It was an oddly warm winters day, the day we both decided to leave town. For good.
You might be slightly confused by this statement, so I’ll start from the very beginning.
We were both 19, young and stupid, when we fell in love. His name was James Wiseman and mine was, well is, Natalia Banes. It’s the classic modern fairytale, we met at a party neither of us wanted to go to. That night we exchanged phone numbers and found that we had nearly nothing in common, apart from the fact that we both had divorced parents that no longer spoke. The following week I received a phone call, it was James. He asked if I would like to meet him for coffee later that day, so I said yes. (He later explained that he didn’t call sooner because one of his friends said it would be, and I quote, “uncool”). At the coffee shop, we began talking as if we had known each other our entire lives. I found out he was an arts major at UNSW (we ended up having more in common than originally thought) and had a passion for both literature and art, I explained to him that I was a freelance artist, much to the annoyance of BOTH my parents, and was currently living on friends couches.
A couple months later, our relationship had progressed, we had recently become official and our friends had insisted on “shipping” us as “Jalia”. (I agree it’s terrible but they had insisted on it). James and I fell in love quickly but both had trouble expressing it until, one day when we had officially moved in together and I had found a part time job as a waitress at the cafe where we had our first unofficial date, I said that I loved him. Now keep in mind we were both very drunk at the time (well I was at least, after arriving home from a night out with friends), but in spite of this I still meant every word of that three worded sentence. The next morning he asked if I remembered anything from the previous night and I replied no (I had lied because I was scared of the reply), however within the next week he whispered in my ear when he thought i was asleep “I love you” of course I replied to this and said that I loved him to, much to his surprise, and we both fell asleep smiling in each others arms. (Cheesy, I know but it’s what happened).
A month or so later, our relationship had progressed, quickly, as we had gotten engaged and met each others parents, much to their dismay we had planned to have an extremely small ceremony with 5 or 6 of our closest friends within the next few weeks. The week before we were due to be married I broke down and I couldn’t do it, so I took off. Since we were living in Sydney at the time I caught the first bus to Melbourne I could find tickets for, leaving behind a note explaining everything. And believe me I never looked back.
I felt like I wasn’t ready because I was far to young. I have heard from distant friends that he met someone else the following year, was engaged 3 years later, and married within 10 months. Apparently he has children now. A boy and two girls. With me however, well I may have not been ready at that time but eventually, I was. At age 26. I “quit” my job as a freelance artist, sold my studio, and went back to school within a year of leaving. I chose to study teaching and childcare, and became an art teacher at a local high school. At university, I met a guy with whom I fell in love with. Not as intense, and not as quickly, but it felt even more real than it had with the so called James Wiseman. So now, at age 43, I have chosen to write the story of us because if I hadn’t met him I wouldn’t have ended up where I am now. With three kids. The oldest (James, yes I named him after THE James but I have kept that to myself) age 15, middle (Regan) age 14, and the youngest (Adira) age 5.
I can now say that I am truly happy, with absolutely no regrets. In a happy marriage, with three wonderful children. Happier than I could ever have been with him, and I am sure he is happier with his wife than he could have ever been with me.
Points: 610
Reviews: 2
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