One dollar and fifty one cents.

Shortly before 4 o'clock this evening, John asked me if I wanted to stroll with him to run some local errands.  

"I need to make a deposit. We need to close our joint account and we need some half and half," he mentioned.  I was sitting at the kitchen table and before I could come up with a reason why I wouldn't want to go, I agreed.  

The three-block stroll was uneventful and where we would normally stroll, hand in hand, John and I were walking with quite a gap in between us.  And even though we were talking casually, there were times when I would allow my mind to wander when I should have been listening to whatever it was he was going on about.  I was thinking about the reality that closing our joint bank account would signify.  

It was really over.  

I guess there was a part of me that was trying not to focus on the breakup.  But then, there was that part of me that allowed it to consume every thought in my mind.  I guess while I knew that we were ending our relationship, I didn't really want to believe it.  

There weren't too many people in the Wells Fargo bank, which I suppose was a good thing.  I tried not to focus on the cheery-faced tellers and for an instant thought about keeping my sunglasses on until we were finish with our business.  Fortunately, we wouldn't be long.  John set about making his deposit, leaving me to linger until another bank manager showed up to take care of me. 

"Was there a problem with the account?"  He asked while punching on his keyboard.  I'm sure this wasn't the first time he has had to close an account behind a couple who were calling it quits.  It didn't matter really.  After closing the account, he informed me that we had a remaining balance of: 

One dollar and fifty one cents.  

"That's done!"  John said as soon as we'd left the bank and started crossing the shopping center and headed towards Trader Joe's. 

"Yep," I agreed.  "Something that should have never been done to begin with." 

And just like that, I was over it.