The Crosswalk

            A man crosses the busy street. His dark hair is neatly gelled; his suit pressed and tailored to his broad shoulders. His head is held high; his dark eyes filled with hurt pride. Then, from around the corner, a car speeds through the intersection. It was as if I was watching a tragedy in slow motion.

            I didn’t even get to tell him goodbye.

            “Hey . . .”

You said quietly over the phone.

            “Oh . . . what’s up?”

Most of our conversations these days are quite dull.

            “Um . . . it’s nothing . . . I think . . .”

            “Should we—”

            “Just be friends?”

And that’s how I broke up with Kim Sunggyu; I just couldn’t find enough words to tell him I still loved him. And just like that, we went our ways.

            Yesterday, I swallowed my pride and went to his apartment. At first, he didn’t answer the door, but when he did, his hair and clothes were disheveled and there was another woman hanging off his shoulder. I saw shock register in his eyes as he tried to explain the obvious, but I looked away and whispered hastily, “I wish you two the best,” and ran away.

            “Hey you—”  

            “Look, let me explain—”

Liar, liar.

            About five messages were left on my phone, but I didn’t care and deleted all of them without hearing him out. As I crawled into bed, I heard the phone ring, and his voice on the answering machine.

            I didn’t even get to say goodbye, and yet I find myself running to this horrible man and shoving him out of the way.

I didn’t even get to tell him goodbye.

His last voicemail rings through my head as I see his face:

            “Baby, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been a really lousy guy, but I just want you to be happy. God, I’m sorry for the things I said and did, but . . . I know I was a bad boyfriend, but please listen, I . . . oppa will always be there for you—somewhere—you know? They said I don’t have much time left, so I’m sorry, I guess. Hey, I’m sorry for being a good-for-nothing and I love you . . .”

// End; The Crosswalk

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