Everybody loves a winner.

previously published on it’s just a moment.

“You can be anything you want,” she said.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that.  Sometimes, when you’ve been gone for years, when you’re three thousand miles away from where you started with nothing to remind you of who you really are, when you melt into the pounded pavement, spread yourself thin amongst the cracks and your soul starts to seep into the underbelly of the city, you forget.

Everybody loves a winner.  That’s one thing you know for sure.

“You can always come home,” she said.

If coming home didn’t feel like quitting, if you could be sure what waited for you at the end of the airport terminal, if you could make your peace with life in that sleepy, salty little town, if you knew that all could be forgiven and life could go on and one day you could wake up in the morning, ease out of bed without waking him, cringe when your bare feet touched the freezing hardwood floor, step quietly over the sleeping dog, throw on his deliciously worn and warm sweatshirt, tiptoe down the hallway to the bathroom, look at yourself in the mirror and like what you saw, then maybe that statement could be true.

Everybody loves a winner.  But not everyone is willing to wait.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she said.

When the strongest person you know says those words, you don’t ask questions.  You come home.  You leave the city that never sleeps for the village of vicarious living.  You blow in like a bad storm on a codependent night, full of airplane vodka and regret.  You notice that the shutters are repaired and the walkway is tended, you know it was him but you pretend like you don’t care, and you see her tired face light up first with surprise and then bloom into thoughtfulness.

“You didn’t tell him you were coming, so I did,” she said.

Suddenly you’re running.  Back to the last place you thought you’d ever return, the edge of the ocean, the edge of the world, where time has stopped and the days are too long and the wind carries seagulls and swan songs.  And he’s there, just like always, like he was expecting you to show up and throw yourself into his arms and confess your multitude of sins, the least of which was leaving.  And suddenly you don’t remember why it was you wanted to get out, why you thought that you needed more than this, more than him.

Everybody loves a winner.  Especially when no one loses.