Life steps in just in the nick of time and saves me.  The kids and I spend a week trapped in the house by flood waters.  I cook and we goof off on the computer.  We get damned little done as far as organizing the house goes.  Mostly we all stress about school being out for a week and me being out of work for a week.  It’s not a vacation, and I sound sad when I call out every day.  I miss work.  The kids miss their friends.  My oldest son gets a visit from a classmate who has a boat.  He arrives with two girls he’s escorting home and picks up my son.  The girls are cute and shy.  I wave at them as they paddle away.  My son will end up getting home long after dark, and long after being dropped off at the wrong road.  His dad gets wind of it and is furious.  I shrug.  It’s a minor sin, nothing more than less than perfect judgement.  No harm done.  H screams at me over the phone, belittling me for being a bad mother. 

I hang up.

I nurse a dental abscess while we’re stranded.  It doesn’t go away.  I end up at the endodontist who takes stereotaxic films and explains the “slices” in heavily accented English.  The root canal that was done on the tooth was perfect.  He points at ghostly fracture lines and pockets of darkness.  The roots were fractured.  An abscess formed soon after, “You have pain?” he asked, and is astonished when I relate that I only had mild pain.  I mentally kick myself for not being a bitch about it and insisting that they perform more films.  Hindsight is 20/20, of course.  He explains that the tooth can’t be saved, but once the bone is healed I could consider getting a dental implant.  I’m not at all pleased to lose a tooth.  I’m horrified at the thought of having a gaping hole in that row of teeth.

When I get done writing checks, the dental office has $7000. 

I take extra days and extra call.  I offer to stay late.  I work until I’m so exhausted that I doze off at traffic lights. 

My dad treats me like shit.  Pushing me to move my late mother’s things to my house.  The stress and exhaustion leaves me pale and I begin to have arrhythmia.  I finally refuse to do anymore.  We’d been moving boxes in the rain.  The kids and I had an emotional meeting with the family therapist.  We stopped by the old place to get dinnerware and flatware.  Dad stopped by and wanted EVERYTHING out.  I carried heavy boxes out, wobbling on heels, my dress soaked see through in the pouring rain.  The kids helped.  One person had to stand outside with the vehicles to discourage the neighborhood thugs from stealing.  We missed lunch, the reason why I was dressed nice.  We hadn’t been out to dinner for over a month.  We were all looking forward to it.  

We came back and unloaded.  Dad left to secure his storm shutters and load up his lawnmower.  The new edger was stolen.  That was hardly surprising.  The neighborhood is seedy and down on it’s luck.  What was surprising was that the bicycles and the lawnmower weren’t stolen as well. 

I try to muster up some sympathy, but it doesn’t sound at all sincere.  Mostly I’m just relieved when he drives away.  I close the door behind me and look at the kids, “Change your clothes.  I’m going to go dry my hair and change.  We’ll go out to dinner.” 

We do.  I try to enjoy myself, and we do to a certain extent, but the heaviness of everything reclines on our heads.  The therapist finally agreed that we had exhausted all avenues to get H to come in for a family session.  The last one he attended was in April.  Being validated isn’t so satisfying as I would expect.  Instead, it leaves me heavy-hearted and sorrowful.  There’s little that can be done about the fact that he doesn’t pull his weight financially.  I’m not happy to discover that my dad talks to him about every other day.  I get phone calls from both of them when I’m at work.  At first I don’t think anything about it.  It’s an inconvenience.  

Devil me waits in the passenger seat when I get in my car, “It doesn’t bother you that he’s got your own father checking up on you to see where you are?  He’s filling his ears with lies and fables.  I can’t believe that your dad is such a rube, falling for his bullshit over and over.”  I look at her wide-eyed.  Then I start keeping track.  A pattern emerges and the calls arrive in the early evening.  Even more telling is the day my dad helps me with picking up mattresses for the kids’ beds.  He checks my bedroom and bathroom for signs that a man has moved in to the house.  It’s ridiculous.  I shake my head at the idea.  I try to imagine their phone conversation.  I know he spends zero time defending me.  

Of course, in the midst of all this, D sends me an email telling me that he’s lost his father, explaining that it was emotional, especially since he never told his dad that we weren’t seeing each other.  It would seem that his dad approved of me, thought it was great that D had found someone to love, was happy that we were so affectionate (since L certainly wasn’t).  I offer condolences, and briefly panic.  He misunderstands my condolences and assures me that he’s fine, has all the support he needs.  In fact, he’s handling it better than most.  My face burned to think that he thought I was suggesting something.  I sent a reply that dripped with icy sarcasm, rescinding any help I had offered and claiming that I was too busy for his games.  I stopped short of saying, “It’s not my fault that you couldn’t be honest with your dad.”  He replies, hurt and upset.  This time I shrug and walk away 

I left him with his dear friends and his girlfriend.  I remind him that he has plenty of friends who can support him and cheer him up.  He doesn’t need me.  I remind him of that.  Then I spend days/weeks reminding myself.  I remind myself until the tears no longer come.  I remind myself until I no longer dream. 

