She married him

Huh.

Every so often (at ever lengthening intervals, I am glad to report) I get the inclination to Google the name of my first girlfriend. This morning was one of those occasions, and I had the bright idea to try her first name in combination with the last name of the guy she dumped me for. And there they were: Mr and Mrs, him and her, on a list of donors to the Catholic high school from which he graduated. At last, an answer to that little question.

Well, that’s nice. Just as I am glad to continue to believe that my major life choices have been for the best, that I am indeed following the path that I am truly called to tread, so, too, I take real and sincere comfort in the knowledge — reliable or not — that once-beloved others are making the right decisions in their lives. She thought that they — she and he — were far more compatible than we — she and I — could ever be. I believe she was right.

Of course I certainly didn’t agree with her at the time. But after long, anguished months filled with pathetic attempts to “win her back” I came to grudgingly respect her decision and out of necessity tried to move on with my own life, a life without her.

So I’ve got Jude in my head today. I remember that back in that dismal Spring of 2000 there would be days where I would set the cd player to “Repeat” and listen to “I Do” over and over and over and over, for hours at a stretch, struggling to internalise the emotional state that the persona of the song has achieved:

But there’s just one more dream
that I have left for you
I hope you’re smiling when
he turns around and says “I do”
I do

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