“What exactly are the rules to getting your stuff back after a break-up?” I asked.
“It depends on how the relationship ended and how valuable the left behind items are,” Audrey quickly responded.
“Would you give something back to an ex if you knew it was important to them?”
“Probably not,” Audrey chortled. “I have an entire CD collection from various exes. Of course, listening to them only reminds me of the associated ex, rendering most of them useless, but still, they are mine now.”
“I gave Daniel something I want back.”
“Well, you can’t get it back,” Audrey said definitively. She never liked Daniel. “He will think you are just contacting him so you can see him. It will look bad, it’ll make you look bad. You were only together 6 months. What does he have that’s so important?”
Audrey can always put things in neat order, easily separating logic of the head from longing of the heart. She is the kind of friend you call after the pain of a break-up has worn off and you are ready to take some responsibility, not the friend you call right after it ends who should only reinforce the fact that it was all his fault.
“He has several things,” I answered. “My favorite cookbook, my Diana Ross “best hits” CD….” I searched to make the list longer, to add weight to the endeavor, but the truth was there was only one thing I really wanted back from Daniel: the gold compass I gave him on Valentine’s Day.
We had been dating for only six weeks when the day my kind traditionally dubbed “Single’s Awareness Day” appeared on the calendar. Having met countless Valentine’s Days without a date, I found myself in unfamiliar territory, facing the fated day with a man I actually believed I had a future with. I wanted to give him something special, something that showed him I thought he could be forever.
But giving the compass meant much more – I was proving to myself that I could trust my heart’s direction once again, that despite a painful divorce ten years ago, and a series of heartbreaking disappointments since, I was still willing to risk being obliterated by love.
I bought the WWI gold compass at a garage sale when I was 12 and carried it as my good luck charm throughout my teens. While it didn’t spare me from the consuming drama and embarrassing moments of high school, it always gave me a sense of calm to feel it in my pocket in moments of stress. It was only about the size of a quarter, and I had memorized every dent and ding on the tarnished gold-plated lid. Inside, the beveled crystal glass was barely scratched and the blue needle pointed true. It made me feel safe. If it could guide a solider through war and make it all the way back to a garage sale in Phoenix, it could guide me through the treacherous halls of South High School.
I left it in a drawer throughout most of college, but found it again after I was married. I was sure to bring it in my hospital bag the day my daughter was born.
I gave it to Daniel during our romantic Valentine’s dinner, and as he unwrapped the pink tissue paper I explained that I didn’t need the compass anymore. After all, what could be luckier than finding the love of your life?
I imagined him showing it to me many years in the future, maybe pulling it out of a drawer on our anniversary or on a future Valentine’s Day, tenderly telling me that it had never been far from his sight since I first gave it to him.
“Believe me,” Audrey said sharply, “Nothing you left behind could be worth going back. Just file this away as a lesson learned for the next relationship: Don’t give away things you can’t afford to lose until you are sure he’s not going anywhere.”
I wanted to disagree with her, explain that I really had been sure, but knew it was a flimsy argument considering that he was on the other side of town sleeping with a woman named Barbara.
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