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Her name was Christine.  People called her Christy, Christina, Kerstin and Chrissy but no one could ever remember her fucking name.  I began to despise her name for that very reason. We had nothing in common and she used this to keep from falling in love with me for months.  But once we were deeply imbedded in the wet dough of love, I began to agree with her.  Lack of common interests can kill faster than speed.  She didn’t understand analogies or film.  Two of my favorite things in life and she didn’t get them. I would try to explain it to her…“Laura never saw Dr. Zhivago from the bus.  He had a heart attack trying to get her attention and he died without her knowledge.  It’s heart-breaking.”  Christine’s mind didn’t have the links to grasp nuance.  She was oddly smart and surprisingly funny, but she couldn’t see connections unless they were diagrammed on a graph with percentages.  I hate reducing our relationship to this.

We never loved each other at the same time, but the others love was always massive enough to consume us both through the interim. We would break-up with each other three times as much as we would get back together.  We even had our picture in the Guinness Book of World records for ‘Most Break-Ups.’  Well, it only displayed her photo because we were broken up at the time. The entire break-up with Christine was an epic Gone with the Wind sort of parting, lots of long sweeping panoramic shots of fallen soldiers and torn dresses.  Anyway, it’s over now.  Although, that’s what we both thought every single time we broke up.  I might still be with her in the down time of one of our relationships.  She could pull into my driveway tomorrow morning, walk in the house, take off her clothes, climb into bed and I would just roll over and kiss her good morning like she hasn’t been gone for six years. I never did the right thing with her.  I certainly never said the right thing, or at least never in time for it to make a difference.  I left her and yet I’ll always feel as if she left me.

She had two cars, which would have been fine except after we broke up she moved around the corner from me so I’d look inside every Lexus and Acura that drove by to see if it were her.  Unfortunately, every car third car on the road is a Lexus, and the other third are Acura’s.  And then, after months of visually rooting through all those models, I’d catch myself looking inside Mercedes and Beemer’s.  Very clever, I said to myself, look in every car just in case she is going somewhere with a friend.