Chapter 1: Back Porch Cigarettes
The following is a work of fiction:
Ever since I left Henry, I have felt like some part of me has been missing. When I'm laughing at a funny movie, I find myself questioning if what I'm watching is even funny. Or if I'm out to lunch with a friend, it's as if a part of me was only half heartedly hearing what they were saying, even though my undivided attention is on them. It was more than feeling like something was missing - something was missing.
I wish I could tell you that my life is pieced together into a perfect web of circumstances and tales. I wish I could tell you that I'm a loving woman who didn't deserve to fall out of love with a man who so deeply cared about me. I wish I could tell you that I appreciated my beauty, that I cared about others more than myself, or that I am making a difference in the world. Better yet, I wish I knew the woman I was destined to be in this world.
Instead, I sit here on a cool night, smoking what I promise to myself will be my last cigarette on the wooden steps of a back porch overlooking a beach in Florida. The house that belongs to this back porch is tiny, but perfect. It's the type of house that belongs in no other location than Florida. The one bedroom house is probably no more than 500 square feet with a tiny bathroom, mismatching white and cream furniture, and bright yellow walls. The house was surrounded by much larger homes – this house was probably the smallest and oldest house on the block. Whoever purchased it next would surely tear it down and turn it into a 5,000 square foot home with a dock, pool and 3 car garage. I could have rented one of those mansions from my early success in life, well, my combined success with Henry. You see, no one ever talks about the hardships of when both you both make money in a relationship, but that's just what Henry and I had. We both started and managed a small oil company in the conservative state of Texas in our 20's and haven't had to work a day since I turned 26. I own 25% of that company and haven't ever known what it's like to stare debt in the face or struggle to pay bills on time. Most look at me as a spoiled girl and I never argue with them when I hear the infamous, "you lucky girl." But luck is an interesting word my friends and defines my situation completely. I fell in love with a man when I was 18 who begged me to invest money I had inherited from my grandparents, into a new company. Luck found its way into my life by making that money quadruple within just the second year. Luck has found it's way into a majority of my life and I wish I could figure out why.
I'm renting this house for the rest of the summer and have frequently taken to sitting on the back steps here at night after enjoying a couple glasses of wine with a late dinner. Somehow the days weren't enough for me to sit there and reflect on life with literally no obligations for the day. No, I had to find those few moments of solitude at the evening where I whispered to myself, "what the fuck are you doing here?" And that's just it, I wasn't 100% sure. I have traveled the world and somehow was drawn to sitting on this beach in Florida, in this tiny beach house for the summer, with no idea what my plans were for the future. I did know that my plans for the future no longer involved Henry.
I sat there on those steps after putting my cigarette into the overflowing ashtray and thought to myself that this summer was either the beginning of something brilliant or the ending of a chapter in my life. Or maybe, if I was lucky, it could be both.
Ever since I left Henry, I have felt like some part of me has been missing. When I'm laughing at a funny movie, I find myself questioning if what I'm watching is even funny. Or if I'm out to lunch with a friend, it's as if a part of me was only half heartedly hearing what they were saying, even though my undivided attention is on them. It was more than feeling like something was missing - something was missing.
I wish I could tell you that my life is pieced together into a perfect web of circumstances and tales. I wish I could tell you that I'm a loving woman who didn't deserve to fall out of love with a man who so deeply cared about me. I wish I could tell you that I appreciated my beauty, that I cared about others more than myself, or that I am making a difference in the world. Better yet, I wish I knew the woman I was destined to be in this world.
Instead, I sit here on a cool night, smoking what I promise to myself will be my last cigarette on the wooden steps of a back porch overlooking a beach in Florida. The house that belongs to this back porch is tiny, but perfect. It's the type of house that belongs in no other location than Florida. The one bedroom house is probably no more than 500 square feet with a tiny bathroom, mismatching white and cream furniture, and bright yellow walls. The house was surrounded by much larger homes – this house was probably the smallest and oldest house on the block. Whoever purchased it next would surely tear it down and turn it into a 5,000 square foot home with a dock, pool and 3 car garage. I could have rented one of those mansions from my early success in life, well, my combined success with Henry. You see, no one ever talks about the hardships of when both you both make money in a relationship, but that's just what Henry and I had. We both started and managed a small oil company in the conservative state of Texas in our 20's and haven't had to work a day since I turned 26. I own 25% of that company and haven't ever known what it's like to stare debt in the face or struggle to pay bills on time. Most look at me as a spoiled girl and I never argue with them when I hear the infamous, "you lucky girl." But luck is an interesting word my friends and defines my situation completely. I fell in love with a man when I was 18 who begged me to invest money I had inherited from my grandparents, into a new company. Luck found its way into my life by making that money quadruple within just the second year. Luck has found it's way into a majority of my life and I wish I could figure out why.
I'm renting this house for the rest of the summer and have frequently taken to sitting on the back steps here at night after enjoying a couple glasses of wine with a late dinner. Somehow the days weren't enough for me to sit there and reflect on life with literally no obligations for the day. No, I had to find those few moments of solitude at the evening where I whispered to myself, "what the fuck are you doing here?" And that's just it, I wasn't 100% sure. I have traveled the world and somehow was drawn to sitting on this beach in Florida, in this tiny beach house for the summer, with no idea what my plans were for the future. I did know that my plans for the future no longer involved Henry.
I sat there on those steps after putting my cigarette into the overflowing ashtray and thought to myself that this summer was either the beginning of something brilliant or the ending of a chapter in my life. Or maybe, if I was lucky, it could be both.
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