At the corner of Virginia and N. Highland (Berry Crostadas)

I ate crostadas in the fall, in the cooling evenings when you and I were falling in love.  I ate them at La Tavola, where I first encountered free form crostadas, with their thick, flaky, buttery pastry dough crusts, laden with warm fruits simmering in their juices and sugar and spices.

The turn of this century is heavily laden with memories of La Tavola, at the corner of Virginia and N. Highland; dewy with the reminiscence of walking to the restaurant from Mike's and Lori's first and second houses in the neighborhood; filled with the laughter of dinners there with my friends; and the amused incredulity of a Sunday brunch when you informed me I was your girlfriend.

Some time before I met you, I sat in his car wondering what I had locked my life into, feeling that same helplessness that propelled me to wake up the morning after he bought a puppy a few years before, to sob uncontrollably, thinking that I had chained my life to his and it was inexorably linked to the puppy's lifetime -- that I would be trapped with him through the duration of the puppy's life; that we would be married and have children and be divorced by the time the puppy became an old dog and died.  But the puppy is going on 12 years old now and soon to expire; she has led a happy and sweet life:  but I broke away from that life after 6 years.  Sometimes I think I was in that life with her, with him, for 5 years and 8 months too long.  It should never have been more than a summer romance, but I felt guilty breaking up with him, and so I did not. It was easy at first to delay the eventual breakup.  But I tarried far too long.

Lori asked me once:  "Why did you stay?"

And she alone of all the ones who loved me, voiced out loud the same question I had wondered too, the query others had privately wondered at.

And here is the answer:  "Because I had been in love before him, wildly, deeply, hurtfully, and I did not want to feel so out of control again; you see, when you are 23 years old before you fall in love for the first time, the heights are deliriously lofty but the end is crushing."

"Oh," said Lori with a knowing glimmer of understanding.  "You looked for safe and found yourself bored and trapped."

Yes.

He had ceased to be a love years before; was slowly losing any status as a friend -- but there we were, stagnant and dying, yet too stupid and lazy to do anything real about it until the end was upon us and I made the fateful decision to walk out the door, knowing when I did that there was no return -- and oh my God -- how freeing did that feel?  Yet simultaneously sad, frightening, strange; the end did not come with a forceful detonation, it came with a nuclear blast and then the subsequent fallout that makes me now wince with sadness, with relief, with not a little shame, with chagrin at our behavior and our actions...oh Lord, why is the end of a relationship so jumbled, so fucked up in a way that few other things can be?

"What was the catalyst?" asked Lori.

Oh.  Well, it was a Sunday morning.  And at the intersection of Virginia and N. Highland, there is a restaurant called La Tavola where I had eaten with friends, but he had no interest in going.  And I thought, oh they have such a lovely brunch.  He was being his normal self (jerk) in the car, tersely informing me that we were not going to stop for brunch because he had errands to do and I should have stayed at home or gone out in my own car, rather come along with him:  I was bothering him!  He was white knuckling the steering wheel, cursing the red light and while I wondered where on earth he was going that required such urgency on a Sunday morning, I suddenly saw the antipodean reflection of my own life pass before me.  I saw The Couple.

The Couple crossed the street, young -- as young as I once been, as young as we had been when we had first started our ill fated relationship ("Oh my God, I have wasted and lost my twenties on this man.") -- but in love.  She entered the intersection first, long dark hair flowing behind her -- is it a real memory or a fanciful recreation in my mind that the wind lifted her hair behind her as she turned to say something to him, who was two steps behind her?  Did anyone else notice that they strode in unison, right leg stretched before left leg?  Tucked under her arm was the Sunday New York Times.  He carried two coffee cups.

There came with this vision a roiling wave of nausea and an unbearable bitterness; there before me was the life I longed for, and did not, and would never have, with the man beside me.

There's a scene in the movie version of The Bridges of Madison County where Francesca is confronted at a street light with the life she could have and the one she has; and she begins to cry realizing that though she is bound to the life she chose long ago, she yearns for something more...but as she is about to open the door to run to the life she wants, the light changes and she loses her chance.

And I began to cry quietly because I was watching the life I wanted cross the street while I sat in a car with a man who was fuming at a streetlight.

"Coffee and the Sunday paper?" Lori said with a hint of incredulity.

Yes.

What it represented.  What coffee and the Sunday paper represented:  A matched purpose.  The intersection of two lives.  A relationship.

"You opened the door and left?"

No.  Read above about stupid and lazy.  Read above about tarrying.  It was a little while longer, but eventually, I realized I could open the door and walk to the life I wanted.

There is a lovely recipe for peach and raspberry crostadas in Sara Foster's Casual Cooking.   I revamped it a little to make blackberry and raspberry crostadas. I found the recipe when you and I were in Atlanta last week...

...As we were passing by La Tavola, where you told me on our second date that you were going to marry me; at the corner of Virginia and N. Highland.

Email me at ablithepalate (at) gmail (dot) com if you'd like the recipe from Sara Foster's Casual Cooking. 

Comments

[Lucy]

That was lovely and touching. I'm young (and don't I know it) and struggling with a crumbling relationship among many other changes. Thank you for sharing your remembrances and your lessons. Strength comes in many forms, and it's nice to find it unexpectedly.

[beastmomma]

It's amazing how such big realizations can come from small observations.

[Aoife]

That's really beautiful.

[cath]

Lucy -- a friend said to me that change is good; if you're not uncomfortable and changing, you're not learning. But damn it's still hard anyway...good luck. :-)

Jaspreet -- I'll show you the spot when we catch up in a few weeks. :-)

Aoife -- thank you.

[barbara]

I've been with my husband for 35 years and we could be the couple crossing the intersection with the coffee and papers. I'm glad you've found your soul mate Cath.

[Kiriel]

Realising you have been in a relationship too long is incredibly difficult to do. I think as women, we often stay on long after we should go because we remember too well those first feelings of love, and somehow forget the continuing hurts and injuries we are suffering. It took me keeping a diary and going back to read and remember whenever he hurt me again (never physically I hasten to add) the previous hurts, before I really realised that really, there was much more bad than good going on.

[Cathy]

Sounds like you no longer live in Atlanta. The brunch at La Tavola is still lovely.

[Tea]

I read this weeks ago and had to come back today to leave a comment. So lovely, heartbreaking, and hopeful. It takes strength to find what we seek--thanks for sharing yours.

[cath]

Barbara -- 35 years...wow. And Barbara -- thanks: I'm glad I found my soul mate too. :-)

Kiriel -- You've really hit the nail on the head -- I remember scrolling through diaries too to revisit how sad I felt. And a few years ago, my husband had the good sense to get rid of those diaries for me. Sometimes, the hurts you write about just need to go in the trash and the past.

Cathy -- I don't live there any longer but I try to get up every few months (mainly to feed my sushi habit) --but the last time I was at La Tavola, I got hugs aplenty from the staff who still remembered me closing down the restaurant with them.

Tea -- thank you so much! Love is lovely, heartbreaking and hopeful all at once, isn't it?