I intimated to the woefully unattractive private investigator that I would be very grateful if he could get me a current picture of the woman my ex lover was involved with. There were many pictures of her on
the internet but it was always the same one. I found this suspect. The
photo seemed dated, posed and anything natural had been retouched out.
But still I needed to know what made her so irresistible? Why did Will
prefer her to me? Her picture gave me no clues, surely a current
photograph would tell me what I needed to know. The PI was between
surveillance jobs and agreed to go to the woman’s office. It had been
perfectly easy to find out where she worked just not what she looked
like now. The PI noticed his mark the minute he got into the elevator.
Since he didn’t have to worry about getting burned, he asked her
directly “Are you Doc Ann?” She replied that she was. As she exited the
elevator he snapped a picture of her with his camera phone and sent it
to me. The image was blurry but I thought she looked mannish and as if
she needed a touch up to her brick colored hair that was clipped up on
the top of her head. She carried a big cup of something, diet soda I
suspected as she looked fleshy. Her clothing had that same decades old
quality that her internet photo had. Unfortunately the detective had
given me her photo but he hadn’t given me the real evidence I had been
seeking, the proof of her being worthy of the love I had wanted. I
found that evidence for myself some months later. I came upon a picture
of the two of them. Will looked intoxicated and sleepy with love and
she looked lovely. Dang it. She appeared really lovely and cool and
someone I'd want to be friends with. The feeling I got when looking at
the picture was that finally Will was well cared for, protected and
happy. I loved him enough to let his happiness stand and to be grateful
that he had found a heart-home with this woman. It was all the evidence
I needed to truly let him go.

The P.I. procuring the shot of my lover’s girlfriend wasn’t the first time that I had assistance in the
gathering of the evidence of love. Instead of a picture, a friend had
stolen love letters. That story started over twenty years ago with a
slap across my face, given to me by my ex boyfriend Aaron. We had been
sitting on a bus bench when he had struck me. While I certainly do not
advocate violence and never think it is appropriate to hit a woman, I
had provoked it. Aaron and I had been going out for a little less than
a year when I dumped him for his off-beat friend Dayton. Aaron and I
continued to be friends and even worked in the same on-campus pub. We
pretended we were grown-ups and very mature. Then Aaron had the nerve
to get a younger, cuter girlfriend named Penny. One afternoon after
work, for some unknown reason, I decided to go with Aaron to check out
his new apartment. It would be his new place for his new relationship.
I couldn’t have been nastier, pushing every button Aaron had and doing
it deliberately.

Aaron, Penny and I were all not tall. Aaron was taller than me, so it was never an issue for me but it was a sore spot
for Aaron. I used the word “ little “ about 70 times in our
conversation at the apartment. By the time we were sitting on the bus
bench, waiting for my bus, I had peaked with mean. With each diminutive
slur I used, Aaron got angrier until finally exploding and slapping me.
I didn’t cry. I simply stopped speaking and then got on the bus without
looking back at Aaron.

The next day in the student lounge I handed Aaron a plain paper bag of everything he had given me except for
the record albums. There was no way I was giving back Prince’s 1999
album- I wasn’t crazy! As his and Penny’s relationship grew brighter
and happier, our relationship dimmed. We pretended to be friends and
over it but we weren’t by a long shot.

When Penny and Aaron decided to get married, I couldn’t be happier for them. Actually yes I
could have been a lot happier, I wasn’t happy for them at all. Their
marriage irritated the hell out of me but I put on a good show of
wishing them well. I even sent my good friend Lael to the bachelor
party. She had been working delivering singing telegrams dressed as a
French maid. I didn’t think it was at all inappropriate to send her to
my ex’s bachelor party. Lael was supposed to get information about all
the proceedings as if she was a modern day Mata Hari.

Once they were married, Penny and Aaron moved into a big black house. Since
they were both still students and money was tight, they rented rooms to
some of their friends. My friend Derek was one of the roomies at the
Black house and would tell me stories of what went on there. I scorned
the party house and all who partied there except for Derek. One
afternoon Derek mentioned coming across a box of papers: the letters
Aaron had written me that I had returned in spite. I begged Derek to
steal my letters and return them to me. I now knew, that the chances
that others would write me such beautiful and funny love letters were
small. Derek committed the caper with aplomb and I had my love letters
back.

Along with my letters was a copy of a poem that Aaron written. One of the lines of the poem referenced a “ kitten.” I was certain that it was a poem about Penny. I laughed at how silly Aaron
had become. Later I would learn that the poem really was about his cat.
Also among the papers was a letter that Aaron had written after we had
broken up. It full of swearing and emotion and spoke about how much of
a bitch I was. The funny thing about this letter was that there were
four versions of it, each version a little neater than the one before
but with the same exact wording. Aaron was too kind to ever send such a
letter. He had been horrified by his slap and would never intentionally
hurt anyone.

Aaron noticed the missing box pretty early on but never said anything. I guess he figured that most of it really was my
property. I still have those letters, the evidence of our young love. I
have come to the conclusion that some love you can never have back and
some hearts are  never yours to steal.