Today is not a happy day. She finally sits in the locked bathroom, away from people, feeling silly again. Feeling as though the last thirty years have not matured her.

"Look at me, I've locked myself in the bathroom, purposefully," she says in her mind.

"Yes, you have, haven't you. You didn't always do this though. There was a long period during which you even put off entering a room such as this so you wouldn't waste any of your precious time you had with him." Her mind, as usual, answers her.

"Ah, yes, that's right. When I could still talk to him. Before things changed that week. I was rarely alone. Not like I am now. Not like those days immediately following our hours spent together, as if no one else existed. Why do I still feel the pain of those days? Why do I amplify the romance, hang onto the pain? Is it the bittersweet memory I cannot shake?"

"No. Don't be worried, this is not unusual. But you do need to understand the origin of the bitter taste so it won't haunt you. Was it her?"

"She was not the one. Or was she? If she wasn't there, I wouldn't have felt as though I needed to stop extending myself. I wouldn't have felt as though he shared more significant ideas and words with her than with me, including things about me. But why should that bother me? I was an adult even then. I wasn't a jealous person. I was glad he found another friend. Maybe what hurt was thinking he did not see a certain passion in my life because I was not so inquisitive as she. And that passion is what attracted him to her."

"You know you had that passion. Then why was it difficult?"

"That's a good question. Because she was just a kid. Because he so quickly turned to her after the intensity of our friendship. Because I saw the turmoil inside of him and saw that it did not need to be there. Because in my mind it cheapened what I thought, no, knew he felt toward me. I felt as though I hadn't actually mattered as much since he could so easily change the affections of his heart."

"You didn't need to. You know he loved and still loves you."

"Yes, I know that. But knowing that and seeing the other merely negates the knowledge. I felt as though I had let him down that day when I said we couldn't be together forever, that I couldn't feel or taste his kiss because I was not meant to wear his ring, that we should rewind to the days before the metaphors."

"You thought you let him down? No, you did not. Your motivation was right. Your conscience was finally at peace."

"And his?"

"You did not let him down. Truth may sting. It's the innoculation that smarts initially but saves from an unbearable, deadly disease. And he knew she wasn't right, either. Don't you remember the consternation you read in his face? Don't you remember hearing his own struggle, hearing him say what he needed to do, to decide?"

"Yes. I remember that. Of course I remember that. But that conversation wasn't what changed things for the next few days, was it?"

"Partially. You didn't want him to be hurt. You didn't want her to be hurt. You didn't want to be hurt. You didn't want him to think you were hurt. So you lived in a vacuum until you couldn't breathe well. Surely you remember that."

"I do. I do remember those following days. I remember being torn between leaving altogether or intensifying our friendship. But that was decided for me. They said we couldn't be together. Of course I was worried that instead of me he would choose her. So I distanced myself so the sting wouldn't come so sharply. But did that hurt him? Did that drive him to her?"

"Do you know why this girl was difficult but the woman he has been sharing his life with for so long is not?"

"Again, yes, I know why. His wife now is good for him. He is good for her. Their weaknesses and strengths work in harmony. They inspire each other. I saw him glow after he had been with her, I didn't see the dark confusion across his face. Yes, it was still difficult at first, but I knew that he wasn't acting from any sort of loss I had caused. And yes, that 'women's intuition' - the name of which I despise, still - did not pull at that lever at the base of my throat like the girl did. I saw him grow, I saw her grow. I heard them together, saw they shared more than even he and I had shared and yet they differed in the right ways."

She laughs, remembering how similar he and she were then. She remembers joking they could never marry because they would rarely accomplish visions and goals they would be so busy talking and hem and hawing over decisions. She laughs at the memories.

Looking up from the goldenrod tiles, she remembers where she is, sitting in the tub of the bathroom. The knocks and inquiring voices wake her the rest of the way.

She emerges from the stuffy bathroom with a much desired smile in her mouth and eyes.