Guys, I Think They Broke Up (on Valentine's Day)

Through a small patch of woods near the Raritan River winds a walking trail that makes a loop no more than 1/2 mile in total. It's an accessible spot of nature -- one that people like to come to to feel the sense of getting lost in nature while still being able to quickly return to their busy lives. It's a spot to bring old dogs for an easy ramble; to bring young kids to hunt for garter snakes and salamanders; or to bring your Valentine for a simple, yet romantic moment by the water. 

    There is and has always seemingly been a set of chairs set up near the riverbank. And on this Valentine's Day on the first loop I made with my own dog and children (more of a frantic scramble through the snow as the kids pelted each other with snowballs and the dog hunted squirrels with ferocity than a pleasant ramble), we spotted a bouquet of flowers on one of the chairs -- placed, no doubt, with a beating heart, premeditated love. The nervous energy was in the air and it felt so beautiful, my own memories evoked of feeling those proverbial butterflies in life, too. The poetry of the moment, of what had been created there and what awaited, was one that we are lucky in life to experience, ourselves. And when we do we can look with sympathy at the other poor souls who suffer the wonderous elixir that comes with falling in love.

    And then, my children, dog, and I (still with energy to run through the snow), agree to make a second loop. And on our approach to the chairs again, we saw them:

Slices of pizza (?) balanced on their laps, the bouquet set on the ground aside one chair, this couple sat quietly, almost shyly, as we made our way noisily by. And once again, the energy around them pulled to the surface my first loves, the early starts of each romance where we still felt boundaries as two separate people, but sensing those boundaries were crumbling as we pulled together.

But then...

Dammit, I hope I'm wrong here, but then...

As we were well out of sight of the couple and the river, well into our ascent of the small incline that leads back to the top of the trail and the exit, we heard yelling. We heard "Go away! Go. Away." My children looked wide-eyed at me. Was she, perhaps, directing that at us? my children wondered. But we were so far past at this point, it would have been absurd (if not, simply, rude). And the only other possibility: A fight between them. A break up.

And the poetry of the moment shifted again and there was heartache in the air. The nervous, excited tension had given way to a wall erected - cold, impenetrable, and full of sorrow. And I know that experience, as well, as we do. And I ached with them and for them.

As we made our way home, after having cleaned the dog's paws, stomped and shook off all the snow that had accumulated on us, and secured everyone in the car, we saw her walking up the street. Alone.