That Hurt Never Heals

Eleven years ago I fell in love with my boss.
She blew us away in her interview: lively and lovely, energetic and athletic, kind and compassionate.
We all knew she was the one,
The one question (only I had) was
Why was she still a secretary at her last job?
We were both thirty three.

I was a good worker, better by far than the others without really trying.
She thanked me one day, and I started to feel we were special together.
I remember she wore a little white dress one summer day, her tan and fine
And I was gone.

She organized a bowling trip for us
And brought her ten year old daughter with.
What a kid, mature beyond her years, talked with Mom like they were equals.
And I was further gone, beyond repair.

When she confided in me (she could trust me) that
She was unsafe at home
With her husband
And his guns
I knew what I had to do.
Bought a baseball bat one night after she whispered into the phone, "I'm scared."
And was gonna make mayhem for her.
Driving past their house in South Portland, I was insane with anger
And frightened.

She decided to move out of her abusive home
And asked me (ME) to help her pack and transfer the stuff to an apartment just down the street.
She could have asked anyone at work, there were other males
But I was the one.

The night she moved in to the new place I gave her one of my Mom's prints
Of the Souhegan River, where I played as a boy back in Amherst.
She cried.
With delight?

No.

That next day I got an email from her:
"No more contact with you, Joe."
Devastation, confusion, pain, and heartsick love.
She could have asked anyone, but chose me.

I quit. Got rehired. Got fired.
Disaster.

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I see her now and again, though not for months now.
And know
I'd do it again in a heartbeat.