#11 A Rain Jacket Never Worn
Three years ago, after three years of living here, I almost left Hong Kong to be with you.
Before Hong Kong, we met in Los Angeles and biked everywhere together.
A month after we moved in together, my job ran out of funds for me and my personal itch led me to find work here in Hong Kong. You got excited. Your dream was to work remotely as the spouse of a leading physical scientist.
Six months later, I moved toHong Kong.
You looked but didn’t succeed in finding a match for full-time work here.
You went to Seattle with no plan but to hustle.
You found a match.
You came here in cycles of six weeks together, six weeks apart. I anchored myself to labwork and you flew over to work remotely with your same team in Seattle beginning at 5 am Tuesday through Saturdays.
You grew exhausted and I grew exhausted with you.
Either both of us here or both of us there.
Tug of war for a while.
I negotiated with my boss. Terms with her were good at the time. When my past year-long contracts renewed, they came with a raise. Part of it automatic, she’d said, part of it her addition.
This time, I proposed that she skip the raise. I proposed twice as many days off over the next year in lieu of the raise. More time off, and more time away working remotely.
She said yes.
I envisioned a year of bringing my research in Hong Kong to a close while steadily looking for work in Seattle.
You didn’t believe that I needed to do that. At the time I believed that you couldn’t understand. You fought my belief that I was not yet employable. In hindsight, you were right.
I signed the contract with my boss.
Two months before that contract would begin, we talked about our trip to Germany, happening in just a few weeks, for my friend’s wedding in Germany.
“I don’t think I want to go to Germany,” you said.
I pause. Inquisitively.
“I don’t think I want to do this anymore,” you added.
By the end of the call, I believed we’d broken up. Appropriately, it was Independence Day.
A week later, I told you I was going to Germany anyway. I was going to support this friend getting married. I offered to visit you in Seattle after the wedding, while I was already traveling.
You said you wanted space, and you’d think about it and get back to me.
Days later, I booked a trip to Germany and then to Jordan, where my brother was deployed. The trip would use up all of days off from work before the new contract with extra leave would begin.
The next morning, I’m putting on my shoes in my stairwell when my phone makes the two buzzes of receiving a new text message. It’s you. You ask — is it still possible to me to stop over in Seattle after the wedding?
It’s within 24 hours of booking my flights. I could cancel them with zero penalty.
I tell you — I’m sorry, I can’t, I’ve already booked a trip to see my brother in Jordan afterwards. Let’s talk about a time to see each other in late September or October.
That’s when my extra leave would have kick in.
Sounds good, you say.
I go to Germany alone. It’s a happy reunion with friends I met there six years ago. I tell them something came up, you couldn’t make it.
They’re sorry you couldn’t make it and are sure they’ll meet you one day and look forward to it.
I go to Jordan alone.
I return to Hong Kong alone.
We talk.
One weekend into my new contract, you say that the idea of time apart, us being apart, relationally, resonates with you.
We spend two hours crying while Skyping. You say how frustrated you are to love a person and to be frustrated with the relationship. We agree that we’ve tried and it’s time to try something else.
You tell me, in case it was ever a question, you love me.
I tell you I’ll come when I can.
You tell me, you’ll buy me the perfect bike and the best rain jacket you can find.
Isn’t it pretty to think about?
—
This is lesson #11 of Cole Schafer’s course “Don’t Break the Chain.”
Today’s prompt — write about a time that could have been, a time when I could have uttered the words “Isn’t it pretty to think so?” a saying that describes something lovely and not possible.
According to Cole, my candid piece Drawing Your Line, invoked this saying.
