I sit here on my wooden desk, with a bowl of soup, tea and my Buckley's; things that repair the body, about to get started on repairing my heart. Ignoring the antecedent crumbs that'd fallen in between the missing letters my fingers had memorized on the keys of my keyboard - breathless (the way it was before).
I ring my hands neurotically, sitting, thinking about what happened, and whether or not to actually post this; partly on account of the fact that I'd lectured myself to stop publically documenting my humiliation, and stop hiding behind a subterfuge that would backfire on me later. But I promised, and I need to let it out and come to terms with what happened; to keep a reminder somewhere of the pain I suffered and what not to do in order to avoid this from happening again.
"You know what? I don't want to ever fucking talk to you again. Fuck you. Fuck off." Those were the last words I heard before a click and the silence that followed. I actually stared dumbfounded at my phone, with a look I'm sure I hadn't experienced in the last 9 months. And then I called back.
Once he picked up, we were all ready to begin the scene that we knew had been written for us six months ago.
I don't want to record everything that was said; it isn't necessary. I'm ashamed to say that I got hysterical, wept, clutched my bedsheets, criticized his ingratitude and laid out the inventory of how lucky he was and all I'd done for him. He, as usual, attacked my entire way of life, my temper, my experiences, saying he couldn't be grateful for something he found meaningless and contemptible - among other cruel and pointless things.
And I played the game he wanted me to play with him, but by my rules. I know it's cynical but I have to do it because it's like he doesn't listen, like he's already decided what I should be saying. When things like this happen, I try to tell him that I don't want to talk about it, but like most men, he doesn't hear, and my pleads fall upon deaf ears. He thinks he can find my feelings like an x-ray machine.
It is occasionally possible, just for brief moments, for me to be completly apart from my feelings. This is what made it possible for me to tolerate the conversation. I realize that it was necessary and a part of what I had to do to detach myself from him, in increments, to hate him, until I got to the point where I could hang up.
Needless to say, the sight of myself in the mirror after that conversation was the most painful thing I ever did see.
If we're talking about learnt lessions, I realize now that sometimes words don't count. They fly over people's heads or get trapped in the filters between their ears and brain. I suppose it's that way on account of the fact that words are too easy to ignore, misunderstand.. twist around. Sometimes, you have to act, and sometimes dramatically so that people are stunned, stopped in their tracks. I don't think he tried to escape for one reason, or that it was all revenge but that's exactly what he did.
When I look back on our fights, I sometimes wonder if, had he been a different kind of person, I'd have let my guard down. (Probably not.) And I understand that. This understanding is what makes it possible for me to be with him at all. It is a necessary conceit for our survival. His world is so foreign to me that I can't help but feel that the person who inhabits it is a complete stranger to me. I love when I reach him on the phone and I can hear the music he's listening to in the background (even when I tell him to turn it off and pay attention). That music is the sound of him without me; how he surrounds himself when I'm not there, which is almost never.
And yet even as I stare at him, he still seems as ineffible to me as he did when I'd first seen this model looking man, sitting across from me, wearing his work uniform, staring at me so intensely on the RT. I guess that's what happens in the end, you start thinking about the beginning. And I know that no matter how close I get to him, I will never know exactly who he is. I will never get used to him. And the only reason that I don't run away from this oddball relationship is the certainty that he will never know me either.
It's only after I'd lost everything, that I was free and it was only after I almost got out of the car, and he held me back, and we worked it out, and I could look at him again, did I begin to notice the volume being turned back up all around me, of my life apart from him.
I don't know what came over me yesterday, what caused me to say what I said, what caused me to do what I did, or what caused me to accept that I had to leave who I left. Maybe I just felt like destroying something beautiful. All I know is that it will never happen again. (I'm sorry.)
