#356 Dominique

by Seth Simonds

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Dear Dominique,

I didn’t smile much when I was with you. Like some youthful Keating I lived in direct contradiction to Ellsworth Toohey’s edict that fat people must be jolly.

It was freezing cold outside as we took our last walk together. You didn’t seem to care. Your stuff was packed. You were ready to go. The walk was a formality. The final stanza in a biological poem about metabolized lipids.

Why did it take so long for us to reach this point? Why didn’t I take better care of myself and turn you away years ago? Was I afraid of change? Did I think my friends would reject me if I didn’t have you with me? Was I somehow looking forward to the early death you promised? Was your presence just an indicator of my unwillingness to really live my life? Dominique, was I just using you as an excuse for all the unhappy things in my life? Was I blaming you for failed relationships, broken hearts, ruined attempts, and lost opportunities?

Why didn’t I just get rid of you and move on with my life?

My hands were so cold I dropped my keys letting myself into the warmth of my house. My legs were red with cold from the wind whipping across the bay. I left you on the same bridge I left Janet. You two will get along well.

Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. I’m smiling again.

It feels good to be me. Away from you. Alive.

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