Draft
Dove,
I thought
From: Clinton Morrison
Date: July 18
Draft
Dove,
I don’t understand how you could just
From: Clinton Morrison
Date: September 23
Draft
Paloma,
I’ve written this email probably 100 times but have always chosen not to send it because I was still so angry with you. Hell, I’m angry now, but I’m trying hard to understand. I wish you would have told me. Actually, you did tell me, and I chose to believe I could survive leaving a woman like you but I don’t think I can. I don’t mean it in that way. I'll live, but I’d rather live with you in my life. I’m just wounded. I miss you and hope you’re doing okay.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I slam my laptop shut. I’d be lying ifI said I wasn’t tempted to toss it across the room in frustration. My bruised heart has been ruling my emotions for the last several weeks—grinding my teeth with the need to say her name. I flop myself on the hotel bed and grab my phone, scrolling through social media aimlessly until my fingers gain a mind of their own and begin typing outhername, my psyche at war with my heart, and the need to see her face wins.
There she is.
In her profile picture, Paloma’s long dark brown hair is loose in unbraided waves, her head tilted to the side, smushing her full cheek into her shoulder as a smile stretches her face. This particular smile belonged to me, I only say it because it's the truth. I took this picture of her when we were joking at the Mossy Oaks Clubhouse during one of our many shared lunches. She was mine, and the memory hurts.
Seeing this as her profile burns a space inside my chest, a space that feels permanent, like it will never fill. I want to hold on to what we had for hope, but I refuse to allow myself to think too deeply into it. If I do that, if I give myself even a little hope, then Iwon’tbe able to let her go.
My phone goes dark from the lack of use and I tap it once more, making sure my alarm is set. The time shows how late it is, reminding me just how soon tomorrow’s tee time is going to come. Taking a deep breath, I set the phone into the charging dock before rolling over and praying for a dreamless sleep.
Jesus Christ, man. Get yourself together before you lose everything,I think to myself as I stare at my reflection. Dark circles have made permanent residences under my eyes, even my skin seems duller—I look like death. It’s been over four months since I attempted to email Paloma and the hurt is still there, like I’m living as a broken-hearted teen boy. As a man I’ve always felt like I needed to just suck it up and move on, but this feels different. I rub the heel of my palm into my chest as I use my other hand to swipe away the remaining condensation from the mirror. The only reason why I’m not rotting away on my couch is because I have to go to dinner with a few buddies who are coming to play at the BMW Championship.
I loosen a breath and stretch my neck as I run through my routine. Adding a couple of dollops of hair product, I run my hands through my damp hair. It’s been a little over a month living in England, and I think I would love it more if the woman I’m still in love with was here with me.
A notification from my phone pulls my attention. One of the guys must be texting me about dinner tonight. I make quick work of running leave-in conditioner through my low cut curls and brush the sides down, then I’m closing the door of my room behind me. I make my way to the elevators to head down to the lobby; we are meeting at one of the restaurants here at the resort. I press the button and the mirrored elevator doors close with awoosh. A softdingsounds as I reach the main level andthe moment the doors open, I can hear the rowdiness from our group. They’re all standing in the lobby, waiting for the last few stragglers to show. Me being one of them.
“Morrison!” Jones shouts as claps his hand on my back, a wide grin stretching across his face. “My man, are you coming out to Fusion with us tonight after dinner?”
I lean over to see past his head and notice the guys from last week's scramble. We’ve all gotten close, and I normally watch them live it up, knowing that I have an early instruction or tee time. But this time, I consider going out too. Fusion is a local nightclub the guys have been trying to get me to for the last two months. Each time I’ve told them no because I was dealing with heartache. Whether I’m ready to get out there or not, I’m forcing myself to go. I know…Well, I hope, she’s living it up, and I need to be doing the same.
“Come on you, old man!” comes a shout from the larger group.
I chuckle and respond, “Old? You’re only a year younger than me, and hell yeah, I’m coming.”
2
Chuck:First drive of the game. What do you think: straight down the fairway or straight into the bushes?
Lou:Oh, this one’s headed for the trees. No doubt.
Chuck:She’s setting up for something, though.
Lou:Yeah, setting up like a deer caught in headlights. Let’s see if she actually takes the shot or if she just freezes.
