It was the first thing I noticed when I turned on my phone. My eyes lingered longer than usual over the calendar icon, the two digit number it displayed a stuck anchor attached to my heart. Today would have been four years since our first date. I could still envision the long June evening, the sound of children's laughter and sparkling waves crashing against the rocks our theme song, as I tossed my phone into the small zippered compartment of my worn black backpack.
If this was a movie, Matt would tell me he wanted me back. One look at me in my navy blue cardigan and khaki shorts, blonde hair tousled from my morning shower, would remind him of long, sleepless nights spent under cozy covers, early mornings, and lazy afternoons. I could see it: Matt's green eyes some concoction of nerves and hope as he reached out to take my hand. He would tell me he was stupid for breaking up with me and that he had a surprise for me. We were finally going to celebrate an anniversary, even if he hated the cheesy cliché.
But my life was anything but a movie, and Matt had only texted me asking to meet up so we could return each other's stuff. He probably had no memory of the date's significance.
It took about ten minutes to walk from my residence to the main undergraduate library, where I had suggested we meet. Matt was nowhere in sight when I arrived, so I took a seat on one of the vacant wood benches near the entrance. I watched two runners and a few students pass by and checked my email before I heard the clicking of footsteps grow louder as someone approached me.
"Hi Bree," Matt said, his eyes studying something that wasn't me. The bench maybe?
"Hi," I said, attempting to make eye contact, the look in my eyes daring him to do the same. Remembering why I was there, I grabbed my backpack from the bench and stood up. I unzipped my bag and retrieved a plastic shopping bag, which I handed to Matt.
"Thank you," he said, offering me a CD in return. When I tucked it away in my bag, he asked, "How've you been?"
"Good. You?"
Matt finally looked me in the eye. "Good, good."
I bit my lip, staring past Matt and at the deep blue water sparkling at the end of the walkway, fighting back the instinct to embrace Matt in a huge hug and wondering how we ended up here, like this.
How were we once so close? Was it really possible that we knew each other's deepest secrets? Was I really the one who stroked his soft brown hair when he was frustrated after a long week, reassuring him everything would work out? Was he really the person who spent hours with me on the phone when I needed a friend, his voice enough to suppress my worries? There was a time when we laughed together, our skin slicked with sweat as he held me tightly against his chest, whispering in my ear that he loved me.
Taking in a deep breath, I pushed away these haunting memories and focused my gaze on Matt.
"I should go work on my paper," I said, the cut the memories made on my heart stinging as I studied Matt's beautiful face.
"Have a good day. I hope it's productive," Matt said, his voice stiff but genuine.
"Thanks," I said. "You too."
"Goodbye."
"Bye," I said, turning around and walking toward the library's entrance. I pushed open the heavy glass doors and set out to find an ideal spot to work on surviving today.
I would have to focus on surviving one day at a time. That was my motto: one day at a time.
