the trunk

There's a trunk in the middle of my apartment that serves a dual purpose -- coffee table and storage unit. Inside, I keep a hodge-podge of items -- photo albums, yearbooks, small appliances, important papers and keepsakes.

Even though it contains practical items that I often need (including my Vicks Personal Steam Inhaler), I'm leery of opening it for fear of the green Rubbermaid box that also resides there. This box holds old birthday cards from my deceased grandmothers, certificates of achievement, citations, newspaper clippings and other touching mementos.

While it's nice to rummage through that stuff sometimes, it's also an exercise fraught with peril because pictures and letters from THE EX are also relegated to that box.

On days when I'm feeling invincible (or wheezy), I can retrieve what I need from the trunk without incident. Just the same, I sometimes prefer to ride out the asthma spell or find alternate paperwork to avoid the temptation to punish myself with painful memories.

The trunk is almost like a mausoleum for a long-dead relationship. I don't actively grieve over its death anymore but I still experience an almost daily twinge of sadness because of the absence. She was a best friend and a sister in addition to a partner. I lost many people when I lost her.

But time, maturity and the natural progression of things have distracted and fortified me adequately. I've been able to integrate the memories and the lessons into my life and move on. Her presence is always felt but sometimes I have to remind myself why. I've done a good job of burying her.

But the contents of the trunk still give me pause. The pat answer is to just toss all of the stuff and rid myself of it once and for all. But THE EX was the first and only person I've ever experienced a mutual mad/crazy/blinding/everyone-else-can-go-fuck-themselves kind of love with. She was the first and only person I trusted. It was HUGE for me to get to that point with someone. And I'm proud of what we had so I keep those letters for the same reason I keep my diplomas and awards. That shit was hard work and I earned it.

Tonight I opened up the trunk in the hopes of finding inspiration. This blog has been a wasteland of late so I was looking for a creative trigger. Making fun of myself is always a rich subject so I was hoping to find some embarrassing old poems or essays I'd written years ago.

Alas, I didn't find any. Although, I did come across some really bad pictures of myself when I played softball in high school. My coach was really good about taking photos of us and assembling them along with newspaper clippings into scrapbooks each season.

I have to say that while I was a rather forgettable-looking teen, I was quite impressed with some of my feats on the field! I got several mentions in The Star-Ledger and The Jersey Journal. I remember my best friend's father calling me to congratulate me when the Star-Ledger reported a three-run homer I hit. My English teacher even mentioned it right before it was my turn to read from Julius Caesar in class. I did a regal wave to my adoring public and then launched into some really nasty Jersey-soaked Shakespeare.

After my wee stroll down softball memory lane, I noticed an envelope with THE EX's handwriting. I took a deep breath and opened it up. It contained a card and pictures she sent me several years ago. I hesitated at first but then I sifted through them. She wrote some really funny captions on the back of the photos. For the first time since our break-up, I was able to laugh genuinely and fondly at her memory.

I felt strong enough to continue my excavation.

I then found an overstuffed medium-sized mailer envelope. I opened the flap, looked in and saw TONS of pieces of paper folded into neat, tight squares. To complete the memory circuit, I looked up at the shelf over my couch and located the hand-painted circular wooden box that originally held the slips of paper. (After the break-up, I was able to keep the box on display but the contents were too painful a reminder so I hid them.)

For my birthday, THE EX wrote personal messages, quotes, song lyrics, poems, etc. on each piece of paper and packed them into the wooden box. There were hundreds of them. On the outside of the box, she attached a Post-it explaining that I should reach into the box and pull out a note whenever I needed inspiration, a pick-me-up, a reminder of her… or just because.

To this day, it remains the single most beautiful, thoughtful and amazing gift I've ever received. I don't think anyone can ever buy me something more valuable or precious.

Truthfully, I couldn't restrict myself to a diet of one a day, so I cheated and opened up every slip of paper and read them in one sitting. I couldn't open them fast enough. The notes and sayings were an amazing and beautiful mix of love, honesty, support, optimism, inside jokes and so much more.

The papers fluttered and rustled as my hands shook. I couldn't believe that I was capable of inspiring such a gift… or worthy of it. I was elated and petrified and completely overwhelmed.

That girl always came up with new and fascinating ways of saying, "Trust me. Confide in me. Just give in."

And I did. For years, we relied and depended on each other, content to hide away from the world in our special, safe place. We protected each other with ferocious strength and determination. I think what was most shocking and devastating about our breakup was how quickly and cruelly we both let that all go.

Tonight I reread some of the notes she stuffed into the carved wooden box. In one of them, she summarized the doubts and fears we had about our "special" relationship:

"I don't think this is supposed to make any sense. Do you? The minute we understand it, it could all fall apart."

And sure enough, it did fall apart. Just like she said it would. Our fear, our families' expectations, probing questions and gossip combined with the force of a wrecking ball and demolished our private little space.

I've gotten over my grief but I think I still haven't fully forgiven reality.