Deja Vu

It happened in my head and before I knew it, there I was. Nightmares do come true.

It was windy. The sun crept up just enough to show itself over his rooftop as I carefully made my way up his curved driveway. The loose pavement rustled underneath the soles of my shoes. He opened his door and stepped out, scratching the back of his head as if saying, “uh-oh not again.”

I just stared at him, brushing strands of hair away from my face so that he won’t miss my eyes. He knew something was up. He put both hands in his pockets as we met half way.

“Hey,” he said.

“How could you do this to me?” I asked in disbelief, a cold shiver sent chills up my spine.

“So this is it then,” he said, completely avoiding my question.

“Guess so,” I uttered.

I turned away and walked back to my car knowing in my heart it would be the last time I felt real love for him. I woke up quietly sobbing.

A month or so passed.

I was at work. An unsettling feeling hovered over me like a gray cloud ready to burst. I paid no attention to it at first, but for some reason I couldn’t shake it off no matter how hard I tried. It was lunchtime. I put my leftover Alfredo pasta in the microwave and as it spun, I dialed his number. Busy.

A minute went by. The food was hot. I dialed again. Busy. I lost my appetite. No word from him last night. No call that morning…Now busy. Someone else had his attention. I couldn’t take it. Dial the heart-wrenching “323.” Then there in the middle of the break room, as my pasta dried, I knew.

“Hello,” he muttered.

He knew it was me even before he finally answered my call.

“You did it again,” I said.

He sighed. I broke down in tears, grabbed my stuff and left. As I drove, sad songs blasting from my car, the sun began to set.

I parked in front of his wooden fence, stepped out and began to walk up.

Déjà vu.