Change of Ingredients

Our lives were like pie. Or more like my grandmother’s macaroni and cheese. You know the kind of dish that is a family secret; simply incredible in its taste and texture. That’s what he and I were like; amazing in texture with many layers having to be swirled in a bowl together in order for the flavor to come out just right. I can remember the ingredients to her macaroni and cheese so vividly. Elbow macaroni, butter, various seasonings and of the most important ingredient was her infamous four cheese blend. Sometimes my grandmother would run out of money and try to shortcut the recipe. Maybe there was a lack of cheese at times or she was a little skimpy on the butter. Yet, when dinner was served and one person took a mouthful of her “famous mac and cheese” forks would come to a screeching halt, cut glances exchanged and the muffled sounds of chewing and swallowing drowned out the silence. It just didn’t taste the same. I tried thinking back to the days of youth when our relationship began to fall apart. Our ingredients just were not mixing well and our relationship began to separate like macaroni and cheese without the egg to bond it.

He was tired. Not of me, but of his lack of progress. He desired change so greatly that he drove and parked his life in lane that was too fast. Negating our speed limit, he sped into a life that required him to delve into pain and resurface his contentment. I tried so hard to bury his heartache into the depths of his being, even attempting to take portions of it and deposit it into my own core to lighten his burden. Yet, fast cars and money began speaking to his desire while my heartbeat once in tune with his, slowly became a whisper.

I never clearly understood how much another person could impact my life until I encountered him. He was amazingly intuitive. His demeanor was strong, yet his interior was soft, protected by a hard shell that looked as if it were hand dipped in chocolate. I can remember desiring to hear his voice; a simple good morning would always suffice. At times I would even find myself wishing that sleep would speedily pass just so that I could awaken to his tone. The white space that had once occupied my mind in solace was replaced with thoughts of him. When would I see him again? His smile would travel through my drifting thoughts, I would even see his face as I blinked my eyes, all the while smelling the scent of his cologne on my jacket. I can remember at times being nervous around him. Not fearful, but jittery like floating butterflies on a summers day had plagued my belly. He evoked a feeling in me that I never knew existed. Yet, overtime the vibrancy of his cocoa skin began to fade and I could no longer remember the guy I knew.

There is much to be said about first time experiences. Ones like riding a bike, graduating from school, falling in like and sometimes rolling into love. There is such a rush with these encounters. Yet, I’d say this time, with him, we were relaxing at best. Never forced to move faster, we were allowed space to wander and explore the inner person. Each of us was given free rein to information that would otherwise be help locked away. I felt safe and special. His hugs felt like protection, a guard, a shield against all of my worries and infectious negativity. He was beautifully amazing, yet slowly transforming.

There is such a large difference between personal growth and unsystematic change. The same arms that shielded my worries could no longer provide him with the care that was needed to sustain a life of toiling. Those same arms slowly pushed me away. And while I sat patiently waiting for that smile dipped in chocolate to return, his light had began to dim. The very one that had emitted from his being once before began to diminish. He was changing and so was I.

I no longer felt comfortable exploring him. It was as if I was walking on uncharted territory although the landscape appeared so familiar. When did he change? As time progressed, the ingredients that mixed so well to create our relationship placed in a pan full of security and baked in love somehow no longer tasted well. Overtime we began to miss the communication, it was as if our words had disappeared and our thoughts were drawing blanks. Then one day we blinked our eyes and suddenly we both appeared foreign. Our vision became distorted and our 20/20 rose colored glasses fogged in confusion. The birth of new individuals stood at a distance.

I began to miss him, yet crave his absence. I knew that I could no longer function with him in my presence and we parted ways. Time progressed and he grew a new love. He nurtured its presence as if it were life’s air while he looked at me from a distance. He began to remove the very ingredients that had made our connection so stable. I sat, longing for our bond to taste as it once did, but the elements were no longer the same.

I always try to recreate my grandmother’s macaroni and cheese. My mother seems to have it perfected and of course I am still in the business of making it just right. Yet, nowadays I have lost the fear of not having it perfect and I have decided to practice until it just tastes really good. I think that I will take the same approach with my relationships.