Almost three years ago, I was single. Half-chasing someone I had become rather close with and half-nude helping someone through a then-recent break up. Almost three years ago, I got a real job. Where I had to wear real clothes, where tight t-shirts and skinny jeans didn’t count (actually maybe skinny jeans).
Now, I’m working a real real job for the government. Where I have to wear suits and where mohawks don’t count (no luck this time, skinny jeans). My wardrobe expanded (or rather rebooted), as it did three years ago. Except this time, I picked out my very own suit, my very own ties, my very own shirts. Grappled over my style, worried about my waist suppressions and the flood of my pants. Wait, so I can wear solid on solid? (Yes.) Black and blue don’t mix?? (Apparently even if you’re the Backstreet Boys.) So now, two of my friends are in relationships where they are happy and loved. And I still love them dearly and wish both of them the best (yes, both). My hands are empty, as they were almost three years ago, but I don’t regret anything. Because in a way, my debt has finally been repaid.
Three summers later, I’m standing at a familiar fork in the road. But the difference is that I know what happens on half the pages now.