Her exterior is just too tough. And you imagine days before, days when it wasn't. Like the day of her first breakup, or her high school graduation. Her wedding, or the day her children were born. The day her parents died. All those days - their smiles and their tears - they aren't there for you. You can imagine them, but that’s as close as you get. What you get from her is something else. A facade, what she lets you see. It’s not much.
She earned her memories, you didn’t. You weren’t there. As hard as it is to believe, she cried, a lot. She had to. She smiled, she beamed with pride. She had to. Pain and healing, and you weren’t involved in either one. You think you can meet on even ground. You think you can know - you want to, you want to fake it and say I understand. But you don’t, you can’t, not really. At this point, you’re just a spectator.
"It's like, there was an us before there was a me. When you left, I had to learn to be me."
Pause.
"And I did. And it was really hard, Gene. Really and truly."
It’s inconceivable, you think.
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