ERNIE AND ERNESTINA: Searching

Book Two, Chapter 170: Like a Soft Summer Breeze

My final session with Jene, who’s been my therapist in a cognitive-behavior study I’ve participated in, is coming to an end.

“Partings are hard for me,” I say, after we hug. And I guess this is obvious because parting from Ernie is what brought me here.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow,” Jene intones.

What did Jene and I talk about all these weeks? Ernie, of course. He thinks Ernie may have overshadowed me. How could he not have? I both wanted his sun and wanted his shade.

Once, after the Corvette Johnny interlude — that period when I fell in love with a young man I knew from long ago — and Ernie and I had a huge argument over my behavior, I wrote Ernie a note: I’d rather be your moon than anyone else’s sun.

Spoken like a true co-dependent, I realize now. And I smile. I’ve come a long way.

I go out for a walk and feel a soft summer breeze on the nape of my neck. It feels like a kiss. Like Ernie’s kiss. He liked to kiss me there, on the nape of my neck.

Now, I’d tell Ernie this: How sweet are your kisses, like a soft summer breeze.