I found the ticket stub from the Big E Fair, one of the last events that Paul and I went to. It had fallen off the table; I thought it was just a receipt, but when I picked it up, I realized what it was. I suppose I should have just thrown in out, but I couldn't. It was one of the last memories we had.
It wasn't just the fair. That wasn't all that exciting, although it was nice to attend since I hadn't gotten to the fair for at least ten years (and now, I realize, I probably won't be back there again.) The weekend was fun, if somewhat painful. I mean actually painful – my hips were so sore from walking so much that I could barely move by that evening. When we left the fair, he drove me to Northhampton where we tried to book a room in one of the hotels in town. It was exorbitantly expensive, so we ended up in one of the chain hotels located a bit more on the outskirts.
We walked (ugh!) through the town, and found a place to eat after checking out nearly every restaurant on the main street. And it was nice – another different place, the type of place that we liked to try out. And although we didn't get much sleep that night, due to a rowdy group of college students in a block of rooms above us, it was still a memorable time. For me, at least.
I wonder – maybe if I had been the one to break up, maybe these memories wouldn't hurt so much. Maybe I'd be further along, and I wouldn't feel this pang when I saw things such as the sign for Assonet, MA, remembering how he laughed at me for pronouncing it ASS – oh – net instead of ah-SAHN-et. Maybe I would actually know and wouldn't have to continually remind myself that I am better off now, moving forward, looking towards a better life in another town, away from all these memories.
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