One of the best ways I have ever found to clear out the head and heart is to get on the back of a motorcycle, wrap around some strong shoulders, and let the wind blow through my hair, feel the sun on my skin. I always enjoyed riding with my ex, one of the few men I trusted on a bike. We didn’t have to say a word to each other, just enjoyed conquering the miles. I missed that time when we divorced, a lot.
Last year toward the end of summer I reconnected with an old friend. Probably should use the term friend loosely, as the first time we met he mostly drifted across my path but I kept him at arm’s length. I had felt a very strange pull toward him that I couldn’t explain but being married I knew that whatever it was had to stay untouched. After the divorce I got in touch with him after seeing someone pass me on a bike that reminded me a lot of the one I dubbed Mr. Wonderful.
We took several long rides, no destination we just got on the bike and rode til whatever was eating at either of us was out of our system. Sometimes we talked at length, other times rode in silence just enjoying being together and rolling. Feelings developed but in hind sight I have a greater understanding of the love between us.
Like me, he is one of those transitional people, an encourager/healer type. Meant to drift in, bandage the wounded, help them heal, then drift out of their lives, leaving a part of his heart. His scars also go clear back to childhood, and his outer shell is thicker than my own, but then he is several years older than me so he has fought a few more battles.
I think the fact that we are kindred spirits in this world is what drew us together. The encouragers and healers of the world don’t have anyone here to do for us what we do for others. But we can draw from each others strength, shore up each others foundations when they start to crack and dry each others tears. Lord knows I dried many of his during that time, though he never did mine. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t cry. Nothing was getting deep enough, my heart was well shielded behind some thick armor to block out all pain and anything or anyone that even looked like they might bring more hurt. We crossed lines we shouldn’t have, but I have zero regrets. I have never connected with anyone the way I did with him. He is the first person that ever took the time to look into my eyes clear to my soul. He saw things in me no one else ever has, and he understood them. He didn’t try to change me, just studied who I was and learned all he could about the person inside that no one else ever took the time to know. He knows me darkest fears, my greatest joys, things even the man I was married too for 22 years never took time to know. He was the first person to notice that my eyes change colors, from their normal shade of grey to deep blue depending on my mood, or what I am feeling at the moment. Maybe because he was the first person to ever really look in my eyes, and he always made me look back into his when we talked, he wanted to see inside.
We can never have a lovers type relationship, never live together, or grow old together. Fate again, the bitch, doesn’t allow the timing that would put us together that way. But out of those months a friendship and understanding has forged. One that allows either of us to call the other when the world is falling apart around us and we just need someone to hold us, rub our head, dry our tears, and listen to us vent or sometimes just hold each other in total silence. He listened to me pour my heart out the other day, my anger, my frustrations, and my heart break from falling in love again only to have my heart shredded all over as yet again I was the transitional girl. This time I have cried, a lot. I hadn’t cried in over a year, but I got careless and let down my guard and someone got through the armor and I’m hurting. A pain I had not felt in so long I forgot to watch out for it. And he seemed to know exactly what I need to push through the pain toward healing.
He is coming to get me, and treat me with some road therapy. Today we have a destination, and we’ll log over 180 miles on the bike before we finish. We’ll ride the back roads to Madison, Indiana, and spend the day laughing, sharing, talking, and for the first time he’ll be the one holding me while I cry, and drying my tears. And when he drops me off tonight at home, the hurt will be there still, but I’ll feel better, wrapped in the healing love of a very special friendship that I’ll be eternally thankful to have.