Sometimes the worst regret is knowing that you could've said goodbye, but you didn't.
You just didn't. Couldn't. Or simply wouldn't.
She sat there until her turn came. She rose and walked slowly, shaking with sorrow but also fear. Why did she want to do this? She didn't have to. It would be the first time she saw his face like this, whatever it would be, it would be peaceful but a little false, of course. And it would be the last time she would see his face, this way or any way, present, in front of her.
She almost wanted to stop. No, she couldn't go on, not to see that face she had become so familiar with, after all these years. She just saw it last week. By then they had stopped mentioning the engagement that she had broken off a year ago. By then they were civil to each other. But still at that time, she couldn't really face him. She called off the wedding. She did the right thing, she kept telling herself. She wasn't ready. She would have made him miserable, made herself miserable being with someone she wasn't ready to have in her life. That time, last week, he drove her to the mechanic where her beat-up car was now less beat-up. She didn't really want to go with him, to let him do this favor for him, but she also missed him.
Then there was the guilt. She hurt him very badly when after all the invitations were sent out, all the catering was arranged, all the bride's maids' dresses were paid for, all the tuxedos were reserved, all the expectations have risen to their collective summit, she called it off. Her heart knew that he was the one. Her best friend had no doubts either. But neither one wanted to push her to a path she wasn't ready to take. So guilt and real love, real longing, nudged her to call him and ask him for this favor. The call wasn't easy either. They hadn't talked so much this whole year since the wedding was called off. She was shaking then, calling him. She was ready to be loud and ready to show she was strong and that she wasn't feeling guilty and that she had moved on and that he was nothing more than a friend.
But just as now, she was shaking.
And when she heard his voice, its familiarity, its tenderness, all seemed suddenly made only for her, all the love in that voice was made only for her ever since it was conceived decades ago. She almost burst out in tears. But she had always been a strong girl, so she said in an almost rude manner in asking for the favor. He agreed, obviously. She almost wished he hated her and hadn't even picked up the phone, let alone agreed to the favor.
She was shaking again when she heard his car pull up in front of her apartment on the first floor of a huge co-op on the outskirts of the Bronx. They call it Co-op City. She is both proud and ashamed of still living here, where she was born and raised. And there it was, the sound of his car, his engine, humming as if just for her, longing for her. But she was prepared. There would be no nonsense. She wasn't sure, she told herself, why she even allowed him to do this favor for her. And when she saw him, she felt love and hate, for everyone, including herself. He seemed very calm, even his big smile. He wasn't jumping up and down, but he was certainly very happy to see her. The previous time was about three months before, and it was a little awkward, with her talking loud and continuously while he kept quiet most of the time, which was a little out of character for him.
And in the car, going through the usual messy traffic in Eastern Bronx with all those highways like tentacles spreading into the two boroughs on the other side of the rivers, they chatted, almost like the old times. But she had her guard up, very strong and high, and ever more alert the more he seemed so forgiving, the more she felt connected to him. There is no space, no room, no time for guilt.
But then time stopped.
She made an immense effort to swallow her tears and looked at his face. It was as she had expected, peaceful but false. There would be no smile anymore. Under all that makeup was a cold face. All the times she had touched his face it was warm, tender. Here, what a contrast, it was, as she imagined, frozen in time, rigid in space. But most clearly of all, it was no longer responsive. It no longer would show disappointment at her rejections or disapprovals, no longer frown at her silliness or screams, no longer bearing sorrow when she hurt him, and of course, no longer smiling when she said hello.
And so if she were to say goodbye now, she wouldn't get any response. And that broke the dikes and all the fluid of her emotions exploded out of her eyes, her nose, and all the pressure of her anger and guilt thundered out of her lips as her arms tried to hold her chest in check. It was too late to say goodbye now. Last time when she saw him, when he dropped her off, she didn't want him to wait for him. The car was ready. She didn't let him be a gentleman and open the door for her. They were just friends. She didn't even thank him. She, of course, didn't say goodbye. She was just running away from it all. She looked at his car as it pulled on reverse and then left. He wasn't upset. She saw that he was content. She got a little angry, but didn't think about her failing to say goodbye.
Why is it important to say goodbye to someone you might never see again? Whom is the goodbye for? Is it a way to connect? But why bother with someone you'll never see again. Why even more if you don't actually want that person to go.
The tears didn't stop rushing out for a while, and as friends helped her move away from the man she still hadn't said goodbye to, the man she could've said her last goodbye to many decades later if life had been different, as she moved away, the man in the casket remained calm, remained the same, unresponsive, and unyielding to the dramas of the heart.
