Barbados, Part Two

It is so beautiful here. Everything is so lush and green, the colors are so vibrant, and the people are so.... NICE. This is going to be okay, this trip is going to be fine. So what if the man that I love is coming in less than 24 hours, and I have no idea whether or not he is coming alone. He wouldn't do that, anyway, would he? He wouldn't bring a new girlfriend all the way to Barbados for his sister's wedding, would he? Not the man who never introduced a women to his parents before me... that guy wouldn't bring just any old body from California to Barbados to parade in front of his closest riends and family (and ME). Right? Well... guess we'll just have to see. But in the mean time, this Barbados thing is alright with me.

A few hours later, I have arrived at the hotel and taken a short nap. G's mom is my roomate for the evening until everyone else gets in and we move to the villas on the other side of the island. I spent the evening on the beach with my journal, crying. What the fuck? Why did I even do this to myself? This was the world's WORST idea EVER. I came all the way over here, and I am going to go home the same way I left: alone and broken. Well, at the very least, I am going to try. Everyone here knows that G and I used to be together. Most of his sister's friends have become my friends as well, so they're supportive. They all know how I feel about him, so they've resolved to keep us away from each other and me entertained until the minute I get on the plane to go back home. **DEEP SIGH**

I've done the best I can with tonight's look. Tight black capris and a black sequined top designed to advertise my limited assets while simultaneously giving the people "cocktail" and "elegant." Rhinestone sandals, silver hoops, and a black alligator clutch complete the look. Tonight is the welcome reception, and the first time that I will see G since he arrived on the island. I mingle a little, stop here and there and greet family members I haven't seen in a while; thankfully no one asks me about G. I go for a short walk around the property, pray by the pool for a bit, then head back to the party. And it's then that I feel him. Like a physical presence on my skin, I feel him. Before I even heard his laugh ring out over the noise of the gathering, I feel him looking at me. There's a heat between my shoulder blades like someone is prodding me with a blazing fire poker, but when I turn around, there's no one there. My heart siezes up and I have to touch the wall for balance because I know that he is here. Every feeling that I have tried to suppress for the last 10 months is suddenly bubbling to the surface, because I catch a glimpse of a light blue button up and khaki shorts in the distance. The crowd shifts and I see more of his beautiful bald head and his brilliant smile that warmed me so many cold days. He has arrived. I was determined not to go over to him; if he wants to speak, then he will.

But he didn't. A group of us left the party and went into town to have drinks and dance at a lounge. At this point, my nerves are so tightly wound that I think I will break if I bend the wrong way. But I still can't go over to him, I won't let him have that victory. I see him heading my way, and I brace myself for the impact. He gives the group a general hello and reaches out his hand to me for a quick squeeze. Ladies, you know how you see someone that you know vaguely as you are moving through a crowd, so you extend your left hand and briefly squeeze theirs? Yeah, like that. And maybe a quick, "Hey, how are you?" I really don't remember. But what I do remember is the pain, like a sudden and very forceful thrust to my chest. This person that I laid awake and watched sleep, this man I shared every single one of my hopes and dreams with, this man who has helped me to pick up the pieces of my life and put me back together again, just squeezed my hand and kept it moving. Like I was nothing. Nothing at all. Like I had never been anything.

And it only got worse. I gave what was possibly my best fashion performance EVER at the wedding. People I had never met were stopping to ask where I got my skirt, family members were crossing the room to say how beautiful I looked, even the older people were complimenting me on my choices. But all I wanted was for him to notice me. All I needed to make me happy was for him to look over and catch my eye and smile, just for a minute. Maybe to come over and say, "Wow Mo, you really look beautiful." No dice. He avoided me like I was a pariah. I had to watch him during the entire ceremony, so handsome in his tuxedo at the altar, so beautiful as he sang his sister's favorite song. My mind started to wander, maybe it was the Barbados sun, maybe it was my silly lovestruck brain, but I imagined the two of us standing before the people that we loved, exchanging vows of intimacy and forever. A tear escaped my eye as I thought about how desperately I just wanted one more chance to be to him the woman that he wanted. I pulled it together somehow before anyone noticed, but I don't remember much else about that night. I just know that he never came over to me, not even once, to say hello. He never caught my eye across the crowded dance floor and motioned for me to join him. He never looked, even for a second, like he even knew that I was there.