The surprising thing is when the loneliness turns to apathy.  I’m numb.  A sleeping leg that feels nothing.  H screams at me on the phone, but I don’t answer.  It rolls off.  Water from a duck’s back.  It’s sad that he’s hateful, but I feel nothing for him.  I could never go back.  He resents my successes.  It’s all threatening. 

More later….after I sleep…

I wasn’t prepared for the emptiness.  Staved off by the presence of my kids, I didn’t realize that I felt so alone until they left to spend the night with their dad. 

Suddenly, unexpectedly, I missed D.  I longed for D.

Even worse, J called, regaling me with his never-ending saga of his foibles with the latest psychotic woman.  He tells me that she went out today with a guy who had been chatting me up.  I was disappointed to be certain, but still abandoned any thought of going on any sort of a date with him. 

I hadn’t realized that it was something I was looking at as a possibility, but apparently I had….on some level…..was willing to get hopeful about it.  Grasping at straws, now that I think about it.  All dashed away.  Folly.  Foolish to think that someone may have…..

Devil me touches my cheek and looks at her wet fingertips, “I had no idea that you even liked him.  It seemed so casual….”  I shake my head, mopping fresh tears, “It wasn’t that.  I don’t know what it was.  It’s gone now.”  I honk into a tissue, “It’s been an emotional week.”  She nods, “I know.  You miss D.  It was wrong of J to mention that they were planning a fishing trip.  Are you afraid that he’ll badmouth you?”  I nod, unable to talk.  I know it’s wrong to miss D, and I beat myself up for it, but I can’t deny the loneliness.

“He loves L.  I know he doesn’t think about me.  I meant nothing to him,” my voice sounds flat, but Devil me stops me, “I can’t bear the pain in your voice.”

I stop talking and sob.  The tissues pile high, a small mountain of tears and pain.  I stop when I can’t breathe through my nose, and my eyes burn.  “I don’t know what to do anymore,” I explain, suddenly exhausted, “Part of me wishes I could disappear without a trace.  I’m so weary of the games.  I hate to think that D will badmouth me; I hate to even care.  I just feel so imperfect and so unworthy.”

Worth. 

Your worth doesn’t ride on the opinions of others. 

All week we’ve been prisoners.  You would think I could be more creative, but my mind is dull. 

I wish that my sleep was dreamless, but it’s not.  I was startled awake by something brushing against my arm.  It was only the cat, but I sat upright in bed, crying out in terror.  My cheeks wet with tears.  I was crying in my sleep. 

Dreaming of D.  I dreamed that I was out, running errands in a place that was unfamiliar.  None of the shops were where they were supposed to be.  D just appeared.  I was wary, but he promised to help me find my way around my changed town.  I reluctantly agreed and followed him.  Eventually, inevitably we end up at his place (which has also changed – not so dark inside as it was).  I wake up when he holds me close and whispers that he’s missed me so much.

Devil me sighs, “So you miss him.  Big surprise.  You’re lonely; what do you expect?”  I shrug, “I thought I’d be done with the dreams.  I won’t contact him.  Besides, I know he doesn’t miss me.  He has L.  He loves her.  He didn’t love me.  He never thinks about me.” 

J hasn’t even called to check in with me.  I’ve been wrapped up in this whole stranded thing with the kids so I haven’t bothered to call him either.  I check his page on the social networking site and he has proclaimed himself sore from a late night workout (his code for sexcapades with someone).  I cock an eyebrow at the screen, wonder briefly who he’s sleeping with, and then decide that I scarcely care.  It occurs to me that at times he’s a fair weather friend to me.  

“Some people are best left lost,” Angel me says softly, “You don’t need to be spending time with people like J.  I know you grew up with him, but sometimes you need to move on.  You’re not going to find quality people in a dive bar.  You need to start out by working on you, getting healthy, finding you.  Then you need to go to the places you miss.  Those places that are you.  You’ll make new friends.”

She’s right, of course.  I don’t need to jettison anyone.  J is working on his friendship with D.  I wonder if they talk about me sometimes, and decide that it couldn’t be anything remotely complimentary.  I shouldn’t care, but part of me does, because I wonder who else is sitting there listening to it all.  I shouldn’t care.  What difference does it make anyway?  They gossip.  Eventually, when I never come around, they won’t have anything left to gossip about.  

