March 3, 2012
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confessions….
He talks a great deal when we are together now. Without the booze to tie his tongue and dull his senses, he prattles on about his past, his family, his life before me. He fills in the blanks without me asking a single question. I just listen anymore. He texts and calls. Emails fill my inbox. When can he see me again?
Because he needs to talk.
His childhood was marked by an overbearing and neglectful mother who abused him and his siblings after her husband walked out. His mother had been a stunning beauty, and his older sister and brother had been popular and were blessed with beauty and roguish good looks. D had come along later in the marriage, with the weak lungs of an asthmatic…tending towards chubbiness and not academically, artistically or athletically gifted. He bore the brunt of the abuse later when the marriage crumbled. He was in band with me from middle school on. In high school, his brother moved back home, dying from leukemia. D took care of him.
We were all clueless in high school. I reached out to him more than once because I liked him and wanted to date him, but he was afraid of me. He told me that he remembered where my “cubby” was in the band room. He could remember me smiling up at him, and that he thought about how nice it would be to snatch me up and kiss me. He was too scared of me then, “You were sexy then. There was a lot of talk amongst the other boys regarding how hot you were, but everyone was too afraid to ask you out.” He admits that thinking about me smiling up at him gave him “raging boners” later when he thought about it at home.
He dated some really unattractive women. He laughs when he tells me that he broke up with a girl who wanted to use a vibrator when they had sex. Then he started dating R. Less than a year later they were married. I asked if he loved her and he looks surprised, “No. I wasn’t in love. She was a sweet girl and I should have loved her, but I don’t think I ever did. It just seemed like it was time to get married.” They were 23. They would divorce in 9 years.
He finally admits that he was the one who filed. She walked out and moved in with her sister. He was tired of the suicide attempts, the depression, the drama. He found her wandering down a busy road with her makeup applied like a clown. She’d taken an overdose. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to rush her to the hospital. He was through. She thought they would work it out.
It’s eye opening. Now I understand why he acts the way he does, and why his definition of drama differs from mine. R would rant against a perceived slight at work for days. I think about my own work rants. My issues weren’t perceived but now I understand why he blew up when I bitched. R always wanted to be bff with the black women in the office; she was upset when they didn’t accept her “white bread ass”. I think of my relationships with my black students; I didn’t try to be one of them, but we all respected each other and all was fine. D hollered until he was red in the face that I’d never be accepted. I was puzzled at the time because I didn’t understand what the fuss was about. Now I know.
(Recently, he blew up when I explained a surgical “time out”, and expressed frustration over patients who got belligerent when I have to ask them to confirm their identity, their surgeon, their allergies, their procedure….I explain that it’s for safety. D screams, “I’d think you were stupid if you asked me. You should know what the fuck I’m there for!” I snap back, “I’m not a fucking mind reader. If the patient is asked a dozen times then they should be relieved that we care enough to make damned sure we get it completely right.” We spend about 15 minutes sparring, until I shut up and put my head in my hands. I seriously consider walking out the door. He dishes up a plate of the food I cooked while I wolf mine down. When he sits down, I get up and load my dish and glass in the dishwasher. I start to clean up the kitchen, while he compliments my cooking. It seems weird and inappropriate, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t sit down until he asks me to. He never apologizes, just suggest that we should get in the jacuzzi. We do. Later when we lie together in his bed he pulls me close and kisses my head, “I’m so glad you’re here.” I gaze sadly into the darkness. It’s feeling weird again. I start pulling away, disengaging mentally…..When I leave, he pads after me to kiss me at the door.)
Knowing what I know now, I realize that he’s not playing games. D is insecure. He has friends who are shallow, unintelligent, and uninteresting. He gave up a career in theater because of the advice of his dad. He feels like he’s lost a lot. He even missed getting his degree because he couldn’t pass the Algebra class he needed. My head shot up as if I’d been slapped. He looks at me sheepishly, “I’m an idiot when it comes to math.” I breezed through college with a 3.86 GPA, pissed off that it wasn’t 4.0. One “C” was responsible for that drop. D is amazed. I shrug it off, and he continues, “If I had been with you then, I would have pushed you to change your major to Pre-med.”
I don’t call D on Friday. I’m still upset about the whole “surgical time out” argument so I decide to let sleeping dogs lie. After all, it’s not like I entertain thoughts of living with or marrying D. He surprises me by calling me. Bright and cheerful and full of plans. He’s talking about stopping by and staying overnight with me when I don’t have the kids. I just murmur affirmation even though I have always been positive that he’ll never stop by once I’ve moved. I’ll live too far away.
I say as much to K and J. They disagree, but I am skeptical.
It’s easier that way. If I expect nothing then I won’t be disappointed when I find myself alone.
