The Long Road Home

“Just go. I’ll meet you back at the apartment. Apologies for any inconvenience this may have caused you…” He said, tipping an invisible hat to the violator of your relationship. The walk down was awkward, and he maintained a healthy distance back so that Esme could beat him to their shared apartment. It was stretch but maybe she’d have packed her stuff by the time he'd arrived. Best case scenario was the two of you have the inevitable back and forth but at least give one another the courtesy of allowing the tears to flow separately. Worst case scenario… well you didn’t really want to think about that. The funny thing was your anniversary was on the horizon. The phone screen became blurry as you shakily typed out a hasty classified on your classes Facebook group advertising the newly orphaned tickets to an imminent **** of a Salesman showing. The message was curt and almost purposely avoided proper grammar but honestly Sam’s only concern was the fact that the tears were freezing to his cheeks as he quickened his pace.

The walk back was solemn and the sounds of an end of fall semester block party echoing around him did nothing but further alienate. Couples clutching one another over solo cups of eggnog, girls dressed as elves dancing on their prospective hook-ups, and frat-boys dressed as a parade of Santa-Clauses all melted together into a slurry of sensory overload that blanketed him in a malaise that manifested like a ten ton weight on his shoulders. Esme was his. Well she was supposed to be. She was his one and only. Sure, there were issues, but as Sam indexed his brain, wracking the past of his relationship, nothing so bad as to warrant stepping out came to the forefront. Sam’s silent suffering was interrupted when he spied a girl clad in a crop-top that befit a vacation to Ibiza more than it did a yuletide function and billowy jeans sauntering up to him.