three little birds.

She crept in slowly, so slowly that I almost didn't see her. She was wearing a face that I recognized immediately.

There was nothing friendly about The Face. No warmth coming from the expression she had on, at all. Not even a trace of the polite smile you might fashion out of pursed lips when meeting someone for the first time. Lucky for me, this was a farmer's market in Santa Monica and not the Serengeti, for I fear, I would not have been long in her claws.

This was the second time that I'd run into him in the year and some odd months since our breakup over a burger that I never ate. It was a rough one, suffice it to say, leaving me with mountains of unresolved feelings and a ton of hurt.

The first time he and I ran into each other unexpectedly was pre-caffienne at my favorite dispensary of the coffee kind. That morning, I rolled out of bed and right into the sundress I'd left on the floor the night before. There was no nothing, no mascara, no bra, no pre-coffee session with a hair brush and no idea what I was in for when he swooped in the door. All at once, my body burst into flames, a burn so intense that all that remained afterward, was a pile of shivers in place of a person. In a hasty effort to flee, I "escaped" right into the wall.

The shiny lining on that near disaster was that we ended up having a conversation that freed me from my hard feelings. Peace replaced hurt. He and I have even had a couple of cups of coffee on purpose since then, and these days, I don't shake like a leaf. I can even form whole sentences.

So it was, with a healthy measure of confidence and clean clothes, that I approached him, standing alone, by the dried fruits and nut stand. We said hello, hugged and acted like two people that were truly happy to catch up.

And then there was The Face.

The thing about The Face is this... it was the exact same expression that took permanent residence above my shoulders when he and I were together. By the end, the unhappiness was something I couldn't cover up sans paper bag, mixed company or no.
In the very beginning, there were plenty of smiles but, short lived were they, as I began to realize something wasn't right.
I couldn't get comfortable.

I squirmed. I obsessed. I writhed. I drank extra alcohol.

Nothing I did helped. My insides were twisted up in torture. I felt sick all of the time. I was cramming myself into a relationship that was the wrong fit. Wrong guy? Perhaps. Bad timing? Likely. But, despite my analysis of the relationship's Achille's heel, it was when I started getting jealous, really jealous, that I knew it was doomed. Jealousy, for me, is a no fail indicator of an impending expiration date. I can't live like that for long and I don't turn green in healthy relationships for no reason. At first, I was jealous of the ex wife, next the pretty coworker, but then it took a hard right and turned it's ugly attention to imaginary people that I had never even met, ones I invented in daydreams. I imagined streams of twenty-something hipster girls in tight little sweaters and come hither eyes carrying him away from me. One night, we went to see a movie together in Los Feliz in a tiny, romantic theater. When I realized I was sitting in my seat and jealous of the actress on the screen, I was horrified.  
Holy Hell! Who had I become?!
And, it was at that time, that, if I met someone for the first time by his side, I could hardly manage to unfurl my brow.
I'd let myself decay in the relationship to the point that I had become a shell of a girl  ...a shell with a big frown on the front.

After he called "Uncle", I made putting myself back together in a more recognizable form, my job. I did yoga, I drank water instead of alcohol and I asked the universe for peace in my mind and in my heart.
I moved on.

Standing by the dried fruits and nut stand, I took her hand--the girl with the scowl-- and I shook it firm. I smiled at her, I smiled at him, I said my goodbyes and walked away.

It was a few minutes later that it occurred to me that I was still smiling. I wasn't the girl with the tangled up eyebrows anymore. I was the girl smiling at nothing at all. Every little thing had turned out all right. I don't know why the girl wore a look like that on that March morning. Maybe she was just having a bad day. Whatever the reason, I dug through my market bag, past the radishes, under the leeks and found my phone. I called my b. I just wanted to tell him how happy I am to have him in my life.


I left the Santa Monica Farmer's Market after a visit to the Schaner Farm's tent. I bought three different kinds of eggs there, turkey eggs, duck eggs and green chicken eggs. I took my collection home and made myself a late breakfast.