I had an interesting moment this week. It involved a former lover from days long
gone in this old brain. We met in high
school in Germany and somehow reconnected locally. She lived outside of San Francisco so off I
went to visit her. Being a succulent I
wanted more than just a visit. I wanted
her. It was always “her.” I spent the night, acted submissively coy the
next morning and we got it on. As in
HELLO HOW ARE YOU? I’M DOING GREAT,
THANK YOU. AND YOU? ARE YOU DOING GREAT NOW TOO? Now bound by the act of romantic swepticism*
I planned on seeing her frequently. And
I did. I was removed from my marriage
barely 5 months and here I am, engaged in a serious, committed, I’m yours
relationship. Like writing for
publication I threw everything I had in her direction. I said all the right things, I did all the
right things. I talked, I listened, I
kissed, I laughed, I held her hand and I just did it. Like you’re supposed to, right? Don’t you want to keep moving forward? Isn’t that the natural process? Finding your soul mate #32 so soon after soul
mate #31 (a couple months earlier) and after the main soul mate #30?
Don’t you just jump up off the ground and get back up on the
horse? That’s the natural evolution of
things. Being in a relationship at all
costs. Not realizing for a moment how
insane you are because you’ve never stood still for a freaking moment to assess
the damage that the marriage dissolution had caused. The mental concussion that blanked out your
entire reality when it all came crashing down.
Not for a moment. Just act out of
that fucked up weird script that people always seem to have for all the wrong
reasons and all the wrong times. Yes,
that’s what you do. My broken sword,
taped together with spit, crusting flesh, arteries from my heart wrapped around
it, swinging wildly from the heavens trying to wield happenstance into
romance. Just like that, everything is
in balance. From my perspective. I had no idea what I was to her because the
cams, the springs, gears, levers, clutches, luminous moon dials in my head were
oscillating so loudly at my good fortune that I failed to hear myself through
her ears. Why I may have been the real
thing. I may have been that man who
actually feels and responds and is good and is kind. I was doing what I thought I had to do. To save myself again, with an external force
that could heal my internal nature. By a
woman again. Wah wah mama, I am a good
boy after all.
The simple truth is I did like her, I liked her a lot. But that’s my nature, I’m a kind, loving and
caring person when all the crap is stripped off of my shield. She was genuine, loving and really took to me
in a big way. She was generous with her
affection and showered me with daily confirmations as such. It was very sweet. In fact she liked me so much she wanted us to
move in together and plan a life far beyond what I was capable of imagining. UHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Mind lock, doors slamming shut, bomb shelters
opening for that brief second before the fatal white flash takes everybody
out. Jesus, we had pet names for each
other. Why oh why did she have to fuck
it up with that? Of all things, moving
in together and stay together? Doesn’t
she know who I am? You just dream of
that stuff, it doesnt' really happen.
Especially with guys like me. We
don’t last in that world. We’re
dreamers, we’ve woven our life around fantasies of enduring love because we’ve
never felt a moment of it. When the full
fury of that light finds us, we’re blinded by fear of complete and total
exposure. W.e. d.o.n.t. k.n.o.w. t.h.a.t.
w.e.’r.e. w.o.r.t.h. i.t. That little
trail that leads to my heart threatened to become a highway of daily
adulation. What do I do when I get to
the last page of the script? What do I
say then? Who am I after that last page
is written? Play over, fini, the end, my
name isn’t even on the credits. I’m
nobody when that true luster of love melts away the years of dedicated masking
I’ve created. I’m stuck at that number 3
again, me, myself and I. Add her and its
4 and that may be what tips the scale into balance Chris.
I can’t know that though.
I’m not ready, I wasn’t ready and I had to tell her. Mustering the bravery of a mouse decorated in
the Red Knight’s armor, I called her on the phone to tell her that it’s
over. It’s over over the phone. Didn’t even have the strength to do it face
to face. I’m not saying it was a bad
thing to do, I just didn’t have the capacity to know I had the mettle to meet
her and tell her. It was how it was
done. Just how it was just done. Cowardly and awkwardly, void of any coyness
or warmth. I was a prick and I broke her
heart. I could barely hear her through
the sobs. I could feel the layers of the
warhorse blanketing my heart with more fabric of distance, more threads of
guilt and shame. It was an awful moment
and I made it so horrible that I could never bring myself to come back from
it. In the end it wouldn’t stop me from
claiming soul mate #33 at any future date because that’s just who I was.
I have to interject that this stuff is hard to write. I’m claiming myself today and I have to own
all of who I was and work with it now. I
can’t run from difficulty and I can’t create rainbows out of feelings or moods. I can create them with action. My words today are the actions that are
allowing me to build a bridge to myself, stripped of all the childhood trauma
and drama that dogged me for centuries.
So after 20+ years I actually talked to her the other
day. I had searched for her many times
for reasons quixotic but failed to find a trace. I felt it was my duty to call in and check on
her to see how she was. Really I just
missed her and wanted to know if she was happy and to be able to check
another black mark off of my journal of misdeeds. But I did find her and we talked on the
phone. I wasn’t sure what to say other
than the normal sounds you would make after such a long distance between two
people. She told me she had had a kid, “it’s
probably yours, ha ha ha” and on and on and WAIT, WHAT? I laughed that off and continued the
conversation and we mildly ended the call on a wee bit of awkwardness. I mean what do you say? I realized the age of her son and that she
didn’t give me any of the math of her marriage and divorce. Not completely healed here and still swimming
through seas of doubt and fear I didn’t know what to think. Holy shit, did I completely forget her sense
of humor or was she just getting back at me.
You see, not completely healed. First
thought, me. I will end this now and say
that he is not my kid, she sent me the math later.
I did look him up though on Facebook and he is a good looking young
man. You see I am caring.
1.
I’m grateful that I’m not running from my fears
as freely today as I have so many times in the past.
2.
I’m grateful that I got to touch bases with her
and that I found out she is happy.
3.
I’m grateful that I am not searching for soul
mate #57 (or whatever number I’m up to now).
*swepticism - the act of being a dumbass and swept away in another romantic adventure.
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