Five years and three-hundred-sixty-four days. That’s how long my first, serious relationship lasted.
And then I forgot him.
You’re probably wondering how someone could be so heartless as to break it off with a dedicated man the day before their six year anniversary. Well, I’ll tell you, and I think you may find that it really more of a mercy—a pitiful, painful, pernicious state if affairs…..but a mercy.
You see it all started like a fairy tale with him. 8:00pm in a rainy park, draped in shadows and drenched with excitement. There was nothing left to keep us from each other, or make us believe that we would end in anything but a happily ever after.
We were invincible, and everyone knew it.
He kissed me for the first time that night. One month later he turned eighteen and made me promise never to leave him. Two weeks after that he was drafted into the army. Six agonizing months later, long after the letters had stopped coming, he came home without a leg.
I was only sixteen. I barely knew what life was about until I met him, but by the time Roger returned I had no doubt that I was meant to love him for the rest of time; leg or no. Unfortunately it took him longer to accept his fate. When Roger came around to reality, he hardened into an almost twenty year old boy who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—show his face to the world.