That didnt sound nice but I have the photo to prove it. Once I dig it back out of the box I will share it with you (or maybe I wont because the moment will be lost). Mark had a 2003 Harley Fat Boy. I really dont know how often he rode it but he had it about 2 years before he moved “on gravel”. What an awful thing… “on gravel”. HA. I digress.
When I moved up to Iowa in December of 2007, he still had it. I asked him to take me for ride but he adamantly refused. At first I thought two things. One was the last and only time he ever took me for a motorcycle ride was the night before we said goodbye in 2000 and we took a little spill. No one was hurt, we laughed about it. The second was that he just didnt love me enough to take me for a ride on his “Harley”. Well, neither of those were true. Fact of the matter was that he had cleaned it all up to sell and didnt want to take the chance of damaging it in any way. Remember the earlier talk of “on gravel”. Oh ok… I understood and put my hurt feelings in the garbage where they belonged. A week later he did sell the Harley.
Fast forward 12 years… In the garage, I have found a nice helmet, replacement visors, gloves, some kind of cover, replacement lights a few models of Harleys and some other stuff. In the hall closet, I found 2 more helmets and a 100 year commemorative leather jacket. What in the hell am I supposed to do with this when I barely have time to breath much less seek out buyers??????? Did I give you enough question marks there?
Tonight, six days before the movers come, I find half the office upstairs filled. Want to guess with what? HARLEY STUFF. Beautiful shiny Harley stuff and signs and more models and MORE STUFF. My friend Jeni (my rock) is getting the Harley Bears… WHAT? TWO of them? Yeppers Jeni, you get the matching pair because you know I wouldnt expect my Mark to buy one of anything. Ok, to be fair, this pair is boy & girl bear so I guess I will give him a break (even though he pushed me down the stairs!).
So, as I was digging through the office, I was praying the American Pickers would just knock on my door but then I realized it was 1am and they were probably not out scouring the countryside. Then the tears came again. Yes, big ugly “what am I going to do” tears. Tears that come so hard, deep and fast that you cant move. The tears that wouldnt stop and that lead to having to get my inhaler to catch my breath. Even now as I write this, the tears wont stop.
Is this how this next two weeks is going to be? Maybe I should wear a sign… CAUTION – CONTENTS MAY EXPLODE. Maybe this is what I get for putting things off until the last minute. Maybe all the “stay out of the house” moments (ok, hours) are coming back to bite me in the butt. Now I HAVE to face the fact that Mark left me to deal with all of this and I dont have an option in this. I just have to figure it out. But reality is… I dont want to adult anymore. I want to go to a secluded beach and drink fun drinks out of pineapples with umbrellas and listen to the waves crash on the shore. Where I dont have to touch a box or wonder what is in the closet or be reminded that Mark is dead. But …what I WANT and what I am getting are two different things. So tomorrow night after work, I will grab more boxes and head upstairs to continue the treasure hunt.
The beach must wait… but not for long.