As I am slowly gaining a handle on my life and am starting to regain those feelings that made me me – feelings of independence, competency at work, educated –I am more and more often regaining another feeling. One of an altogether unsettling nature.

I miss The Kid.

In college, when I was me –not the depressed mess I turned into after college—and he was him –again, the real him, not whom he turned into – we were happy. And I know that I have preprogrammed all of you to hate him immensely –and I do appreciate your loyalty –but at least believe that at one point in our lives, we were really good together. It’s kind of the reason why we lasted for six years.

As I am no longer participating in Mission: Living Happily to Spite The Kid and as I let go of that underlying negativity that shadowed me for so long, I can now acknowledge how he used to complement who I was. And whom I am turning into again. (Albeit older and oh so much, wiser.)

I am trying to convince myself that I miss having a someone on the good days – anyone — to share my mood and laughter and all those accompanying nauseatingly happy moments. But I never think of my current prospects. Out of nowhere, I will always think of The Kid and how much I wish he could join my day. How much I wish I could revert back to college, walk the five blocks to his black-hole of a college house, walk past his stoner roommates watching Family Guy, find him studying in his room, and climb onto his lap to exuberantly tell the most trivial details of my day, while he would patiently listen, amused not at my stories but at my animation.

I am hoping it’s just a phase.

It didn’t help that he was visiting our alma mater this past weekend. Having him four hours away was … distracting.

I had received invitations to join the reunion weekend. Baby Cakes was particularly persistent.

“Please come this weekend?”

“Just because I got you and Sweets in the divorce, doesn’t mean I will interfere on his visitation rights.”

“And now? Have you reconsidered about coming now?”

“… Two minutes later? No, I am still staying here. He is allowed his two weekends a year with you, you know this. I get you the rest of the time. And you know that we can’t be in the same city at the same time else the universe will explode. What are you thinking?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of like mixing exact equal parts of regular lemonade and pink lemonade.”

“Dude. No, it is nothing like that. I don’t even know what that means.”

“It’s exactly like that. You’re being dumb.”

Aware of my distraction, The Bestest Friend vocalized full-support to pull a crazy, if I wanted to, saying that we could drive the four hours and “keep a distance” – as if that justified the actions and that’s all that we would do. She was mostly kidding, knowing that I would never agree to the road trip, but as Bestest Friends are obligated to do, she needed to voice the option … just in case. Besides, the “keeping a distance” would not go well; if she and I had but one cocktail, we would be the least subtle spies in the history of stalking missions, finding ourselves HILARIOUS while we’d hide in the corner of the bar, overlooking our prey and more than likely throwing ice cubes in their general direction. Not prone to discovery in the least. And it would have been hilarious … a truly awesome expedition … if it was someone else’s life. For my life? My crazy functionality is best kept at a minimum.

The Kid and I did discuss my participation of the weekend, with his opinion being, “It’s not that I don’t want to see you, because I really do, it’s just that you would completely overwhelm the weekend.” Which is true. A drunken weekend with beer/friends/football is not the most ideal of situations for any first-time-seeing-the-ex-again situation.

And yet, without any intention of entertaining the idea, I still thought about it … and him.

As he was on my mind, I was on his. The first night he texted, “So this is what fun is.” Which hurt my heart a bit. I don’t wish him misery –ok, yes, for a while I TOTALLY wanted him miserable—but not lately, and not the kind that he’s experienced with all things Law-School related – the culture, the people, the classes. I hate that he has had so much unhappiness during this course of his life that he needed a stupid undergrad reunion weekend to remember fun.

We talked each day that he was in town. Partially because the town is reminiscent of our relationship but partially because he was happier there. His tone was even different. He was the one that I loved in college. He was happy. And flirty. And him again. It’s so rare that I see him and that side.

And with me turning back into me, the blow of talking to him still has me a bit winded.