海角大神

She caught my eye during freshman orientation. I was clueless, shuffling around the student center by myself, reciting my Social Security number to anyone who asked.聽

鈥淲atch-Ova-Yah?鈥� I said.

She gave me a warm, Carolina smile: 鈥淲achovia.鈥� Then she handed me a free t-shirt. And against the advice of my dorm mates, I wore it around campus the next day.

In the blink of an eye it was Thanksgiving. I went back to New Jersey and sauntered about with my new 鈥淰isa check card,鈥� fearing the conversation I was about to have with my hometown bank. But my old gal understood. It was the 鈥�90鈥檚. She was happy I鈥檇 found someone who could give me everything she couldn鈥檛.

Wachovia and I dated exclusively all four years of college. At graduation, I briefly contemplated breaking it off. I was leaving for an internship in Washington. But hey, she had plans to be in Virginia.

After DC I lived in four different cities. I traveled to five continents. Once, I contacted her from a sweltering ATM vestibule in Papua New Guinea. I needed 600 kina. She made it happen.

A few years later, when I took a job in New York, she was still dutifully sending me letters from North Carolina. And she was a big deal now, often in the news: 鈥淪ecurities,鈥� 鈥淚nvestment Banking,鈥� 鈥淐apital Markets鈥� 鈥� things I鈥檇 heard about on CNBC, but didn鈥檛 fully understand. I was smitten.

One summer evening, I climbed out of a taxi in Midtown Manhattan. And there she was on the corner, every bit as radiant as the day we met. She had arrived. Finally I knew with certainty: She was The One.

鈥淲hat if I want to live in California someday?鈥� I said.

She just gave me that look: 鈥淏aby, if you wanna go to Cali, I鈥檓 already there.鈥�

For a few years she impressed folks in the Big Apple, one of those Wall Street gals with a hot southern accent. I鈥檇 even go to Miami on weekends and hear people talking about her. (I didn鈥檛 know it then, but that鈥檚 never a good sign.)

Needless to say, the winds shifted markedly in the fall of 2008. I thought if we just made it through the holidays then things would settle. But on New Year鈥檚 Eve she blind-sided me, told me she had become someone else.

A few combative weeks followed, until one chilly evening I opened her mail. Then I roared, 鈥淲ho is Wells Fargo!?鈥� She blamed it on the government, said she had no choice.

We couldn鈥檛 work things out. One year turned into two. She sent me letters about our checking account, asking me for money, but I could tell Fargo had written them.

I鈥檓 seeing someone else now, though legally she and I are still together. It鈥檚 time to sign the papers, and I haven鈥檛 talked to her in months. I鈥檒l be honest: It鈥檚 sort of hard to let go.

This Thanksgiving I鈥檒l be visiting my hometown. And maybe I鈥檒l drop in and see how my old bank is doing. She鈥檒l politely ask how things are with Wachovia, and I鈥檒l stare at the floor and tell her: We鈥檙e splitting up after 18 years. 鈥淪he鈥檚 out there somewhere,鈥� I鈥檒l say, 鈥減art of something much bigger than herself. I guess that鈥檚 what she always wanted.鈥�

And maybe my old bank will casually mention that she has free checking and no debit card fees 鈥� and that I鈥檓 always welcome back.

Ben Von Klemperer is a lawyer based in New York City. He鈥檚 working on a novel about Papua New Guinea.