Every single time I come home, whether its at 9pm arriving home for work, or noon on a Saturday after grocery shop, every time I pull into my assigned parking spot, the girl who has the spot right next to mine is always sitting in her car, texting. Every single time! I always wonder, what is she always doing in there?
Is it possible that we have the exact same schedule? Does she also work second shift and always feels the need to run around all weekend because she isn’t sure what to do with herself when she doesn’t have plans and her boyfriend is busy?
Or maybe she lives on the first floor, as I used to live, where I never had cell service, and she sits in her car during all her important conversations… and maybe she has a bunch of them, and 9pm is the only time her mom is available to chat everyday, and the random Saturdays were just coincidental?
And then, one day, I found myself in my car, texting, not going anywhere at all. It wasn’t the time of day to go to or from work, I wasn’t running any errands, I had plenty of cell service in my apartment, I sat down, I looked over at her, she looked up from her phone and acknowledged my existence and we both looked back down to our hands on our laps. I looked over and suddenly realized why she spent so much time in her car… she was fighting with her boyfriend.
I felt sad for her then, thinking of the drastic amounts of time she spent outside, away from the comforts of her own home. I wondered if he was lying to her, or if maybe she was a control freak. I wondered if it was fixable, or if she’d been spending the next few months hanging out in her car waiting for their lease to end. I wondered if she’d go in for bed that night and there would be candles lit and an apology on the table, or if there would only be dramatic stare from across the room and a silent walk towards the bathroom to get ready for bed, alone.
I thought about myself, sitting in the car, waiting for the right moment to head back indoors. It was raining by this point, and I knew by the time I made it back to the building, hair frizzy and makeup smeared, my face wouldn’t be helping my make my case that I’m worth the frustration I cause. So much for natural beauty. I wondered if I’d walk into an empty room or if I’d walk into a home built with love. I wondered how these things even happen in the first place, one day couples are perfectly happy and everything is wonderful and the next everything is wrong and off and out of place.
There is no such thing as a perfect game in love. We go out there, we try our best, and we have bad days. Succeeding in a relationship is being able to take those bad days, get them off your chest, and then moving on knowing that you’re relationship is worth the troubles it causes.
I hope the girl in the car next to mine realizes that, I hope she sees that she isn’t perfect, and neither is her boyfriend, and they’re going to frustrate each other once in awhile, but the reaction to the frustrations means more than the imperfection.