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    All the Way Out to Brooklyn

    “I wanted to be with you this weekend … is that so much to ask?”

    Aster seemed to get it after that. But I know what seems to be and reality sometimes don’t overlap. So I sat there with my bag packed while she slept, staring at the girl I’ve loved for a year, wondering if we were already falling apart – just after a few weeks of not living in the same city.

    I didn’t have to leave until the evening train, and it was only 11 in the morning. But I felt like there was broken glass in my stomach. I couldn’t stop thinking about our fight the night before. Aster wanted to go to some club out in Brooklyn. I couldn’t be bothered. I didn’t need to sneak into some club with a fake college ID. I wanted to be with her. Like always. Like she used to always want to. Used to. Was last night the first time she’d rather go clubbing than be alone with me? No, Aster liked to party. But last night was the first time that I had come into the city to see her, after not seeing her for more than a week. That made all the difference. I wanted her attention to be on me and me alone, just as she was the center of my universe.

    It hurt when she said she wanted to go to the club. It hurt more when she said “What, are you thirty?!” when I objected. How did she not get that this was about us being together – not about me finding the trip to Brooklyn too much of a nuisance. How did she not get it?

    That’s what kept me up all night long while she slept like a teenager who just made love. She was out cold, and the glass in the stomach feeling kept me replaying each and every word. I tossed and turned for hours, trying to figure out what to do. I finally got up and packed. What was the point of staying? It felt like the end of us was in sight. If so, I needed to go home. Home? Where the hell was home? At Aunt Jodie’s?

    I sat there, watching her, wondering how my life went to hell so fast. My home was gone, along with my belief that Dad was my invincible hero who ran into – and out of — burning buildings. Now, he was a frail man who coughed too easily. My room at Aunt Jodie’s was nothing close to “home.” It was more of a refuge from her prying questions and overzealous attempts to mother me. And my own mother was long gone, useless to both me and my father. Aster had become my anchor in my world, and now … now I’m not even sure I have Aster.

    When we first started seriously dating, I remember being hurt that she always wanted to catch one of the parties on the weekend. I didn’t care about the parties…I just wanted to be with her. Once I had figured what the hell I was feeling for this girl, I wanted her all to myself, and I wanted us to be alone. But Aster seemed to want time partying each weekend. I said to her once, “One seventh of your life is partying.” She looked at me, perplexed, and said, “Well, ok.” I had her… “Yeah, every Saturday.” Her face went blank. She got my point, and for a few weeks, we skipped the party circuit and spent even more time alone. I was in heaven. She looked itchy.

    I guess that should have been a clue, but I ignored it. She needed the parties and the clubs and the socializing as much – or more—than she needed me. So, here I sit, my heart breaking, my stomach aching, trying to figure out what happens next. Do I take my bag and go? Or do I wake her up, hoping she’ll put my fears to rest? But if she doesn’t? I don’t know if I can take it. Not now…not when I can’t even go home.

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