Life Goes On

by Michelle Carlton

Last week after a particularly long day at work, I was zoning out on my laptop, Project Runway on in the background. I went through my typical Internet routine—check email, read news blogs, eye up those Urban Outfitters curtains that haven’t gone on sale yet. Eventually I wandered over to Facebook, where I saw that one of my friends—a mutual acquaintance left over from Alex’s and my relationship, who was actually his friend before mine—had updated her photos. Knowing her and Alex still see each other fairly often, I clicked with mixed dread and anticipation.

There he was. He looked good, about the same as the last time I saw him (almost a year ago). What used to be scruff had turned into a pseudo-beard, and it looked like he had a botched attempt at a new ear piercing, but other than that little had changed.

You’d think I’d be used to looking at him after dating for two years, but my heart plunged into my stomach as soon as I laid eyes on the photos. Maybe I felt strange because I don’t look at my old pictures of him anymore, so I’m not used to seeing his face. Maybe viewing fresh images of the guy I used to be with brought up old, stale feelings that I hoped maybe, just maybe, had finally faded away. But most likely, it’s just unsettling to see him living his life without me.

I guess this is stating the obvious, but I’ve never thought of Alex without including myself in his life. When we met, we dated right away, and when we stopped dating we mostly dropped out of each other’s lives. I was actually surprised to see proof that he’s out there somewhere, going on with his day-to-day activities. It’s not like I thought he dropped off the face of the earth when we broke up; it’s just that I never think of him living his life, moving on like I have. I can’t imagine it because I’m not part of it anymore.

I suppose Alex will always be frozen in my memory as the guy he was when we stopped dating. It reminds me of how I always think of my friends’ siblings as the way they were the last time I saw them; when my old childhood friend mentions that her little brother is moving to Chicago to become a lawyer, my immediate response is, “He can’t work. He’s seven.” To me, Alex will always be the guy I dated–cute, early 20s, tattoo and piercings– and no matter how much evidence I see to the contrary, in my mind he can’t possibly ever change.