The new gas station was buzzing. I reversed quickly and backed into an open pump until I fit safely under the roof. It was the first rainy day of the season.
I felt the cold air through my sweatshirt as I stepped out. I had gone running and my damp undershirt felt even colder.
I shut the door and sidled up to the pump. That was when I noticed the couple. They stood outside their car in a tight, silent embrace as the rain fell steadily.
The man’s face was buried deep in her neck, which was wrapped in a colorful, knitted scarf. Unlike her, he wore a plain blue t-shirt and shorts. He appeared underdressed as if he hurriedly left the house to be near her a moment longer.
Maybe, like most of us living in LA, he hadn’t believed in the rainy forecast.
As I watched the numbers tick higher on the screen, I could see the couple finally begin to separate. He kissed her a dozen times on the neck before letting her go reluctantly. She smiled, her neck twisted up in the air, as she clung to him for support. Even while she waited for him to return from the convenience store her smile remained.
I watched curiously at first. Then, slowly, I grew jealous. They were not young, but they were still lovers.
I placed the pump onto the cradle and drove away, wondering what brought them together in the tedious act of filling the car with gas.
Was she on her way to work and he was dropping her off? Was this the first time they stepped out that day after spending the night together? Would he count the hours before she returned from work? Would she wait for him to call and then pretend to be upset for disturbing her at the office?
I couldn’t get this middle-aged couple out of my head.
I recalled a time when my wife and I embraced so tightly that the world disappeared around us. All we wanted was to feel our skin touching. It was the kind of love that wanted more, the more we were given.
It didn’t make sense. It was a mad love.
We didn’t belong anywhere else when we were together. Everywhere we walked we held each other tightly like two magnets drawn to each other. Once stuck we were inseparable.
We held hands in the car. At restaurants we couldn’t bear to sit across from one another. The table, the plates, the silverware were all barriers. We always sat side by side. If we couldn’t, then we left.
Going to the bathroom was the most difficult. We always looked back to find the other still watching.
We smiled everywhere we went and the world smiled with us. We were young. We were hopeful.
We were lovers.
Where was this jealousy coming from? Would I envy them if they had been younger? We were middle-aged. We weren’t supposed to feel that kind of love anymore. Those feelings should have faded. Who had the time to hold each other like nothing else mattered?
I needed an excuse for the sting in my eyes. As much as I had refused to believe that it would happen in my relationship, I eventually lost the feeling of breathlessness around my partner.
Maybe the couple had just received incredible news, like a pregnancy, or closing on a new house. Even a near death experience would have been enough for me. Anything other than simply being in love I could stomach.
They were careless. They were irresponsible. It was infuriating.
I came up with several more excuses.
They probably don’t have kids, I thought. Maybe they weren’t even married. Or better yet, they were having an affair. That made more sense. They were in the beginning stages of an affair. New love makes us do the unthinkable, for better or worse.
I could justify it however I wanted, but I still felt bad. My love had gone sane. It had become muted, even dull sometimes. It had become settled and expected.
It didn’t seem fair.
Why does love go from feeling like you can’t breathe without it to waking up still laying on your own side of the bed?
Maybe that intensity is unsustainable. Even the biggest fires eventually die. Maybe it’s a hormonal change. Our body constantly ages. Our hair falls out. We get wrinkles and sunspots. We can’t run as fast or lift as much. Why should we expect love to stay the same?
Love must necessarily age and change like everything else in this world.
If we’ve been with the same person long enough we’ve experienced it. I get it. Passion fades over time.
Yet, like old age, who ever said that we need to accept it without a fight?
We look online and see countless ads for products that help us look younger, feel younger and act younger. It’s inevitable that we grow old, but no one said we need to surrender to it.
Can we bring back the madness in our love, as well?
Maybe we can’t revive it to the point where it consumes every waking moment, but long enough that we forget everything around us, where nothing separates us, where we can’t take our eyes and hands off each other.
It is possible to feel the eternity of a moment once again, where time stops and nothing else matters. We can feel young and foolish again.
We don’t have to let that blazing fire die. We can fuel it until it burns feverishly again. As long as we believe, we can.
It is in believing that it becomes possible. It is in removing the fear of being foolish that we become young lovers again.
I couldn’t help smiling when I got home. Oddly, it felt similar to the one I’d seen on the couple.
My wife noticed it. She asked if I had a good run. I pulled her close and held her tightly for a long moment. Then I kissed her and whispered in her ear, “It was amazing.” She smiled back.
For a moment we felt like young lovers one more time.