I only have to wait it out.  I have no desire to go to that dive of a place where the drinks are shitty and expensive.  I can’t help but mention to Angel me, “Funny how D wouldn’t go to that bar regularly until I stopped going there.  He preferred the really scuzzy dive bars downtown in the shittiest part of town.  He fit in there somehow.  I didn’t.  I don’t know where I fit in, but I could never slum it like those guys could.”

“Are you going to call J?” she asks.  I shake my head, “I sent him a text.  It was just a generic one, hope all is well, haven’t heard from you in awhile.  Maybe he’ll respond later.”  Not much to say to him if he does reply.  I’m a little melancholy, but I’ll happily hand him over to D.  D has a way of changing J’s mind when it comes to me. 

I go back to looking out the window. 

I dreamed about D last night.  Unbidden.  My mind is always blank when I lay down to sleep.  I don’t fear the dreams, but I don’t want to encourage them either. 

I’m happy and content, snuggling close to D while he pulls me to him.  So familiar and comforting.  So real that I can feel the heat from his body along my back, his heavy leg hooking across me, his warm breath tickling my neck. 

I suddenly awaken and frown in the darkness.  I’m cold and alone.  No one holds me.  Tears prick at my eyes as I look at the clock.  3:26am.  Devil me whispers, “You dream because he’s thinking of you.  He misses you.  He regrets letting you go.”  I swipe a hand at the tears, “No.  I don’t believe he thinks of me at all.  He’s forgotten that I exist.”

Some things are better left forgotten.  Some people are better left “lost”.

The storm truly began on Sunday evening, with the rain.  It pattered constantly until it submerged the lowest part of the road.  I swore as I drove through it in my car, moving slowly so that I wouldn’t damage the dirt road.  I took my large umbrella with me when I went to pick up the kids.  I didn’t use it, we darted to the car in a light drizzle, with H hugging me before we went out the door.

It was one of those moments that are awkward and uncomfortable.  Devil me giggled.

I was on call, but it was third call, so I was only mildly worried as puddles merged in the backyard.  My pond overflowed it’s banks, and joined the neighbor’s pond.  I called work to tell them that I’d need an hour notice to get in.  The rain poured down.  The lights flickered and then went out for good.  We went to bed then, tired anyway.  I told the kids that we’d check the school board website in the morning.  I didn’t trust that there would be school on Monday.

The water was higher at dawn.  I waded out into my driveway and was astonished to discover that my driveway was under over a foot of water.  I wasn’t even at the deepest point.  Even worse, the rain and wind were picking up.  I watched the water rise 6 more inches in less than 3 hours.  I called out of work.  School was cancelled.

The day was long and boring.  The wind blew, gusted hard, and rain swirled and danced over the pond that had overtaken my backyard.  I filmed from my open sliding door, laughing and joking while I worried that the water would continue to rise over the island that sat under my house.  When the rain stopped I took photos.  I joked with the kids.  We cooked and did homework.  I talked to my dad on the phone, urging him to stay safely at home and not go sightseeing.  He argued with me about coming out here, but I knew the water was deep.  In the end, I won.  The next call was a colleague from work, were the kids and I okay?  Did we need anything?  The other employees who had missed were able to get to work on Tuesday.  Their flooding wasn’t so extensive.  My heart sank.

We checked to see about school.  Still cancelled for Tuesday.  I slept fitfully, dreaming that the water had gone down…nearly completely gone.  So vivid was the dream that I dared to hope that it was true.  I opened the curtains so I could look over my yard, hope in my heart.

Dashed to pieces on the soggy ground, the water had gone down very little.  My mailbox stands sentinel in still water, two feet deep.  I call out again.  The photos and video will be helpful if I’m questioned.  Mostly, I’m disappointed.  It sucks to be stuck at home.  I miss my work, my colleagues.  The kids miss school and their classmates.  Like it or not, we are all social beings.

I joke with friends on the social networking site because it requires no thought and is something to pass the time.  Mutual friends bring up D in conversation.  It’s innocent, and I gently disengage from the conversations, excusing myself for the night.  Another friend crosses the line while joking around, says a few asshole things.  I don’t have the heart to spar, so I navigate away, leaving his comments hanging.  He apologizes, but I don’t see it until today.  I leave it hanging too.    We all post photos of the damage from TS Isaac.  Some post videos.  We check in to see who’s okay.  I’m the only one stranded.  We joke about sending for the national guard. 

