I'm Major Jackson and this is the slowdown.

I'm Major Jackson and this is the slowdown. My friend handed me a basket of bread across the restaurant table.

We hadn't seen each other in a year.

I was thrilled to be in her company again.

Being a decade and a half older, she was more like a big sister.

A successful installation artist whose intellect and soulful spirit I cherished.

I reached for slices of

Vakachia and noticed a sullen look on her face. She seemed on the brink of

tears. I gently inquired. She broke and with a quivering voice said I'm turning 50 and I am so

alone.

It was a declaration that stilled my body and paused my appetite.

A glass of red in hand, she wiped her eyes and told me about her year with a philosophy professor. He dictated her clothes, commanded daily meals, planned their nightly entertainment, and trips overseas.

There wasn't room for negotiations.

His disapproval of her art projects sent her to the sofa for days, depressed and unworthy.

One phone call from him, released her from a state of misery.

The world reflected through his eyes was brighter.

On one hand she said, it was freeing not to have to think about Quotidian matters.

But when she narrated her dilemma out loud to her friends, he sounded like a monster.

They convinced her to abandon the relationship.

And here she was, six months later with me in a restaurant, full of remorse.

I felt her pain, having experienced similar regrets and dilemmas, I once entered into a relationship

that went longer than it should. I did not want to give up, as I felt previous partners had done with me.

...