Nascent Memories...

My most pleasant memory of Rosa was us lying in bed together, talking and laughing. Sharing our memories of our days. A simple "I love you" could turn into an hour long conversation. Beautifully simple, yet so profound. I miss that! I miss that waking up with a warm soul beside me and having enough companion purpose to cook breakfast for two in the morning.

I heard from Rosa last night. It was a short and terse conversation -- nerves frayed as we fumbled through a conversation.

"Do you miss me?" she asked me after a quiet spell of awkward silence. I tensed up, but poured my heart out.

"I miss you very much," I replied. "You know I still love you."

"I wish things could have been different," she said, solemnly.

"Why did you call?"

"To hear your voice. To know you are okay. I've been drinking some wine tonight and it makes me miss you."

Drunken call, I mused. I had noticed the slur in Rosa's voice. I had often called long faded girlfriends from the distant past when drinking. Alcohol removes your inhibitions. Makes you miss what you don't have. It makes you think years of time haven't passed. Bad memories erased in drunken bliss like the chalk from a chalkboard.

"Do you think we can get back together someday?" she asked.

"Get back to me on that when you are sober in the morning," I said. "You will feel differently. I just know you. You have your granddaughter to take care of now and should concentrate on that."

Another uncomfortable moment of silence. Strained, we sat there holding our phones as the seconds ticked slowly by like a fly trapped in amber oozing. Excruciatingly awkward.

"I've got to run," she then said. "I'll be thinking of you. I miss you."

I said goodnight and hung up the phone with a click. I sat for the longest time on the couch with a blank stare as Maggie preened beside me -- emotionally bereft. I couldn't cry. I couldn't feel sad. I was just there. Tired. Confused. It actually felt good to have some emotion even if it was simple and not profound, and I longed for it and so wanted it -- longing to cry my eyes out. To feel the wild swing of feelings and emotive outburst that come from such an encounter. Rosa always complained about my lack of feeling and emotion -- blunted by the myriad of psychiatric drugs I was on. She often called me "the robot" in a playful and picking way.

Soon, I felt as if I were awakening from a deep, long slumber. A tear finally erupted. I felt human again. I felt alive. Raw. I smiled as a salty tear ran down my cheek and hung in the corner of my mouth. I wiped it away and licked my lips to the taste of sodium. It was an awakening from a long psychiatric induced slumber brought on by the nascent memories of a love lost.