To live or to re­ally live, that is the ques­tion!

The Star (St. Lucia) - - THE LIGHT SIDE -

The best things in life are un­ex­pected. Or so they say any­way. I wasn’t so sure about that when my ex showed up at my doorstep last week. We hadn’t spo­ken in months, and all of a sud­den there he was. One minute I’d been sleep­ing, and the next he was blow­ing up my phone. When I’d rec­og­nized his for­eign dig­its I’d gone into in­stant panic mode and ended the call right away. But my phone kept ring­ing. When fi­nally I answered, he started talk­ing about how much he missed me, and how good it was to hear my voice. Still in a sleepy stu­por, I asked why he was calling so late. We’d shared a hot and heavy sum­mer fling two years prior, af­ter which we’d dated long dis­tance for a year and a half. Things had gone ka­put, and dis­as­trously so. Nev­er­the­less, there he’d been on the other end of the phone. Our con­ver­sa­tion had got­ten even more bizarre. He mum­bled some­thing about ask­ing a friend to de­liver a pack­age to my house, and said they’d just called to let him know they had. He asked if I’d seen it. I let him know I def­i­nitely had not. “I’d have no­ticed if some­one left some­thing on my front lawn,” I said mat­ter-of-factly.

“He said he left it right in your bal­cony,” he pressed. “I know it’s late but maybe you can just look out­side to check.”

I told him I had zero in­ten­tions of get­ting out of bed, just as I pulled off the cov­ers and jumped to my feet. I crept to the liv­ing room, an­noyed at hav­ing been wo­ken up, but still un­able to shake off my cu­rios­ity.

“I’m re­ally mad this guy brought it so late,” he went on. “I wanted to sur­prise you…”

“There’s no way I’m . . . ” I started telling him as I pulled the liv­ing room drapes slightly to the side.

I looked out­side and there he was. This guy was lit­er­ally parked in my drive­way, stand­ing on the phone talk­ing to me, when I had no idea we were even in the same coun­try! I opened the door and walked out onto the bal­cony, and stopped and stared him straight in the face. I didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him in the face.

“Well, I guess you didn’t get it,” he said sheep­ishly, and I looked at the pack­age of fruit roll ups he was hold­ing and tried not to smile. He knew those were my favourite. Sud­denly it oc­curred to me what I must have looked like: ratty pa­ja­mas, di­sheveled hair tucked un­der­neath a scarf, face greasy with co­coa but­ter. It was 2 a.m., and I looked like a bum!

I rushed back in­side the house and closed the door. Stand­ing with my back pressed against the wall for what felt like eter­nity, I felt my phone vi­brat­ing. It was him. A sea of ques­tions came pour­ing out of me, and he answered ev­ery one. My shock was quickly mak­ing way for ex­cite­ment.

He told me he was on the is­land for a few days, and was stay­ing at a ho­tel in the north. Need­less to say I made a bee­line for my room, but stopped short at the door. I didn’t want to wake my room­mate; I was con­vinced she would do any­thing to change my mind. She hated him, and I did too. Well, at least I used to. I found my overnight bag and tip­toed around my room pick­ing up what­ever I could lay my hands on: a bikini, some things for work, as­sorted cloth­ing, enough for a few days. I had ev­ery in­ten­tion of mak­ing the best of the mo­ment. I walked out the door, to his SUV, and into his arms think­ing some­thing about for­give­ness, and new be­gin­nings.

Some­times we learn from our mis­takes, and other times we re­peat them!

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