent. The whole thing. I mean, I left. I made the decision. I knew it was the right thing to do."
"And?"
"And I don't know. Sometimes I still feel like I'm dealing with it."
"Of course you are. You don't just switch off an entire relationship because you decide it's over."
Sage nodded. "Especially when you've spent so much time building a life around someone. There's a lot of energy tied up in that."
Paul, who had been listening quietly, offered, "I suppose it doesn't really matter whether you're the one who leaves. It's still a loss."
Emm looked at him. "Exactly."
I remember appreciating that. It was easy to get caught up in the idea that because I had initiated the separation, I wasn't entitled to grieve it in the same way. But I was.
Nikki offered much the same perspective when we spoke later.
"You're allowed to be happy with Russel and still be sad about Vincent," she told me.
"I know."
"Do you?"
I laughed. "Apparently not."
"I'm serious. You keep acting like those two things can't exist at the same time. They can. You're not doing anything wrong by having feelings about a relationship that was a big part of your life."
I sat quietly for a moment.
"I just don't want to bring all of that into something new," I said.
"Well, you probably will, to some degree. That's what happens. You don't get to start a new relationship as a completely blank person."
It was a fair point.
The conversations were reassuring, although perhaps not in the way I had initially hoped.
The general consensus was that I needed to give myself some grace.
I was trying to build a relationship with someone new while still grieving the end of a relationship that had occupied a significant portion of my life. Even though things with Vincent had felt over long before I actually left, that didn't mean the emotional process of separating from him was finished.
I think I'd been operating under the assumption that once I made the decision to leave, the hardest part would be behind me. I had convinced myself that because I was ready to move forward, I should simply be able to do so.
But grief doesn't work that way.
You can know you've made the right decision and still feel the loss of what you left behind. You can be excited about someone new and still find yourself emotionally preoccupied with the ending of something old. The two experiences aren't mutually exclusive, even if they sometimes make you feel as though you're being pulled in opposite directions.
I think my friends understood that better than I did at the time.
There was also the matter of Russel and me learning how to communicate with one another. We were still relatively new to this relationship, and neither of us had quite figured out how to navigate the other's emotional landscape. His absences didn't make that any easier. Every time he returned, we seemed to need a little time to find our footing again.
I didn't know whether that would eventually become easier or whether it was simply part of the arrangement. But I wasn't ready to walk away.
I liked him. I enjoyed being with him. And despite the occasional frustration, I wanted to see where things might go.
June 3, 2023 - 2:30 pm
By the beginning of June, spring had finally begun to make its presence known in Greymont.
It had been an unusually wet season, and the snow had taken its time retreating from the mountains and surrounding valleys. The landscape was still saturated from the long winter, but everything was beginning to turn green. The days were getting warmer, the birds were busy, and the mountains were slowly revealing themselves again.
Russel picked me up at my apartment that afternoon, and we headed out of town toward Ash Canyon.
I don't remember whether we'd made any particular plans for the day. I suspect we hadn't. We were simply going to spend some time together, enjoying the weather and taking advantage of the fact that he was home.
When we arrived, he pulled off to the side of the road adjacent to the sandstone and parked.
I wasn't prepared for what I saw when we got out.
The field stretched out before us like an enormous green blanket, its surface covered in wildflowers. Everywhere I looked, there were splashes of color. Yellow, purple, red, orange, blue, and white. Thousands upon thousands of flowers, growing together across the meadow, with the sandstone canyon rising beyond them.
It was spectacular.
The wet spring had produced something extraordinary, and the entire landscape seemed to have come alive overnight. It was one of those sights that makes you stop talking for a moment because you aren't quite sure what to say.
It was a superbloom.
I remember feeling almost giddy. There was something about the sheer abundance of it all that made the place seem unreal, as though we'd stumbled into some little dreamland that had been waiting for us.
Russel was just as taken with it, although I suspect he was enjoying my reaction almost as much as the scenery.
We wandered out into the field, taking in the flowers and the enormous expanse of green. The wind moved gently across the meadow, and the birds provided a soundtrack that seemed perfectly suited to the afternoon.
At some point, we started dancing. I couldn't tell you what prompted it. There wasn't any particular choreography or even a song playing. We were simply moving around together, laughing and being ridiculous, letting the wind and the birds provide the music. We were essentially the same height, so it was nice to rest my head on his shoulder.
We ran through the field, occasionally stopping to look at something, only to take off again a few moments later. We laughed, chased one another, and eventually found ourselves tumbling into the grass.
There were flowers everywhere, and I remember thinking how absurdly beautiful the whole thing was.
We kissed. A lot.
It was carefree in a way that I hadn't realized I needed. There were no conversations to work through, no complicated emotions to untangle, and no expectations about what either of us was supposed to say or do. We were simply two people enjoying one another's company in an extraordinarily beautiful place. At least for a moment.
Eventually, we came across a large boulder sitting out in the field. It was substantial enough to climb onto, and we made our way up, settling ourselves on top.
Russel put his arm around me, and we sat there for a while, looking out over the meadow.
I remember the flowers moving in the breeze, the occasional bird passing overhead, and the warmth of the afternoon sun. It was one of those moments when you become acutely aware of where you are and who you're with, and you wish you could somehow preserve it exactly as it is.
We had been through a little bit of an adjustment period since his return. Things weren't necessarily perfect, and I knew we still had some things to figure out. But sitting there, with his arm around me, everything felt a little less complicated.
After a while, Russel turned toward me.
"Hey." he said, kissing me lightly.
"Hey." I responded.
"I just want to pulse check this. Are we heading in the right direction, Elliot?"
I smiled. "I think so. I mean, you did say you think all of this kind of thing is a waste of time."
I chuckled, remembering the earlier conversations we'd had about relationships and all the various complications that came with them.
He looked at me and smiled.
"Well, you certainly aren't."
I laughed again, although I remember feeling something shift inside me when he said it.
It wasn't some grand declaration. He wasn't telling me he loved me, and I certainly wasn't telling him that I loved him. We were just sitting on a boulder in the middle of a field, surrounded by wildflowers, checking in with one another and trying to figure out whether we were getting this right. But something about the way he said it stayed with me.
I looked out over the meadow, taking in the colors and the movement of the flowers, and felt his arm resting around my waist. And somewhere in the middle of that beautiful afternoon, I realized something.
I was beginning to fall in love with him.
I didn't say it aloud. I didn't turn to him and announce what I was feeling, nor did I try to explain the significance of the moment. I simply let the realization settle inside me while we sat together, looking out over that incredible field.
I don't know whether it had been building for weeks or whether something about that particular afternoon had finally allowed me to recognize it. Perhaps it was a little of both.
I only knew that something had changed.
A few weeks earlier, I had been questioning whether we were finding our way toward one another at all. I was still carrying the weight of my previous relationship, still trying to understand what it meant to start over, and still learning how to make room for someone new. And now, here I was.
Sitting beside a man whose absences had frustrated me, whose emotional reserve sometimes left me guessing, and whose return I had come to anticipate with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
I was falling in love with him.
I didn't know what that meant for us, or where things would eventually lead. I wasn't thinking about the future or trying to make promises to myself. I wasn't particularly interested in figuring everything out. I was just happy to be there.
No comments:
Post a Comment