The Joy of Rambling

I wrote this in June, about a month and a half after losing Jim.

Without You

Today I went to get my car’s oil changed at the same place we have always taken it on O’Neil in the West End of Greenville. It was our habit to drop the car there and walk the few short blocks up to Old Europe Café to sit and wait. Old Europe makes the foamiest lattés and has scrumptious desserts and breakfast pastries. French music trickles out the door and large trees hang over the small round café tables on the sidewalk, shading patrons from the summer sun. My custom was to get you a piece of quiche to enjoy with your coffee. Today I had a scone and latté as I sat by myself at our table, enjoying the vibrancy of the west end without you.

After the car was ready, I drove to Costco for the first time since you died. I parked in a non handicapped spot and did not tune the radio to the classical station you enjoyed. I locked the car door without worrying if you would be OK sitting alone while I shopped. 

In Costco, I went up and down each aisle remembering all the items I used to hurriedly purchase for you: mixed nuts, Doritos, multiple frozen cheese pizzas. 

Today I wasn’t rushed. I didn’t see you in the back of my mind, nervously waiting in the car for me to return. I wasn’t wondering if you’d forgotten where you were or where I had gone. I went into sections of the store I had never visited, taking my time as I looked at all the electronics, kitchen wares and outdoor living products. 

Finally satisfied that I had seen it all, and cognizant of my oversized cart stuffed to the brim, I checked out and headed back to the car. 

After unloading my cart, I got behind the wheel to drive away and suddenly became aware that I was quite alone. 

On the road, I blared my favorite radio station that annoyed you and so hadn’t been part of our car rides for years. I opened the windows, let the pounding breeze slap my face, and sang along at the top of my lungs to every song.

Down the highway, across the bridge and into my neighborhood, I drove and sang and sang and drove. By the time I turned into my driveway, my hair framed my face in a windblown, tousled mess, but my heart was steady. Pulling into the garage, I took a deep breath and prepared to haul the groceries inside.

Without you.