my broken leg

one of the first stories he told me was of his broken leg. how the play transpired, the ambulance trip to the hospital, his family rushing there, his reaction (or lack thereof) to pain meds, the surgery to insert a metal rod, the recuperation, walking with a cane, the long road to recovery, the lingering pain at the screws in his knee. but the first time he told the story, it was an abbreviated version -- i broke my leg, i have a rod in my leg, i recovered -- with a endearing conclusion: "i imagined someday i'd get to tell someone this story."

that made me feel close to him, special. he struggled, he doesn't share this story with just anyone. and in that moment, on the sideline of an ultimate field, feeling the screw in his knee, i felt a connection.

*****

i had just asked for a divorce. he didn't accept my request outright and pushed back. the fight continued until he came back around to expecting me to accept some blame for the affair -- not just the lousy state of our relationship when it began, but for the actual lying and sneaking and cheating and betrayal itself. 

i stormed out. and soon found myself, introspectively, standing at the bank of the stream in downtown Sandy Hook. recapturing that space for myself, for that moment. staring out into the babbling water, in the weak winter sun, cold to the bone but refusing to shiver, i thought "this is my broken leg." this is the moment, the place, the event, the feeling, that i will one day get to tell someone. i believe that. i will one day connect with someone, find someone special, someone who considers me special, who is worthy of sharing my broken leg story.