Five Details

My friend and I spent an evening listing our exes, three each, and the strange part is how a whole relationship compresses into five or six random images when you look back. A bike path. A dog. The dumb thing someone said. The lake you kept going back to. You don’t remember the conversations. You remember the texture.

Rebecca was two years. We couldn’t outrun time, which is maybe a different kind of loss—it doesn’t break you, it just slowly erodes you. The bike path to Jengen. Koko, this dog we both loved. An island with a monkey butler that doesn’t make sense now but it mattered then. We’re actually better friends now than we ever were dating. When I’m back home I see her and it’s easy.

Lukas was a year and a half. We both fell in love with other people, which might be the most honest way for something to end. Mrs. Pacman. Wax strips. A drive through Holland. Those shape how I think about him. We don’t talk anymore. Sometimes I wonder what he’s up to.

Anastasia was my best friend first. We tried being a couple and it was just anger the whole time. The train station in Turkheim. Buying organic vegetables. Nights listening to Muse. We text occasionally now, but distance doesn’t help much.

Stefan was six months and we were both bored. His pipe burst, his aunt came over with her cane, we went to the lake a lot. We’re fine now. Coffee sometimes. No tension.

Jennifer was less than six months. We were too much alike. McDonald’s, her red hair, a cat that was absurdly fat. We’re okay with each other again. We text.

Tom was over a year and a massive asshole. Motorcycles, sex on the beach, the rest I’d rather forget. I don’t know him anymore and that’s better.