June 23, 2012
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Close to taking flight…
Angel me shakes her head while I key in a text, “It’s all a game now, isn’t it? It’s rather like watching a kitten torture a spider to death. Not like you at all.” I shrug, because I’m not sure why I’ve not just backed out and disappeared, “I suppose I want to see how far it will go before it all blows up. K thinks that D doesn’t complicate it all by dating L and I at the same time. I’m not so sure, because I think it’s a game in his eyes, too.” It’s her turn to look puzzled.
“Do you think that the card was left out on purpose?” she asks. I shrug, “No, I think that was an oversight. He knows I took it, I’m certain of that. I’m not sure if he realizes I took that hideous bathing suit bottom, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s missed it. He probably realized that it was there, and set about finding a new hiding place for it. He thanked his lucky stars that I didn’t find it. Only problem was that I did find it. Even worse, I took it. He knows that I had to have seen it, but he can’t say anything.” My face becomes blank, “I threw it out. It was picked up with the rest of the garbage last week. I’m not proud of taking L’s stuff, and I have nothing against her.”
“Mostly,” I smile ruefully, “I just enjoy the thought of him having to explain why things have been disappearing. Eventually, L asks for things back. Or, he makes her take her things back.”
When the girlfriend’s things aren’t there then he can pretend that the girlfriend doesn’t exist. He’s removed the keypad that opens the garage door. L and I both had that code. So did many of his friends. That was a “biggie”, and I took it personally.
My mind had wandered the evening before as I waited at a traffic light in the rain. I stared at the restaurant across the street, a elderly and superb steakhouse that’s been in business for over 65 years. I key in a text, “Are you busy on Monday night? I’d like to take you out to dinner. What about ______? I haven’t been there in 25 years.” My eyes narrowed then, because that’s the tastiest lure I’ve cast in years. I know he’ll bite, and he does. In less than 30 minutes he agrees, and I smile.
“Who is playing whom?” Devil me asks, “I’m interested in seeing how this plays out, because he’s really pushing for an expensive dinner out and you reward him for being a cad with the exact thing that he wants. You know L never takes him out for an expensive dinner. This all means nothing to you, because you aren’t trying to win him over.”
“You know he doesn’t love you. He loves L. She loves him. You love him, but you were never in the running. You don’t mean a damned thing to him, ” the words cut deep, and I’m not certain who uttered them. Was it Angel me or Devil me, or were the words my own. They’re all my own, of course. Angel me and Devil me are just the parts of me that serve as my conscience. The rest is void.
I look at Devil me, “I know that I mean nothing. I want to make sure that he feels that emptiness when ‘nothing’ is gone from his life. I thought I could shut off the feelings, and just use him like he used me, but it felt like I was giving parts of my heart away. All of this, the games, the putting him on the spot, even that leaves me feeling empty. I owe him the dinner. It won’t be long before I fly away from him.”
The text comes last night. He asks to stay overnight with me after our date. I understand. He’s afraid to have me in the house, afraid that I’ll find something else, obviously. There must be a lot of L’s things there. He’s afraid I’ll find them all. Or he wants to have a chance to look for those things that have disappeared. I say okay, even though it means I’ll be packing and cleaning all weekend. I do remind him that he had trouble sleeping before, that the dog scratching at the bedroom door was disruptive, that he complained that the fan was too loud. I don’t have a television and I don’t have a sound system. There is nothing to do here but have sex. I feebly offer to spend the night with him, but my heart isn’t in it. Now that he’s on to the game, it’s no longer fun. I really don’t want to take him to dinner, and I damned sure don’t want to wake up next to him, but I’m obligated.
This dinner out will be the last obligation. No matter if we have sex or not. No matter if he stays with me, or if he goes through my stuff looking for L’s things. After Monday night, I can slip away.
But until then, I play along. I send him an email, inviting him to check out the website of the restaurant. The menu is online, along with the wine list. I encourage him to peruse it, since he’s the expert on wine. I ask what time would be good to make the reservations. I forget to pretend that I’m looking forward to our “date”. I wonder if he’ll catch that slip up or if he’ll overlook it since he’s getting a nice dinner out.
I’m banking that he won’t notice. He’s good at ignoring distress when he sees it.
It won’t be long. There’s nothing of value that I’ve left behind. The game will be over soon enough.
