I saw you when you came in. I guess it was inevitable that in a town as small as this one we would cross paths eventually. I quickly turned my head the other way, hoping that you didn't see me, although as close as I was to the door, I knew it was just about impossible.

I'm not sure what I was so afraid of. Maybe I thought you would stop and tell me, in a loud enough voice for everyone to hear, what an asshole I was. How I was a cold-hearted prick who used you, mistreated you, and then dumped you. About how you humiliated yourself in front of all your friends and family who told you I was no good, because you loved me, and believed that I loved you.

I would have no defense.

But you walked right by, and I let out my breath in short sigh of relief. After you had passed, I watched you out of the corner of my eye for a minute. I saw that you hadn't changed; you nuzzled your current boyfriend in a constant display of affection the same way you did me. It made me happy to know that I didn't destroy your capacity to love.

I had thought a hundred times what I would say if we ever crossed paths. I had planned sincere and flowery apologies. I had thought I would tell you that times had changed, and that I had changed, and that I was sorry for how I treated you. This would not be an attempt to win you back, however. Nothing would change the fact that we were simply not meant to be together.

But I wanted to let you know that I knew how horrible I had been--that I had grown so much in the last eight years. I wanted to tell you that I had been humbled and humiliated by love, and knew how it felt. I wanted to tell you that you did nothing wrong; that your mistreatment at my hands was solely because I was a selfish insecure teenager who felt that compassion and love were tools to be abused in my quest for personal power.

But what good would that do?

An apology from me eight years later would mean nothing to you. You had gone on with your life, much the same way as I had gone on with mine. There would be no exoneration. I was at least seven years too late for that.

As I went to pay my bill, I realized that I was standing right behind you. And worse, I saw from your tiny head movement in my direction that you knew I was standing right behind you. You focused intently in front of yourself, content to pretend I wasn't there. Your boyfriend was pitching the owner of the coffee house on buying Web development from him. Cruel twist of fate, the owner's a good friend of mine, and had promised me that job when she was ready. When she saw me standing behind you, she commented on that fact, and pointed in my direction. Your boyfriend turned to look; you didn't. It was the last piece of evidence I needed to prove that you not only didn't want to see me, but that there was nothing you wanted to hear from me.

It was to be expected, I suppose. You only know me from the memories you have, and I don't ever want to see that person again either. Even seeing you was a reminder of sins of the past.

I like to look at how far I've come, at the responsible adult figure I've become. I consider myself a good husband and father. Sometimes I like to think I am a little enlightened, with my wife's and my desire to spread a message of Love and Peace. But every time I even start to get a big head about being a good person, something happens to remind me that in someone else's universe, I represent Hell. No matter how wise I may become in the future, I will always be someone's devil. I was not born perfect, and consequentially, will never be perfect. It takes me down a couple of notches, and brings things back into focus. I will be the best person I can, regardless of my history. I can never be self righteous, because I have as many skeletons as anyone else. My only positive is that I have an unmarred future with which I can choose to do good. I will choose to do good.

As I got up to leave that night, I thought really hard about going over to where you were and saying something. The realization that it was an unnecessary and futile gesture changed my mind. I cannot fix the sins of my past; I can only bind myself not to repeat them in the future. With that in mind, I walked out into the night with a light heart and a clear conscience.

Copyright © 2000 Chris Jenkins All Rights Reserved

A *sparkophile and a sinner, Chris Jenkins really knows how to take an idea and make it sing.

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