I have a feeling this is going to be a long post, so if you need to pee, make a sandwich or check your email - I would do so now. Take your time, because some activities don't lend themselves to multi-tasking. Even though this was going to be a long posting to begin with, it was turning into War and Peace only without the redeeming literary merit. I've split it up, largely because I don't have enough readers to piss off in that way. Check back later...
Love,
Bambi
It's Friday night and I'm at home, wearing a fuzzy bathrobe, drinking prune juice and writing a grocery list. I am a rock star. Prune juice by the way is an offense to humanity. Constipation is bad enough, but prune juice is mother nature's special way of saying she hates you.
Despite enjoying a Friday night that clearly signals I'm one step away from hoarding cats, I'm in a really good mood. Downright...optimistic? Optimism is such a rare vibe for me that I barely know how to use it in a sentence. I would even go so far as to say feeling happy, which should have been a warning sign.
The last few weeks had been rather concerning. I'm really only motivated when I'm angry, and various circumstances had me eight different kinds of pissed. I needed more money, more freedom, more accomplishments and more shoes. Don't think that list is in actual order of priority either.
Suddenly galvanized I'd applied for as many part-time jobs I could find that would remotely fit around my work schedule, and started going after freelance writing contracts regardless of whether I met the requirements.
(More than 90% of the time I did not meet the requirements. Most anybody looking for a writer nowadays wants to see an online portfolio - or any kind of portfolio. It's not really like I could direct people to this blog, because editors are looking to hire writers and not mental patients.)
(It's frustrating, because it's not like I've never written anything professional before. At one time I had a portfolio, but it went up in flames. Literally. When fleeing my rather abusive ex I had to pack so he didn't notice I was packing, as he always said I was too stupid to leave and if I did I'd be living in a cardboard box and no other man will ever want me. God knows for once I didn't want him thinking otherwise. I took my clothes, left everything else but forgot my goddamned portfolio. He burned it in the backyard fire pit. Postage is expensive.)
Suddenly deciding to add extra work hours to my week and risking rejection by any number of editors seemed like efforts that could be short-lived. If I'm suddenly not angry at the universe, I might wake up one day and wonder what in the hell I'm doing. This was concerning.
Perhaps even more concerning were the complicated feelings I'd been having since realizing Alex may have a woman in his life. Not many women. One woman. I would think about the possibility and within the space of 30 seconds feel so sad, so scared it could be true and that it is exactly what I think it is.
Then completely at odds with all of this I'd feel that the most important thing is if he's happy. I just want him to be happy.
I know, right?
What in the fuck was that about? I could think of only two possibilities why I would whiplash from grief over losing something I hadn't confirmed I'd lost yet, and something I had no idea I ever had to begin with, to feelings that demonstrated...maturity.
It was either a dawning realization that my love and affection for him was so absolute I'd sooner let him go than see him hurt. Or I had a brain tumor.
A brain tumor was not entirely outside the realm of possibility. I know that a brain tumor could cause changes in personality or mood, and can often affect balance and the ability to walk.
I had tripped getting out of the car the other day and at the time I attributed this to my shoe falling off but perhaps I was wrong. How I could possibly want Alex to be so happy knowing I would be so miserable if it wasn't a tumour the size of a watermelon?
Either option was going to be trouble, so when Alex tried to reach me on MSN the first time last week I was only mildly pleased. It was unfortunate I wasn't around to answer, but I wasn't too disappointed.
Any communication we'd had in the last few weeks had been weird and disconcerting for me anyway, so it was nice to have heard from him but a bit of a relief to not have to deal with how he'd been acting recently.
It's been three years since we've met, so we're way past the point of formalities. All of his recent communications however had sounded like he was being held at gunpoint by Miss Manners and forced to type under duress.
For example, I sent him a text message to wish him a happy birthday. I insulted his advanced age as I'm wont to do and included an inside joke we've shared for quite a while.
A day later I got back this: Thank you very much for the birthday wishes. Hope you're well and have a great day!
See?
Exchanging messages with him had been a little like fishing for compliments from an automated phone directory so I was happy he had said hello, but not fully trusting he was back to normal.
