The other night, I was driving up a country highway to visit my parents for the weekend. It was after work on a Saturday night, about 11:30 pm, when I saw the lowest, brightest falling star that I had ever seen in my life. The meteor was so bright that I thought that is surely landed in a nearby field. My curiosity piqued, I continued up the road for a fourth of a mile when I saw large plumes of smoke rising from the side of the road. Exhilarated, I pulled off of the small road and jumped out of my car. Maybe, I was about to become the proud owner of a bit of space rock. It was possible that I was about to own a singularly foreign and beautiful object. Just maybe, this was a sign from Eric.
The roadside clouds of smoke were rising out of a primitive country sewer grate. My shining star had turned to shit.
What an apt metaphor for my marriage, Eric’s health, and my own identity and life. I still struggle to define myself outside of my relationship with that boy every day.