I tell myself to keep walking and looking down. I notice how childish my tiny footprints look stepping into a couple feet of snow. Then, thinking I have finally made my point, I turn around, wrongfully assuming he is still slowly driving next to me, begging me to come home. All I see are tire tracks in the snow and the empty remains of another former love.
Slowly my feet grow numb. My faded, white laced, black Vans look almost grey now. They are soaked in slush and the dirty remains of last night’s snowfall. Walking home alone always seems like the perfect way to make your point without acting like a crazy person, unless it is the day after Iowa’s first blizzard of the year. The amazing men behind these everyday trucks transformed into snow destroying superheroes are excited to finally get back to work after a month or two of being laid off from their summer construction jobs. That is the second best thing about the winter’s first blizzard- the clean up is unbelievably efficient.
Unfortunately, under the present circumstances, I would rather be in the dead of winter, when everyone has given up, locked their doors, and called in sick yet again. At least then, no one else would be awake to bare witness to my misery. But no, that is not how my luck runs. The day I decide to walk home alone to prove a point, is the day that the snow plows are still out making their finishing touches, and Midwesterners still have the gumption to get to work on time or actually accomplish something on their days off. As I was saying, with snow now caked to the bottom of my sweatpants, this is not a good day for walking. I can feel the stares on my back from bystanders driving by or looking out café windows as they sip their steaming cups of caffeine.
As you were, ladies and gentlemen, nothing to see here. No, it is not a walk of shame on a Wednesday. This is much worse. This is my stupid self publicly displaying my relationship status. Social media made the choices pretty simple- single, taken, or in my case, “complicated.” I used to think that a complicated relationship status was for the single ones that made it to a fourth or fifth date. Stuck between fuck buddies and future soul mates. Complicated. Now I know better. Complicated is when you are in a relationship, and you both have been in this relationship for months, maybe years now. You would never think to cheat on each other. Neither of you has the heart to pull the trigger. You just love so much. Then you fight. The fights exponentially get worse over time, yet somehow, the love making and love saying is also getting better as the clock keeps ticking.
How can this be possible? It cannot be possible for two people to love each other so much, and still manage to shit on each other almost on a daily basis. This, my friends, is what Mark Zuckerberg meant when he gave the option for a “complicated” label on your relationship status. This is not what I expected when I asked, at four months, if he thought he could ever see us fighting like that couple. Was I really once that naiive?
“Connie. Connie, seriously. You are making us both look like crazy people. Just get in the truck.”
I continue walking. Ignoring him, yet muttering to myself. How dare he have the audacity to interrupt my thoughts. Can he not see I am trying to prove a point here. Men… As I was saying, is this really what I signed up for? Spending my life trying to force someone to understand something while he perpetually refuses to listen?
The fresh snow creaks under the truck tires as he tries to cut me off. I never understood what it was about men and their trucks. I keep walking across neighbor’s yards. Lucky for me, most of them are part of that group that actually chose to go to work today, so no one was home. He makes it seem like he is about to actually drive his truck onto these innocent people’s yards and cut me off again until he thinks better of it. I can’t help but smirk to myself as I realize I am going to win this one.