July 14, 2012
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Road trip…2
D wants to take a road trip this weekend. His idea. He suggested destinations anywhere from 3 – 6 hours away. Exciting places…fun places….places where we can be a couple on a vacation and not worry about being so secret. I should be thrilled. I should feel wanted and loved and excited. I should be floating on a frigging cloud about now. I should be so happy that I can’t get the smile off my face. After all, the first suggestion was an outing on the boat. That would have been cool enough.
When he dangled a road trip in front of me, the smile left my face. Maybe it was the, “You choose….” suggestion. I’m afraid I’ll choose the wrong destination, and it will all be ruined. I’m afraid it’s a test, one that I have to guess the correct answer. I offer to call him when I get out of work. He’s out riding motorcycles with his friends, and he tells me to call him later. When I do, he doesn’t answer. I sigh, he’s probably out at the bar now. The fair weathers don’t ride motorcycles anymore, but he could have met up with them. They drink in scuzzy, dive bars, with filthy counters and the parking lot reeking of urine.
You lay down with dogs. You wake up with fleas.
It could just be D being rude. Devil me snorts in disgust, “He never has a problem letting you he thinks you’ve committed a grave faux paus. If I were you, I don’t think I’d go on a road trip with him. You know he won’t be ready to go anywhere until late in the afternoon. You’ll have to pay to board the animals. He’ll get you home too late to pick them up on Sunday so you’ll have to pay for 3 days. Not to mention you’ll have to fly to get groceries and laundry done….I don’t trust him. He’s not with the boys. He’s with the fair weathers. He forgets you exist when he’s with them.”
I’ve fallen into the familiar steps of a dance, one where I’m frequently wrong. In this dance I’m not sure of myself, and I feel awkward and unattractive. I didn’t feel this way with him before, but it’s been gradual….a little chip here…a little chip there. Like falling down a slope, clawing at nothing to gain purchase, with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, I’ve screwed up again.
A little tear courses down my cheek, surprising me because I didn’t think that tears were welling up. I can’t turn off my phone, because I’m on call until 7 am. Part of me hopes that he doesn’t answer his phone all weekend. Maybe he’ll just stay out with the fair weathers. I leave quiet, subdued messages on his cell and his house phone, certain that he’ll not check either.
I need to try to sleep. I’ll call his house in the morning. When he doesn’t answer then I’ll carry on with my day. I expect that it will be a quiet weekend. I’ll spend it with my pets. I know he won’t take me anywhere. We won’t go on the boat. I’ll not hear from him at all. He never really had any intention, I’m sure. It was just to see if I’d bite. I did. That’s all he wanted to know.
I’m so tired that it hurts to even breathe. I hope I get to sleep all night, but if I don’t….so be it. Even keying in this feeble entry is exhausting. I apologize…I’m taking my heart to bed.
