2.10.19
I've always felt cars are such intimate spaces; their doors secure those inside and the seatbelts swaddle its passengers. There's something about going 70 miles miles per hour on the open road before dawn breaks the horizon that fosters vulnerability. The faded black sky streaked with passing street light painted an eerily soft moment of what it's like to feel alone despite not being alone.
I peered over at the car's clock from the back seat - 4:00am sharp. My eyes strayed upwards towards the rear view mirror where a piece of folded paper was tied and strung up to the mirror like a pendant on a necklace. I made eye contact with the driver in the rear view mirror as he caught me staring at his peculiar note. He seemed embarrassed and quickly darted his eyes away.
"That's an interesting charm you have hanging from your mirror," I said, clearly fishing for information.
"It's a note," the driver said. He glanced at the note for long enough before focusing back on the road to indicate it had a much deeper meaning.
"A happy one?" I asked.
He shrugged and seemed to close off. I realized I might've pushed too much and respectfully stopped talking.
A few minutes later, as if no time had passed at all, he softly said, "It's from my husband actually."
"That's sweet," I encouraged. "How long have you guys been married?"
"It would've been almost 5 years," His voice trailed.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize..." I wasn't sure if he had passed away or if they had split or something else.
"I'm also sorry." He said curtly. The street lights outside seemed to dance in the darkness, my seatbelt seemed to tighten. "People think that when they find love, their suffering ends. That's not the case at all. They think it's some magical liposuction that sucks out all the bad parts and makes you beautiful again."
"I learned that's not the case the hard way." I said, watching the road slide under the car like water. "Love doesn't fix. It helps us cope and reflects our flaws in a softer light."
"With real love, anyways." He almost whispered. "Most beautiful stories don't have beautiful endings because fate is stronger than love."
4:21am. I'm nearing the airport and still have no context for the note hanging from the mirror. I could feel his hurt and his pain, his longing and his regret. I needed to know.
Almost as if he heard my thoughts, he said, "My husband had Alzheimer's and he passed away. A few months before he did, we got a divorce."
"I am so sorry. I can't even imagine." My heart ached.
"He was still young, but we knew he came from a long family line of the disease. So I guess it was a cautionary divorce." He shrugged. "He said he wanted to protect my view of him just as he was then, stagnant in stone."
"How did that make you feel?" I asked, knowing fully what the answer would be.
"Like a stupid child. Like I can't be trusted. When I say I love someone, I love every single part of them, not just the liposuction parts. I would've been there for him till the end." He clenched the steering wheel.
"But he was too afraid..." I ruminated. "Vulnerability is the last thing he wanted to see wanted you to see in him, but the first thing you looked for in him."
He unclenched his hands from the wheel and carefully lifted the note from the mirror. He handed it to me without taking his eyes off the road.
"Careful." He said, eyes still directed ahead.
I nodded and opened up the little note. It unfurled into a beige sticky note with two words scribbled on it - call husband. It must have been a reminder note as his memory started to flicker.
He pulled into the domestic departures section of the airport and stopped the car. I carefully folded the note back into its original state and placed it into his hand. "Thank you for sharing this with me."
He nodded, studying the folded note. I gathered my bags and got out of the car. The cold morning air greeted me. I saw him string the note back onto his rearview mirror and drive away.
I stood there dumbfounded for a few minutes, just people-watching. Hugs, kisses, pats on the back, and waves surrounded me. The street lights luminated these faces, happy, sad, and everything in between. Was it fate or was it love? Grabbing my bags, I decided it had to be both. For sometimes, fate and love cross paths and dance alongside each other, like the street lights danced in the moonlight, curating the most beautiful experiences known to humans. We just have to be brave enough to be vulnerable; to see and to be seen.