May 12, 2012
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So it goes…
…back and forth with me breathing fire and him responding with single word replies. It’s the easiest way to push my buttons. He knows me well. K calls me frequently for the update. He regales me with tales of his latest conquest. She’s a surprisingly attractive brunette (the last few women that he’s dated looked very “hard”) with a pretty smile. They have an easygoing relationship, and I’m relieved that maybe he’s gotten it right this time. He asks me about D. He thinks it’s positive that I’m not running over to see him to retrieve my things. I remind him that the things were from Wal-mart and Target. It doesn’t matter if I get them back.
Mostly, I just work and slowly move into the new house. When my boss call me in early, when I’m asked to stay late, I do. I stay home with the kids. Sometimes I go out and meet friends for dinner or drinks. I feel very independent and confident that I can make it alone.
I also feel alone. That’s bothersome. The guys who flirt are much too young for me. That’s not as flattering as one would think since having sex with an older, experienced woman is on so many 20-somethings bucket lists. Nice to know that I’m an item on a list of things to do before one gets old. The guys my age don’t seem terribly interested. They’re all very vocal about what they find attractive. A few like “girly” girls with short skirts, fake nails, curvy figures. A few go for the sporty type, the divers, the cyclists, the runners – the girls who are tanned and wear no makeup. As soon as I started working, word spread that I perform with a dance troupe that specializes in middle eastern dance. Dance is popular with the Filipino faction, but they’re all into Zumba now. So, again, I’m a different animal. I fit in with the staff because I’m good at what I’m doing, but it’s obvious to me that is the only fitting in I’ll be doing. Not that I have a burning desire to “shit where I eat”, but it’s more than a little depressing just the same.
J is getting depressed. He’s not working yet, so he helps out at his mother’s house, chipping away at the long list of “honey do” chores. He calls and asks me to pick him up, they’re down to one car. No problem. I go in, meet his mom. The house is cluttered, she collects things. There isn’t much room to walk around. The whole house is like that. J needs to tackle that mess too. He’s foggy when I pick him up, high on his muscle relaxants and pain pills. I take him to dinner anyway. He slurs his words, has trouble ordering food. He’ll have one drink. I’m nursing a headache so I decline stopping at the bar on the way home. I drop him off at his mom’s house and take my headache home. It lasts for 14 hours.
Last night J called me at work. He was so wasted that I could barely make out what he was saying, but I told him that it must be a bad connection with the phone. It took a good five minutes to get a coherent statement from him. C wanted us to meet him. Where? Was anything up (C just had a biopsy done)? J laughs and says, “If is wasn’t an emergency I wouldn’t call you at work.” Meeting at the bar. J wants a ride. I’ve gone in early and worked late 4 days this week. J names the bar, a dirty, smoky biker bar, and I shudder. I’m picking up my kids after work, and I’ll have to get dinner for all of us. I can’t think of anything more depressing than sitting in a smoky bar with real bikers (because I KNOW I don’t fit there).
Because I’m finding out that I don’t fit anywhere.
J doesn’t even attempt to find another ride, and my phone vibrates in my handbag with a call as I pull into the driveway. I text him when I get home at 10 pm, beg off because I’m tired and we’re all hungry. I’m a little put off that he was brash enough to call me at work like I’m a taxi service to get a ride to the bar.
Devil me cautions me not to let my friends use me as a doormat. She isn’t too happy with J or K at the moment. K announces that he’s coming down next month and expects to sleep on my couch. I tell him that I will have to check my schedule. I won’t know what I have for call. I also need to get my oldest in to see the neurosurgeon at the Childrens Hospital, because he’s overdue for a followup.
“They’re all wearing you down, you know,” she growls, “D senses that because you continue to go ‘back and forth’ with him. He’s still looking for a way inside. He knows you are lonely. He knows your weaknesses.” I nod. Even pushing buttons is a way to keep communication open. I think of the two beautiful satin and lace corsets that arrived from the U.K. last week, I tried them on after my living room furniture was delivered. The irony wasn’t lost on me that no one would ever see me wearing them.
“What you need to do…is take care of you for awhile.”
I nod, even though I no longer know what that means.
