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She was standing by the side of the road, on the same side of the bridge where I was crossing, with her paints spread out on a towel on the ground beneath her. She had an easel and canvas placed directly in front of her. I slowed as I came off the bridge and noticed her. At first, I couldn't be sure that it was the same girl. I hadn't seen more than just one side of her face the first time I'd seen her. This time I got a good look at her face, and I also noticed that her hair was quite a bit longer that it had been before. I thought it was the same girl, but I certainly wasn't sure that it was.The bridge I had just crossed was only a block from the center of another little town, one situated about six miles East of where I now lived, and along the same two lane road I'd needed to find my town that first time. I found a parking place easily enough, then got out of my vehicle and quickly walked back towards the bridge and the girl."Hello. Look, I'm really sorry to disturb you, but I. I would call her more from home, just to hear her voice, she would provide me so much encouragement, and that was all that I wanted. Finally about a month after returning back from Milwaukee, I finally told Stacy that I didn’t feel that we were heading in the same direction, and that I wanted to break up, and she didn’t take it well, but I felt in my spirit that if I held firm that great things and peace would follow. She believed it all tied back to Tina Lee, and I couldn’t convince her otherwise, so I stopped trying. I knew in my heart that I wanted what was best for her, and that it wasn’t me, so I had to let her go in order to not only find the peace that I needed for me, but also for her to find the great things out in the world that were there for her. We went back and forth for a long time, but finally it happened, Stacy was gone from my life for good. ************************* Four months later It was moving day for Stacy, and I knew I couldn’t be there, because it.
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I drank them, I made them part of me. I knew my body would reprocess them, on a small scale, into things it could use. I tried to become her, I loved her so much. But, I hated to see her cry.“You don’t have to tell me,” I whispered.“No...” she said. “I have to. I have to get it out. And you have to know it, to understand me better.”“In your own time, then, darling...” I said.She was silent for a while, then said. “He had a stroke, an aneurysm ... a weak vessel in his brain. A genetic thing, they said. He was my first love, my first and only... ‘til you. We were gonna be married, that spring. In the heart of the winter, in February, he died. He went to work one night, said he had a headache ... and then he died. I had kissed him that afternoon, and told him I loved him. I had that memory, at least.”Her tears had seemed to end, as she told her story. I wondered why she’d brought up the boyfriends of the past thing, with this in her own past. I guess she had to get it out. And she was.

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