Independence Day

Back in 1993, I broke up with Jack after having dated him for several years.  He was a resident and working untold hours.  I was tired of having him gone one night, exhausted the next, calm the following and then panicked again about the upcoming night of call.  His general unavailability coupled with my frustraiton with his general lack of communication was not a good mix, so I broke it off.  While I loved him, being attached to him was difficult.  I was lonely.  We broke up for a year before I groveled back on my belly, begging him to have me back.  "Anywhere you go let me go to," was my line, borrowed from Phantom of the Opera.  We were engaged within weeks.

During the break-up, I began to exert my independence in areas I never had before.  Jack was a self-taught bike mechanic, in addition to begin a doctor.  He got his first job at Evanston Schwinn back when we were in college.  Before I met Jack, I had to take my bike to a shop for a repair when I was a freshman. That was the last time my bike was ever repaired in a shop.  Jack took care of all of my bike maintenance after we met.

Jack was an avid cyclist who had built his own bike from scratch, which appealed to me when I was nineteen.  I admired his bike before I ever met him, as I was friends with John's roommate and had been in their room for parties when Jack wasn't there.  Biking was one of my favorite pastimes growing up.  When I was in elementary school, I'd ride around my subdivision in suburban Chicago.  During the school year, I'd ride after school every day for about an hour, covering the same ground again and again.  In the summer, I'd ride the morning before the cars were out and the air was still clean.  I kept riding every day after school through high school.  I'd ride fast up and down hills.  My thighs were solid.

During the year of our breakup, I was itching for a new bike.  Instead of calling Jack to ask advice, I took my tax refund to Cycle Smithy on Clark Street in Chicago and bought a purple Cannondale mountain bike.  What did I love best about that bike?  It was light weight so I could carry it up and down stairs taking it to and from my apartment's basement?  Its sturdiness riding up and over curbs and potholes in the city?  Both were true, but I loved it for the color.  It was a wicked awesome dark purple with tiny metallic flecks.  It was the only bike I test drove.  I rode it around the neighborhood and came back and wrote them a check.  I decided all by myself.  I still have it.  It was my main bike for years.

That summer, the bike needed some tweaking.  I had ridden it a little bit in the spring, but in the summer I was riding more.   I packed up a small collection of bike tools, and went to the park.  I adjusted the seat, the pedals and the handle bars.  I made some adjustments to the shifting and brakes.  I felt fearless and strong fixing my own bike after having someone else do it for so long.  It was my Independence Day.

This past week, I discovered that Jack's duplicity was deeper and broader than I thought.  I am frightened and scared.  Before the recent discovery, I has thought that we could fix things with hard work and compassion.  Before the recent discovery, I had asked him to write me a letter of why we should stay together.  He did.  Six and a half pages handwritten.  I was beginning to be swayed, and thought he was serious.

Now I am not so sure.  My pain and suffering has been unbearable.  I am grieving the loss of something that I thought I had, but really didn't.  I am reminded of my friend Michelle's quote, "You can't really lose something you never held in the first place."  I think of myself and that summer, fixing my bike in the park, independent.