other’s drinks we concocted at parties or fast-food restaurants.
My life had never felt as in order as it was then. In Steve’s presence I was able to exhale, and had no worries whatsoever. He was a huge guy, standing more than six feet five, wasn’t overweight, and actually was quite the opposite. In high school, he played football and basketball, and always stayed in great physical condition. After school was over, he continued to stay in great shape by constantly lifting weights and running. His physical presence combined with his protective nature made me feel comfortable that no matter what, no harm would ever come to me.
Other than spending time with me, his only other true love was riding his Harley. He found freedom in riding it, and often spent countless hours on the road - often with me on the back – riding to a place that we rarely planned on going. I was young at the time, but there was no mistaking that our love was not only genuine, but it was the type of love most women would never find in a lifetime.
To try and describe the love we shared would be impossible. Words like perfect and phrases like once in a lifetime came to mind when thinking about it, but there were no words in my vocabulary that would accurately describe our relationship with any level of justice. When we were twenty-one years old, I decided I needed to act as if I was an adult, and the selfish side of me desired children.
Steve wanted nothing more than to live his life free, and love me until the end. In time I’m quite sure children would have been possible with him, but at the time I asked, I gave very little, if any, room for negotiation. His response was not what I wanted but what I should have expected.
And we parted ways.
Incapable of living in the same city as Steve lived without having him in my life, I left the city with tear-filled eyes, a broken heart, and no plan for my future. I moved as far away as geography and common sense would allow, and came to rest in New York City. Within a year I was married to a workaholic who could care less about anything but how many commas were in his paycheck.
After a year of marriage, a terrorist flew a commercial airliner into the building he worked in, and he never came home from work. No body, no clothes, no jewelry, and no closure to a loss I was ill prepared for.
I recovered quickly, as I always did, with the understanding living life was a mystery; and solving it, no different than watching a movie, didn’t come until the bitter end. With the exception of losing Steve, I had accepted life had thrown my direction, and never once complained.
Losing him, however, remained the one thing for the last fourteen years I never accepted. I knew I couldn’t change it and would never be granted an opportunity to fix it, but accepting it as being a good decision haunted me on a daily basis.
After the death of my husband, I left New York and moved to St. Louis - the second worst decision I ever made in my life. There I remained, single, uninterested, and gainfully employed as a hairstylist at an upscale salon I dreamed of one day owning. The untimely death of my mother brought me back to Wichita, a city I had very little intention of ever returning to full time, and in fact I dreaded even the short visits to my mother prior to her death. My underlying fear of encountering Steve, and finding him living a happy life with someone other than me made me feel ill.
Immediately following our breakup, I had snooped on Myspace hoping to find a glimpse of him or a morsel from his life without me. As the years passed, I had spent countless unsuccessful hours attempting to find him on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and even scoured the popular dating forums. It came as no surprise that I never found anything; Steve was always a person who enjoyed living out of the view and away from the scrutiny of others. A few years into this century, and I’d given up any hope of ever learning anything about him. In
My life had never felt as in order as it was then. In Steve’s presence I was able to exhale, and had no worries whatsoever. He was a huge guy, standing more than six feet five, wasn’t overweight, and actually was quite the opposite. In high school, he played football and basketball, and always stayed in great physical condition. After school was over, he continued to stay in great shape by constantly lifting weights and running. His physical presence combined with his protective nature made me feel comfortable that no matter what, no harm would ever come to me.
Other than spending time with me, his only other true love was riding his Harley. He found freedom in riding it, and often spent countless hours on the road - often with me on the back – riding to a place that we rarely planned on going. I was young at the time, but there was no mistaking that our love was not only genuine, but it was the type of love most women would never find in a lifetime.
To try and describe the love we shared would be impossible. Words like perfect and phrases like once in a lifetime came to mind when thinking about it, but there were no words in my vocabulary that would accurately describe our relationship with any level of justice. When we were twenty-one years old, I decided I needed to act as if I was an adult, and the selfish side of me desired children.
Steve wanted nothing more than to live his life free, and love me until the end. In time I’m quite sure children would have been possible with him, but at the time I asked, I gave very little, if any, room for negotiation. His response was not what I wanted but what I should have expected.
And we parted ways.
Incapable of living in the same city as Steve lived without having him in my life, I left the city with tear-filled eyes, a broken heart, and no plan for my future. I moved as far away as geography and common sense would allow, and came to rest in New York City. Within a year I was married to a workaholic who could care less about anything but how many commas were in his paycheck.
After a year of marriage, a terrorist flew a commercial airliner into the building he worked in, and he never came home from work. No body, no clothes, no jewelry, and no closure to a loss I was ill prepared for.
I recovered quickly, as I always did, with the understanding living life was a mystery; and solving it, no different than watching a movie, didn’t come until the bitter end. With the exception of losing Steve, I had accepted life had thrown my direction, and never once complained.
Losing him, however, remained the one thing for the last fourteen years I never accepted. I knew I couldn’t change it and would never be granted an opportunity to fix it, but accepting it as being a good decision haunted me on a daily basis.
After the death of my husband, I left New York and moved to St. Louis - the second worst decision I ever made in my life. There I remained, single, uninterested, and gainfully employed as a hairstylist at an upscale salon I dreamed of one day owning. The untimely death of my mother brought me back to Wichita, a city I had very little intention of ever returning to full time, and in fact I dreaded even the short visits to my mother prior to her death. My underlying fear of encountering Steve, and finding him living a happy life with someone other than me made me feel ill.
Immediately following our breakup, I had snooped on Myspace hoping to find a glimpse of him or a morsel from his life without me. As the years passed, I had spent countless unsuccessful hours attempting to find him on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and even scoured the popular dating forums. It came as no surprise that I never found anything; Steve was always a person who enjoyed living out of the view and away from the scrutiny of others. A few years into this century, and I’d given up any hope of ever learning anything about him. In
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