The Run-Ins

Last night I almost killed myself trying to escape another ex and his girlfriend. I was riding my bike out to meet some friends at Sweet Revenge in Clinton Hill, an outing I'd originally passed over in favor of a night of cooking and much needed down time. Dishes washed and 5 minutes of peace logged, I finally nudged myself into action, mostly juiced by the fresh memory of having spent 4 hours with said ex and girl, unexpectedly, just a few days prior. I felt the need to mix it up, change the scene, say or do something inappropriate that'd maybe snag me some adventure.

Anyway. I'm on my bike, feeling free and pumping, when he rolls right up on me. On a bright red new Vespa with her on the back, smiling. At this very moment the light turned, bringing us to a stop, my calves in flexed overtime as I tried not to topple over from the shock. I have to preface this by saying that I truly am happy for him. Much time has passed - we have lived our story enough to know that we're not right for each other. But the image of another woman wrapping her arms and legs around his skinny waist, perched on a seat that was mine for years, was quite graphic. He cheerfully told me their itinerary for the night while my feet worked furiously below, aligning the peddles for a quick departure. I let him finish his sentence, said my goodbye and I took off. Unfortunately, my frenzied preparation hadn't included a survey of the traffic light, nor the one way nature of the street. As he sputtered, "ca-careful!", I looked up to see a slew of broad, metal frames rushing in my direction. I screeched to a halt, bumbling. Of course I'd be awkward in this very moment! Never mind the fact that I normally feel like a goddess on my bike; bottom perched high, back arched, deflecting many a turned head as I maneuver brownstone streets effortlessly. But not last night. I spent what felt like 30 never-ending seconds locating the peddles, those slippery suckers. Finally I made it out of there, my face more red than the light I'd run. Phew, rough.

I arrived at the bar with yet another story of an awkward run-in with an ex to share. My friends couldn't believe it, it's comical at this point. There have been some good ones, some unbelievable ones. Like the afternoon I ran into a newly minted ex-lover in the park who invited me to sit down only to disappear and return 20 minutes later with his new girlfriend. No forewarning. One didn't have to look or listen very long to know that this woman had nothing on me, but it still burned like hell to realize that someone I cared about so deeply could be so careless with my feelings.

I can't help but wonder what I am supposed to glean from all of these run-ins. Thicker skin? A resounding reminder that all have moved on and I should, too? I already know that. That I need to get the heck out of Brooklyn for a change? Very true, and I will. In the meantime, I might get a helmet.