He Ran (So Far Away)

My ex saw me working in a café and bolted. Am I powerful?

Glancing up, I saw him leaning in the doorway, thumbing through his phone. He looked different, another person entirely from the man I spent time with last year. New hair, new frame, but it was him. That’s all I got—a snapshot. My heart was hammering, but I kept typing, creating a shaky order out of the word salad outline my client sent over. I was on deadline. Spotify was blasting BRAT, but all I could hear was my pulse. There was no time to dwell on the abrupt appearance of a ghost, but I felt the pull. When I looked up again ten seconds later, he was gone. He ran away. 

I’ve fallen in love twice in my life. While each man had his own quirks that delighted me and set my teeth on edge in turn, they both share a particular behavioral tic: they claim to feel nothing, yet have a penchant for running away from me in public lest they’re forced to make eye contact. The first time this happened, I struggled to get through dinner without crying. This time, I laughed. 

I went back to untangling Earth Observation’s need for platform interoperability. It was easy to drop the emotional threads when I was lost in a sea of weird science. Besides, I didn’t have much choice. Overlapping due dates sprung up like a glut of mushrooms, leaving me feeling like the meme of Elmo in Hell. I ticked off one assignment only to rush headlong into the next. My editor’s avatar dropped into the Google doc and disappeared just as quickly. I typed faster. 

Walking home, I reminded myself that running into him wasn’t the hand of fate. We remain neighbors. It was bound to happen, even if twice in a month was too saturated for my taste. Chuckling, I put on Flock of Seagulls. The Flock helped heighten the absurdity, yet hours later, I questioned whether I should be laughing at all. Is this power, or a sign he thinks I’m batshit crazy?