Not Dogs (Revisited)

Daphne saw her ex today. They sniffed each other's butts and walked away...

At least, that's how it would've been if they were dogs. Oh, how Daphne wished they were dogs! Instead, they stood in front of the conference center and chatted. The conversation got off to a bit of a rocky start. Drew never was much of a conversationalist, even with the advantage of his low, pleasantly gritty Georgia drawl. It’s not outrageous to assume his voice was one of his most redeeming qualities. That, paired with his ability to purchase alcohol made him a solid eight out of ten on a naïve young woman’s rating scale.

"You're here," he said, with what sounded like disbelief, or maybe discomfort.

It wasn’t, "Hi", or, "How've you been?" Although - much to her relief and surprise – it wasn’t anything racist, loud, or inappropriate. Maybe he’d finally grown out of all that.

“I am here,” Daphne replied confidently as she guided the conversation into small talk about the weather.

Four years had passed since the last time they'd seen one another. Yet, there was a familiar staleness between them while they stood talking. Daphne never had a name for the feeling while they were together. Although, she realized today, it was pure disconnection. She couldn’t name a time where she ever truly loved him as much as she said she did. Daphne put in a lot of work selling the idea of Drew to her friends, her family, and even herself. To be fair, she was young and inexperienced with serious relationships and desperately sought the external validation brought about by the appearance of a stable, prosperous relationship.

Daphne cringed internally at thought of the talks she used to have with her mother about the age difference. Daphne’s party line was, “Sometimes he’s very eighteen, and sometimes I’m very twenty-eight. We balance each other out.”

Grey strands had appeared in Drew’s dark brown hair, but he was still the same. His changes happened outside. Daphne’s had not. Instead of feeling rage, curiosity, or longing; or any of those typical feelings people tend to have around ex-lovers, she felt at peace. She felt secure. She’d done a lot of growing up since her 18-year-old self fell head over heels for the first man she'd ever had sex with. She set her own boundaries. She had her own ambitions. She felt confident alone. She wasn’t searching and trying to be a part of someone else anymore. Finally, she wassomeone.

Without realizing, she had physically distanced herself from him over the course of the conversation. The parting handshake felt appropriately impersonal. Although she felt like she was extending her hand over continents to meet his. It wasn't a bad talk, but she wished she could've just sniffed his butt and walked away instead.