SPOTTED

A Short Story (About Running Into An Ex)

The woman had been waiting for this moment every day for an entire year. For months, she had scowered her surroundings looking in vain for a familiar head shape or a recognizable hunch of the shoulders. She’d once audibly gasped when a man walked by her in a Patagonia zip-up only to realize on her double take that he was old enough to be her grandfather. A strange mix of relief and disappointment had torn through her body as she continued ahead without any more closure to speak of. She didn’t know what she would say if she actually ran into the man that had ruined her life and broken her heart. She worried she would say too much if given the chance. She also worried she wouldn’t say enough.

Now the moment was here and she was wearing her pajamas. Most people wouldn’t know they were her pajamas because the pants were technically “joggers” and the shirt was just an old tank top. But her ex would know because he had slept next to this exact outfit more times than she cared to count. For the first few weeks after the breakup, the woman had made sure to always look her best when leaving what used to be their shared home. She still thought there was a chance he might regret his decision to leave abruptly and hoped he might be lurking nearby. And if he saw her looking her best while taking out the garbage or grabbing a coffee, he might be pushed over the edge into loving her again. Looking back, this kind of thinking was delusional. But so was the idea of a happily ever after and she had always believed in that.

At this point in her healing or whatever it was she had been doing to get through the day, she no longer carefully managed all her outside outfits. She had returned to her habit of wearing her pajamas as clothing until she showered, which sometimes meant she wore them the entire day. Luckily, she had ironed her bangs before going to grab a solitary. weekend breakfast at what was once “their” spot. It was really quite incredible the difference a straightened bang could make on her entire face shape. He had been the one to tell her that. He’d remarked, “Whatever you just did to your hair was great.” She now diligently ironed them every morning even if he was no longer around to notice or compliment her or stay up late at night playing Settlers of Catan.

It did strike her as odd that he had come back here. She didn’t know where he lived now, but, given how things had unilaterally ended, she felt it was only fair she lay claim to the neighborhood. Maybe he had come here with the express purpose of running into her. Or maybe she was so far from his mind that he’d completely forgotten she had been the one to first take him here. Could that be possible? That their entire relationship was washed from his memory? Maybe that was what had made it so easy for him to walk away. He couldn’t even recall what he was leaving behind.

As she stared at the back of his neck, silently willing him to turn around and notice her, she contemplated how she wanted to play the interaction. He was with a friend, but it wasn’t someone she recognized, which would make things easier. Maybe she would ask if he wanted to stay and grab another coffee with her so they could “catch up.” Maybe she should just take the rest of her current coffee and throw it in his face. The possibilities were overwhelming.

Before she could decide on the best approach, her eyes drifted to a bright pop of color on his feet. He was wearing a flashy pair of neon orange, green and yellow sneakers that looked completely out of place on his normcore body. The man she had known would never have purchased such a thing let alone wore them in public. The sudden loss of no longer knowing this person she had once known so well hit her in the chest. Grief took on too many shapes. It had too many lives. Just when she thought she had outrun it, something as silly as a flashy sneaker could throw her. She wondered what had had to change for him to purchase those monstrosities. Was he happier now that he loudly expressed himself through footwear? Or was he overcompensating for something? Maybe his unexpected capacity for cruelty.

While the woman wasn’t wearing a single new piece of clothing since they had last seen each other, she wondered if she would still seem different to him in some way. Would he be able to tell that she had taken up biking? Or started therapy again? Would something in her tone convey the strength of her friendships now that she let people in more and had grown comfortable asking for help? When they had first broken up, the woman had cut her hair and dyed it in an effort to start anew. She’d gotten eyelash extensions and better bras. But as time went by, she found herself returning to her old look. She figured whatever had made him stop loving her was probably bigger than her hair color. And if it wasn’t, then he was even worse than she had begun to suspect.

The waiter at his table had just dropped off the check and she knew she was running out of time. Now was her chance to reclaim their narrative. The last time he had seen her she had been begging for him to stay while he looked at her with something verging on disgust. It gnawed on her that that was their last interaction. The power dynamic had been all wrong. She had been at her weakest and most broken while he remained stoic and all powerful, single handedly ripping apart what they had built together. She wanted to remind him that she was a whole person who had continued to exist without his approval or interest. She was someone people found funny and fascinating. She wasn’t a piece of garbage that could be tossed aside at any moment—even if that was how he had made her feel. Fuck him for that. Fuck him for—

He was standing up. They both were. She watched as he slapped his friend on the back and stretched out his legs. She saw them each point to where they’d parked and for a moment it seemed like he wasn’t going to notice her after all. But then he turned and suddenly his friend was leaving, and they were staring at each other. And in that moment, she was transported to the last time he had looked her in the eye. The night everything changed. She remembered the cold sensation that had spread across her skin as she watched him become a person who no longer seemed to care if she lived or died. Whose only concern was getting as far away from her as possible after two years of trying to get closer and closer. That night his eyes had been eerily vacant. It was as though his capacity to look at her had been used up.

But he was looking at her now. And his eyes were lit up with something other than just recognition. The woman couldn’t tell if he was happy to see her or simply surprised. She realized she couldn’t tell because she didn’t know this person anymore. She didn’t know what this version of him looked like when he was excited or panicked. She didn’t even know what type of shoes he liked!

The man standing two tables away was not the person she had built a life with. That person had cared about her and loved her. That was the person she longed to say all sorts of things to, to fight with and ultimately forgive. But that person had ceased to exist the moment he had left with no explanation. The decision to hurt her--in that way--had changed him.

He was now a stranger. And she had no need to talk to a stranger.

So, she went back to her coffee as an ugly pair of neon shoes walked away.

Thank you for reading my first piece of fiction on Emotional Support Lady! I’m so excited to get to share this kind of writing with all of you. Moving forward, fiction will be behind the paywall, so if you would like more of this type of writing, please consider becoming a paid subscriber! There will still be free non-fiction content every other week! All forms of subscriptions (free or paid) are greatly appreciated, and I am so grateful for this growing community!

Xoxo,

A