Some conversations throughout a woman’s lifetime bear remarkable similarity. Just yesterday, I had a conversation with a man who, frankly I’d like to break up with. How, in my fifties could I still be going through this?

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.

I have to admit, his dark eyes were brimming with compassion as he looked down at my tear soaked face. He reached behind him for a tissue, then gently dabbed each of my eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was low and soothing, and my head tilted towards him and into the comfort of the sound.

It was one of those summer days in Florida where dark clouds had held the sun hostage all day. The rain, unlike my tears, had been held at bay. It made for a thick, uncomfortable atmosphere, not unlike the aura in this room

From my chair, I looked at the floor to ceiling windows and imagined myself rising and careening through them, landing on the pavement seven stories below….mercifully dead. How much more could I endure?

“Oh God,” I said. “Are you really like all the rest? Seriously, this isn’t high school. I’m in my fifties for God’s sake!”

We’ve been together six years and like any relationship, there have been been peaks and valleys. This wasn’t the first time he’d apologized for hurting me. Inside, I’m screaming, if you’re really sorry then stop hurting me! You need to unfuck this.

Instead, I hear myself say, “Is it something I’m doing?”

“No, it’s not you,” he assured me. “Believe me, it’s not the outcome I’d hoped for.”

I turned my palm to him, hoping he’d stop right there. I didn’t know if I could bear the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech.

“I really need to see you next week,” he said. “I know it’s asking a lot but, please.”

“So soon?” I so wanted to break up with this man.

He handed me a single white rose, taken from a vase on the counter. I could see he’d taken great care to pick the prettiest one. As if that could fix everything….

I could feel that familiar pull. I didn’t want to see him but… I took the rose and nodded in silent affirmation. After all these years he knew I was saying, yes I’ll come back, because I’ve always done whatever he’s asked of me.

He turned away from me then. Maybe it was guilt or sympathy that made him reach into the vase and hand me another white rose. He quickly pressed it into my hand, and left the room. He just couldn’t let me go. I almost felt sorry for him.

In my twenties, I had my share of these tête-à-têtes. Bittersweet, poignant moments. I never imagined that in my fifties the same weary verses would continue to spin around, like a record that never wears out.

But what’s really blindsided me is having this conversation, not with my lover, but….with my dentist!

As Bob Dylan once crooned, “the times they are a changing.”

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