Then I missed him again. The second time in as many days he's tried to reach me, which was twice more than I'd heard from him all summer. I got the feeling he wasn't just momentarily at the computer and bored, but that he was actually trying to get a hold of me.
Then I did a happy dance.
Maybe I had been wrong, and this Shelley person he'd said he was so lucky to have in his life was simply a friend and I had over-reacted. I am the same person who attributed a very grown-up sense of caring for another person to a brain tumor so it's not as if there isn't precedent.
It may just be that I have an unfortunate sensitivity ever since grade one when a class-mate named Shelley told everybody I was peeking at her in the bathroom just because my head stuck over the top. I was not peaking at her, but I was at least a foot taller than the bathroom stall dividers at my elementary school and I've hated Shelleys ever since.
Perhaps there had been something going on but the shenanigans were now over and I wouldn't have to dwell on it for another minute.
The same day I'd heard back from a website willing to let me try out for a contract writer position, and I knew I could nail the articles I'd been assigned.
This is how I'm happy drinking prune juice on a Friday night. When out of the blue I get a text message from Alex I'm quite near exultant.
He's apparently escaped out from under Miss Manners because the first message he sends me is a question.
"Why can't you be here?"
Thank. God. He's back!
I ask him why he can't be here, and then I tell him he should be careful what he wishes for.
"Really?? Tell me. Tell me. When??"
I told him I'll be out there in February for work, so he's to book the month off.
"Done."
Then I told him I may be moving into his basement if I don't find a better job out here so make sure there's closet space.
"Done. Holy crap that would be amazing - the good times to be had."
I told him I may have to move to the next town over because neither of us would get any work done and then I started teasing him about...something. I can't even remember what I started texting because...
"I seem to have a girlfriend. I hope you're not mad."
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I don't really know why it hit me so hard. All of a sudden my head and my body were in two very different climates. Everything below my neck - numbing cold. Everything above - in flames.
I'm thinking it was seeing that word, in literal black and white. Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Not friend. Not FWB. Not some girl I'm kind of seeing. Girlfriend.
When I met him it had been seven years since he'd had a girlfriend, and now it was three years after that. His last relationship lasted six years, and that ex is his room-mate. When he commits to somebody it's real. This girl must be amazing. Or a succubus.
It's been a very long time since any body's called me his girlfriend, but that's because nobody wants to date me. Alex is different.
Every girl he's slept with wants to date him...except for maybe his teacher. And his step-mother's sister.
(To his credit he does kind of regret that one because holiday dinners at his father's house are now just awkward. When he told me how that had come about I said I would pay admission to be there the next time his family carved a turkey. He said I'd get the show for free, because he'd just want to have me there.)
Girlfriend. I had thought...I was sure...I was wrong. Girlfriend.
Now I felt like a complete ass which might explain why my face was spontaneously combusting. How could he let me say all that stuff about going to visit? How could he start off so flirty...so normal??
And what did he mean by asking me if I'm mad? That means he thinks I could have reason to be. Which means that if I had reason to be mad, I had reason to think there was something really there.
Every one of my friends acts like they're humouring me if I talk about him, like I'm goddamned Big Bird going on about Mr. Snuffleupagus again but what if I was never crazy? What if there was really something there and now there's...a girlfriend.
I told him I couldn't be mad if he was happy - surprisingly true. Then I said I had to admit to being a little jealous.
(And by "little" read: if Shelley has a bunny she best be placing that critter into the Witness Protection program because I really need to boil something.)
(That's not true. I could never harm something furry, but if she has a goldfish or a lizard or something it should watch its back.)
Alex said he didn't want me to be jealous because that's bad. I told him it is what it is, but if she messes with him I will come over there. Also true.
Then I waited.
I knew what was coming, and I braced for it. I didn't know whether he would start with the how he just wants me to be happy too because I'm such a great girl approach or whether he would be less subtle and just tell me that even though it's been fun, we probably can't talk any more.
Then he did neither.
And now I am having the worst time trying to get over what he did do.
No comments:
Post a Comment