#361 Alexandra

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Dear Alexandra,

You had to know this was coming.

The last time we spoke was in 2002. It was summertime in Paris. I was visiting a friend. While she was at work I passed the time exploring Paris by foot. I lost my way and found it again time after time. I walked for days on end and sipped pulpy Orangina from curvy glass bottles. I loved these people who lived in tiny flats and drove like they’d been hijacked by armed maniacs.

One night, as I got ready to join my friend for an outdoor showing of a film I barely remember seeing, I stepped on the bathroom scale. You were there. Calmly existing. Watching to see what I’d do. You’d been with me since high school but we never spoke. We just were, you and me.

I flew home the next day to my old habits of driving and eating heavy foods. You were safe. We were still a thing.

That all changed last night. You didn’t expect me to push you away so quickly. You thought I’d give up just as I always had. You thought I’d get too hungry to stand the pain anymore and rush back to you in tears. You knew I’d given up caffeine three days ago and banked on me surrendering to the withdrawal headache and hunger in a rush of fat and sugary caffeine.

You were wrong.

You waited as I tied my shoes, drank a glass of water, and stepped outside. You didn’t expect what came next (sorry about the surprise).

I told you to try to keep up with me and took off in a full sprint. I have to give you credit for sticking with me as long as you did. You made it through the sprint, the slow jog, the run, and the walking intervals. I thought I’d never get rid of you. Then I added the push-ups. It was just us on the beach. You and me, baby. Five minutes of jogging, drop for five push-ups, then three minutes of walking before speeding up to a jog for a repeat of the cycle.

It was after midnight when I stumbled through my front door, unsteady on my feet, covered with sand, alone. I remember wanting to give up at some point that night. I remember thinking to myself that I’d rather sob like a baby and crawl home on bloodied knees alone than face the next day with you still around. I was ready for a fight.

I’ve changed my eating habits in such a way that I know you’d have left eventually. But “eventually” wasn’t good enough for you Alexandra. Considering all the embarrassment you’ve caused me, I took no little satisfaction in dragging you through the sand for a few hours.

You deserved worse. I deserve better.

Judging by my current eating habits, it’s unlikely that I’ll see you again. I hope I get to see Paris again though. I’d so love to spend a few more days walking its narrow streets, drinking pulpy Orangina from curvy glass bottles, and chatting with my friend.

It will be marvelous and you, Alexandra, won’t be around to enjoy any of it.

Seth

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