June 4, 2013
-
lonely…
It’s my fault, really it is. I allowed myself to be drawn back in. He’s much more attentive.
I don’t hide my feelings or my wariness. I don’t smile as often. I turn away a lot. I keep my voice even, but I allow my body language to speak volumes.
The new me is a skittish lioness, pacing the room, ready to escape. Often, I find myself not responding to his sweet talk and bullshit, so he redoubles his efforts until the room is filled with fluff and lies and me pacing, tense.
He’s learned not to respond to sensitive questions in the email box. Instead he breaks the news to me in his kitchen after begging me to come over. He’ll be the 13th wheel on the motorcycle trip. The other 12 are couples – married or steadies. He explains that it all fell into place after the wedding he attended (without me). He’s obviously afraid that I’ll blow up at him, because we had tenuous plans. He explains quickly. He shows me the new camera he purchased. He shovels it out, deep.
I turn away, “That’s nice,” my voice is cold and flat, “That sounds like a nice trip.” I walk away while he blusters and digs a deeper hole. I don’t hide my disappointment, and I walk out to the back porch to stare at the sky. He follows, chattering nonstop. I shake my head, and walk back into the house. I head for the bathroom and gently close the door in his face.
In spite of myself, I have tears in my eyes. I lock the door. He chatters from the other side while I wipe silent tears.
Angel me whispers, “Why are you crying? You knew he’d find a way to go. You knew that any plans you had meant nothing.” Of course, I knew, but it still hurts for some reason. I can’t seem to put my finger on it.
“You’re being left behind. Again,” she cups a hand round my ear. I dab at my reddened eyes, toss the tissue in the trash, and exit. He’s been standing outside the door the whole time. He’s going on and on about who will be there, explaining that he doesn’t know half of them. I know most of them. Half the crowd are people who I’d not enjoy spending 5 days with – because they are obnoxious drunks, or in the case of the cop’s bride – too enamored with their dominatrix lifestyle to have an iota of class (although I’m sure the whole dominatrix thing has nothing to do with that….she’d be obnoxious if she were a quiet librarian). Then again, he’s used to obnoxious drunks thanks to the fair weathers.
I shake my head. Then I tune him out so completely that when he asks me a question I don’t respond, and he has to repeat it three times. I stop crying but I don’t smile for the rest of the evening. I’m silent, because there is nothing to say. He tells me that he’ll leave on Wednesday night at 6pm and that they’ll arrive in the airport late, “Then it’s an hour and a half ride to the cabin.” I nod. He goes on to say that if he had planned the trip then they would be gone for a week. I roll my eyes. He shakes his head, “There won’t be much time for anything because we’ll only have Thursday through Saturday. We come back early Sunday. You’ll hardly know I’ve been gone.” He smiles broadly, and I walk away, eying my shoes, wondering if I should just leave before dinner. I don’t have an appetite anymore. He floors me by adding, “You are my girlfriend, right? You know that they all know about you.”
My head snaps up, and my eyes spark fire, “They shouldn’t! I wouldn’t have told them that! I would NEVER tell them that!” It’s his turn to look upset, “I might have told them.” He spends the next couple hours telling me that I’m beautiful and gorgeous. I wonder if I will puke.
I end up staying because it storms, but the date slides – predictably – into the disaster I’ve come to expect. I end up sick for 2 days.
Conversation between he an I slips into barely polite territory. Devil me snorts in disgust, “These friends must be idiots.” I smile ruefully, “Some of them aren’t the brightest, I’ll admit.” She tosses her hair, and studies me with icy eyes, “They don’t question a girlfriend who he NEVER brings around?” My eyebrows shoot skyward and I chuckle in spite of myself, “That certainly IS pretty stupid.”
“Do you want to go?” Angel me asks. I shake my head, “Not with them. They are going to be a handful in the bar, and out of control in the cabin. B has to have the heart of a Saint to let that motley crew in his vacation home.” I laugh a little, “D will have plenty to bitch about when he gets home, but I think I’ll be busy and stand him up so I don’t have to listen to it.”
Devil me puts a hand on my arm, “Really, honey, what are you going to do?”
I look at Devil me, “He’s never really there for me.” She nods. I continue, “I’m lonely. I want to find someone who wants to spend time with me, not ditch me every 5 minutes for something better. I have a service project to do with the Troop on Saturday, so I’ll do that because it will make me feel better, but later I think I’ll go out and cast my net on the stars. Maybe it’s time to join a real dating site. I don’t know. I’m not even sure I want to talk to him.”
J and M left tonight to trailer the motorcycles up. I asked J to text me sometime over the weekend. Angel me looks puzzled, so I explain, “I want to know what they get to do, but I don’t want to talk to D, if that makes sense. I don’t want him to think I’m pining for him, because I won’t be. With any luck I’ll be sitting at the bar, laughing with friends or strangers, stealing a kiss in the parking lot.”
Then I realize that I’m crying again, because I’ve wasted so much time, because I’ve been taken for a ride, because I need to run far away.
