by Jacqulyn Martin

Created on: January 26, 2007   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

Our house still has that smell. Excuse me, MY house. You know the one. It's kind of like pity and regrets all rolled into one, but somehow it's a little more heartbreaking than that. All the windows are open and the ceiling fans are on, but it just won't leave, like it's not done yet, like there's still some hope left in here, like it's not quite dark and foggy enough. When Maya left, everything changed. And I know that's normal, I know everything is supposed to change, but I don't think it's supposed to happen like this.

Maya and I met about five years ago. Actually, Maya met me. I wasn't looking for anything, I was just enjoying my poppy seed bagel and grande mocha latte, staying out of everyone's way, minding my own business, and nothing has gone right for me since. She plopped herself down at my table and started talking to me like we were old friends, like I owed her something. The world has always revolved around Maya, and she wouldn't have it any other way. She's a whirlwind of a person. I know that sounds weird, but she is. I don't know how else to say it.
Maya is the kind of girl your mother warns you about. Not because of the way she looks or because of her reputation, but because of the power she has over you. She's the kind of girl who uses you completely and totally and you have no idea it's happening. I've talked to her about this before. She says she doesn't know she uses people. I don't think I believe her though. How can you NOT know? She uses me for what she thinks she can gain from me and then she's gone until she needs me again for whatever, of course.
She's done this before. I'll come home and there'll be a sappy clich note saying something about bad timing and how there's still a lot she hasn't experienced. Then she'll compliment me for a sentence or two and that'll be all. Until whomever it was she needed to experience decided they'd rather experience someone else. Then she comes back. She always comes back. I always mean to change the locks. Not that it would matter, she'd get in if she really wanted to. Maybe I should do it just to see how badly she wants to get back in. But I'm sure that wouldn't change anything. She'd leave again.
She tells me she's too much of a "free spirit" to be "caged" anywhere. Jesus Maya, you're not a freakin bird. Well, maybe a homing pigeon since you always seem to come back here. She told me once that her mother named her Maya because it means "divine creative force in everything" and she wanted her daughter to lead her own life and never be trapped in anything. I wonder sometimes if her mother chose the name because she had a feeling it would fit so well, or if Maya alters her life to make sure she lives up to her name. Then I realize I don't care about Maya's mother, Maya's name, or Maya's life, I just want to be how I was before that damn bagel.
It feels good to say I don't care about Maya, but who am I kidding really? Maya is my whole life. She's eclectic, she's forgetful, and she's selfish, but I've never loved anyone as much as I love her. She keeps my boring life interesting, and I think I'd do just about anything to see her walk back in the door. And I know she will. She always has before. But I just can't keep letting her come and go all the time. It's killing me. Slowly but surely it's killing me. But hey, that's Maya, and that's who I love.

Learn more about this author, Jacqulyn Martin.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.