I swallow past the lump of sad in my throat. It is the size of a chicken ball, and when one disappears for a second another quickly replaces it.
I will not cry though as I go in for one final hug.
I am constantly choking on these grossly large, flavourless chicken balls.
It is a fight to hold in the tears, but if I let them go I may never stop. I will create another giant body of water that people can go to drink my salty tears.
Goodbye has been a painful part of our relationship for more than a year, as school took me away to a different province, and military training did the same for him.
The goodbyes are devastating, it is the kind of sad that leaves me lying in bed swallowing chicken balls all night.
Goodbyes are part of every relationship, as couples kiss goodbye in the morning before leaving to go to work, knowing they will be reunited in the evening.
Goodbyes for us mean we don’t know when the next time we will see each other will be.
I miss the naïve days when he was just a short drive away. There were a couple of times I even walked to his house in the summer, never quite being able to cherish just how lucky I was.
Now he is a 30 hour drive (without traffic) and a four hour plane flight away. It is too far to drive and too expensive to fly.
I think about selling my laptop or creating a GoFundMe page to help pay for the ridiculously expensive flights to Alberta.
“Please help sponsor a poor university student in love,” the headline would read. But instead I go to class, go home, and gorge myself on chocolate in hopes that maybe two thousand dollars will fall from the sky so I can afford the expense of long distance.
I shudder to think about all the couples that will be out and about in Toronto this summer as I walk to work.
I want to yell at them to take their disgusting displays of public affection behind closed doors where they belong. I am bitter and a hypocrite, if Donny was here right now we would probably be one of those couples I want to shout at.
I wonder if I work 50 hours a week at the restaurant and the Blue Jays combined if I will have enough money to afford a visit.
Cutting and portioning cheese all day and selling 50/50 tickets may not be very glamorous, but if it means I can afford rent, not starve, and most importantly visit my future husband, it is more than worth it.
He is the strong one, always reassuring me that things will get better. “Soon we can live together and buy a cute chubby guinea pig and dress it in little tie up running shoes,” he says.
Meanwhile I am a mess, bouncing between robotic Melissa who can’t show emotion or she might never stop crying, to blubbering Melissa snorting and choking on tears, to I am going to go to the kitchen and eat everything stressed out Melissa.
I don’t know how he does it.
He is under a lot of pressure I know, the military people in charge of him at the base are harsh and believe in the philosophy “discipline and learning through yelling and pushups.” They leave compassion at home before going to the base to train these new soldiers.
I want to hug him and make it all better but he is too far away. The most we can do for each other is speak comforting words through the phone and hope it comes out sort of like a word hug or something.
It’s hard knowing we’re living in completely different worlds, him in the middle of nowhere Wainwright, Alberta, and me in the heart of downtown Toronto. He is locked up on a military base getting a career, and soon I will be working two part time jobs to afford school and rent.
But somehow we are making it work. It is a far cry from the ease of high school when we could choose all the same classes and take the bus home together. But, my feelings for him have never changed, although we have both become different people over the course of our three year relationship.
Sometimes it’s hard to concentrate on school work when my mind keeps wandering to him and what he’s doing right now and if he’s having a good day or a bad one. Everything reminds me of him, the colour of military green, the background on my phone, and the fat grumpy cat he gave me later on in our relationship that sits angry and watchful on the side of my bed.
It’s only comforting knowing that grumpy cat will be there to cuddle when its bedtime, and that fingers crossed, soon the chicken balls I’m swallowing on a daily basis will be replaced with smiles when we can finally say goodbye to long distance.
I can’t wait for the day we come home together to the same house and get that chubby guinea pig, and when the question of “when will I see you again?” is easily replaced with “you’ll see me tonight.”
I will not cry though as I go in for one final hug.
I am constantly choking on these grossly large, flavourless chicken balls.
It is a fight to hold in the tears, but if I let them go I may never stop. I will create another giant body of water that people can go to drink my salty tears.
Goodbye has been a painful part of our relationship for more than a year, as school took me away to a different province, and military training did the same for him.
The goodbyes are devastating, it is the kind of sad that leaves me lying in bed swallowing chicken balls all night.
Goodbyes are part of every relationship, as couples kiss goodbye in the morning before leaving to go to work, knowing they will be reunited in the evening.
Goodbyes for us mean we don’t know when the next time we will see each other will be.
I miss the naïve days when he was just a short drive away. There were a couple of times I even walked to his house in the summer, never quite being able to cherish just how lucky I was.
Now he is a 30 hour drive (without traffic) and a four hour plane flight away. It is too far to drive and too expensive to fly.
I think about selling my laptop or creating a GoFundMe page to help pay for the ridiculously expensive flights to Alberta.
“Please help sponsor a poor university student in love,” the headline would read. But instead I go to class, go home, and gorge myself on chocolate in hopes that maybe two thousand dollars will fall from the sky so I can afford the expense of long distance.
I shudder to think about all the couples that will be out and about in Toronto this summer as I walk to work.
I want to yell at them to take their disgusting displays of public affection behind closed doors where they belong. I am bitter and a hypocrite, if Donny was here right now we would probably be one of those couples I want to shout at.
I wonder if I work 50 hours a week at the restaurant and the Blue Jays combined if I will have enough money to afford a visit.
Cutting and portioning cheese all day and selling 50/50 tickets may not be very glamorous, but if it means I can afford rent, not starve, and most importantly visit my future husband, it is more than worth it.
He is the strong one, always reassuring me that things will get better. “Soon we can live together and buy a cute chubby guinea pig and dress it in little tie up running shoes,” he says.
Meanwhile I am a mess, bouncing between robotic Melissa who can’t show emotion or she might never stop crying, to blubbering Melissa snorting and choking on tears, to I am going to go to the kitchen and eat everything stressed out Melissa.
I don’t know how he does it.
He is under a lot of pressure I know, the military people in charge of him at the base are harsh and believe in the philosophy “discipline and learning through yelling and pushups.” They leave compassion at home before going to the base to train these new soldiers.
I want to hug him and make it all better but he is too far away. The most we can do for each other is speak comforting words through the phone and hope it comes out sort of like a word hug or something.
It’s hard knowing we’re living in completely different worlds, him in the middle of nowhere Wainwright, Alberta, and me in the heart of downtown Toronto. He is locked up on a military base getting a career, and soon I will be working two part time jobs to afford school and rent.
But somehow we are making it work. It is a far cry from the ease of high school when we could choose all the same classes and take the bus home together. But, my feelings for him have never changed, although we have both become different people over the course of our three year relationship.
Sometimes it’s hard to concentrate on school work when my mind keeps wandering to him and what he’s doing right now and if he’s having a good day or a bad one. Everything reminds me of him, the colour of military green, the background on my phone, and the fat grumpy cat he gave me later on in our relationship that sits angry and watchful on the side of my bed.
It’s only comforting knowing that grumpy cat will be there to cuddle when its bedtime, and that fingers crossed, soon the chicken balls I’m swallowing on a daily basis will be replaced with smiles when we can finally say goodbye to long distance.
I can’t wait for the day we come home together to the same house and get that chubby guinea pig, and when the question of “when will I see you again?” is easily replaced with “you’ll see me tonight.”