Do You Wanna Come Back? It's All Right

It used to be the dogs--briefly our dogs, adopted together, canine children to replace the little versions of ourselves we were never going to have--barking. For the first few weeks after my Virgo left, I'd be sitting in the house alone, the dogs would bark because they heard something or someone outside, and I'd expect my Virgo to walk through the door.

Then it was the cars. I walk almost every night, and a few times over the past few years while I was out walking, my Virgo came home and pulled up next to me or just happened to be driving up as I was walking towards the house, and I can't tell you how many times I've seen headlights in the distance and hoped to myself while simultaneously pretending not to hope to myself that it was him. 

Now it's the car keys. You know the little beep some cars make when someone hits the lock button on a car key or key fob? It's that. My Virgo's car key makes that noise. It's how I used to know he was home from work or some other place on the rare occasion he was out without me. I'd be sitting at the table or be upstairs in our room, I'd hear the beep, and I'd know he was home. So now? Every time I hear someone's car key or key fob beep and Jesus Christ do a lot of people have car keys or key fobs that beep, how did I never notice that until after my Virgo moved out?, I do the same thing I did (do) when I'm out walking and see a car from afar. I become conscious of the beep (headlights), think of my Virgo, dismiss the thought because obviously my Virgo isn't about to come waltzing through the door, and hope so secretly that I'm not even admitting it to myself that my Virgo is about to come waltzing through the door. 

(I know it sounds completely contradictory that I'm not hoping and secretly hoping at the same time and totally impossible that I can hope something so secretly that I'm not even admitting it to myself, but I know some of you have been there, and for those of you who haven't, lucky bastards that you are, you'll just have to trust me on this.)

You know the end of the movie Singles when Linda shows up at Steve's door? You know what? For those of you who haven't seen it, let's take fifty-seven seconds to watch what I'm not expecting but secretly hoping for every time I see a headlight or hear a noise. 

Poor pathetic Kelly, you're probably thinking, thinking her Virgo might come back. (Or maybe not. I've had some pretty vocal not fans over the years who are probably thinking much worse things than that. I know of at least one person who's surely thrilled that this vieja y sucia is now alone.) 

But I'm not. I'm not thinking, I'm hoping. I'm hoping while simultaneously pretending to myself not to hope for it at all. 

What are the stages of grief? Shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance? 

I'm obviously hell and gone from the last one.