January 1, 2013
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resolutions…
I work and rework the script, the classic “Dear John” letter. Three copies are saved to my documents. All have a different tone. One is “Ghandi Me”, mild and bland, without accusation and oozing zen-like prose. One is rather humorous – “Comedienne Me” – that shrugs it’s shoulders and says “Thanks for the memories.” One is hellfire, a snarling dog that can’t be approached, as in “No argument. You FUCKED up big time.”
The script that develops encompasses all three. Devil me giggles and claps her hands when my tone becomes angry, and when my eyes are lit with a dark fire and flash black sparks. Angel me begs me to stop, “I HATE it when you do that! You look evil when you do.” Devil me brays laughter, “That’s why it’s so damned funny! She’s always so sweet and understanding. I’d love it if she’d just go off on that asshole.”
D stays in touch, wanting to know my work schedule, my call schedule. He tells me again that he’ll not open my gift or card until I get there. He calls me by his pet name for me, telling me that he wants to spend time with me, that he got me a nice gift.
I pace and stare at my phone. Snarling, because I don’t want to go over. He pushes for a New Year’s Eve visit. Impossible. I’ve promised the kids I’d stay in. We do. I drag one to the laundromat and we watch clothing toss in the machines. We fluff and fold a little. We keep to ourselves, the only white people in the laundromat. This is the neighborhood I grew up in, so I’m comfortable. My oldest reads for awhile, then helps a young lady take her clean laundry to her car. She smiles and thanks him and me, clearly charmed that kids still do the right thing. I know the feeling. I get all warm and fuzzy when I see young people doing the right thing.
Mostly, I try to concentrate on the laundry. Another text arrives, Holiday Greetings. He is off on New Years Day. So am I. I wonder if I should go over, open gifts, and end it for good. He’s open to having me stop by. I start to dread it.
I end up breaking down. I agree to come over, even if it means breaking up with him on New Years Day.
…..to be continued….
