He really is leaving. I folded and packed the evidence. Carried it with him out to his car. The closing of the trunk felt so final.
I know it is only 4.5 hours away. I'll see him once a month or so. But it isn't going to be the same. He is working when I'm just getting home. He gets off work and I'll be sleeping. I can't even text him. Or I can and I'll get those delayed responses. What am I going to say?
How was your day?
Good. How was your day?
Good too. I miss you already.
Don't be silly, Sarah Jo. It's only been a couple days.
I know, you just feel so far away.
You'll see me soon enough.
It won't be the same. Before we would see each other often enough to share all the details about the times in between.
What have you been doing since I last saw you?
Well Monday I did this with this person and these were the good and bad parts. And Tuesday . . . .
But now all those little details that make me feel like I really know him, that make me feel close to him, they'll be insignificant. He won't tell me stories about strangers that are his friends and what they talked about and where they went and what he thought about all of it. He might say, "I've just been working and looking for an apartment and hanging out with so and so."
He can tell me that he'll come home once a month. He can say we'll talk on the phone. And I can say I'll visit him as often as I can. But we won't be the same kind of friends anymore. And I know that these things happen. And I know it isn't a big freaking deal. But I'm still sad about it.
He is leaving. The evidence is in the long hug goodbye and my tears on his t-shirt. He told me not to look so sad. I promised to think about something else on the drive home so I wouldn't cry. I wasn't able to do either one of those things.
He is leaving tomorrow. But I guess, for me, he is already gone.