When I discover that fire ants have found a way inside I grab insecticide and spray around the windows and doors.  The island is infested so they quickly find me and attack my feet, causing me to dance and swear.  After I finish dancing around in 95 degree heat and 100% humidity, I drag my ant-bitten and sweaty self inside and crank out a sarcastic poem to post as my status.  My writer friends clap and squeal with glee.  They pronounce it perfect…and beg for more.

Indeed, it has been fun noting the mundane.  The cat found a few spiders in the pantry, and nearly destroyed the house pursuing them.  My son nearly crashed the computer by trying to download a game.  Not to mention the jokes about living on my own private island, taking up sailing, or fishing.  I spend a long time painting my toenails.  I put away a few things, do some laundry.

Mostly though, I look at the water outside. 

Birds dart and swoop, loop back and swoop again.  Mosquito Swifts.  I shake my head, because it will become miserable if the water doesn’t go down soon.

Angel me touches my arm so that I look at her.  Her eyes are sorrowful.  I know what she’s thinking, but I can’t bear to hurt her with sarcasm, “No, he hasn’t called.  I’ve suspected for a long time that he didn’t care, and I’m not surprised.  It’s okay.  He’s busy making certain that the people he cares about, the ones he loves, are okay.  I made certain that there was enough food and water.  I’ll work overtime to be certain that I can pay all my bills.  I’ll make sure that the kids and I are okay.  It doesn’t matter if he cares or not.  I care.  That’s enough,” tears rush to my eyes, surprising me.  I turn away, “Besides, I have friends who care and who will help me if I need it.” 

Devil me follows me to my bedroom, silent.  I sigh and swipe at my eyes roughly, “I thought I was over him.  It still hurts that he doesn’t bother to check.  He never considered me to be a friend.  That explains a great deal.”  I rub my eyes with toilet tissue before trumpeting like a pachyderm.  Devil me smiles ruefully, “You were right to make a clean break then.”  She looks sideways at me, “He’s probably thinking the same about you.”  I nod, “I won’t check on him.  He has plenty of family and friends to make certain that he’s high and dry, well-fed and happy.  He doesn’t need to hear from me.  Let the fair weathers help him if he needs help.  If he needs intimacy then he can call L.”  My voice is cold and hollow.  I wave Devil me away so that I can look at the still water outside.  A fish jumps near the mailbox, and a large dark shadow crosses the submerged road. 

I have enough to think about.

Testing new wings in a new life should make me apprehensive.  It’s “all on me”.  H can hardly manage his own finances, much less lend the least bit of support for the care and feeding of his own offspring.  I say nothing, but set my jaw in a tight, thin line, and then I handle it all.  I take extra shifts, work overtime.  When my male friends notice, they react with alarm, until I explain that my ex husband doesn’t have the means to support his own children.  Is he unemployed?  No.  Is he unwell, and unable to find side work?  No.  I coldly explain that he finds money to buy his vodka, that he’s able to go out to bars with friends, that he takes his girlfriends out.  One friend is comical when he reacts, “But I don’t understand.  He doesn’t have money to buy clothing, shoes, school supplies, but he can go out to bars with his girlfriends?”  I shake my head, “He only has money for himself.”  My friend looks shocked, “But those are his children!  That’s not right!!  That’s not fair!”

Life isn’t fair.  H is a deadbeat.  He’s an alcoholic and mentally ill person.  I didn’t see the alcoholism.  I didn’t realize that he was mentally ill until we had been married for so many years.  As we trudged through that swamp that was our divorce I comforted myself and the kids by saying, “He’ll get better.  He’ll get this single dad thing down and it will all be fine.  There’s a learning curve.”

I was such a naive creature.  He proved me wrong by sinking deeper into his alcoholism, by becoming more and more belligerent and nasty.  He resorted to deceit and falsehoods to try to make me look like an unfit mother.  He set about getting his revenge.  I was amazed at the lengths he went to in order to make me miserable, to punish me for filing.  He didn’t want me.  He’d made that clear years ago. 

My male friends look at me differently now.  I’m an odd bird, one who they look at sideways as if they don’t know me anymore.  I don’t know if it’s because I don’t have a problem admitting that the support all falls on me or if somehow H’s deadbeat behavior disturbs them.  They may even think I’m a bitch for telling the truth.  To them I offer no apology.  I gladly call a spade, a spade.  Devil me shrugs, “Maybe they underestimated you.  Maybe they’re surprised that you’re as self sufficient as you said you could be.  Does it matter?”  It doesn’t.  It makes me feel very alone, and very undesirable. 

Damaged goods.

I look at my super short fingernails, broken off in my recent move.  Ugly hands, but once I get the house organized I can take care of them.  I notice my toenails with their chipped polish.  I could care less, because I only painted them for D. 

D is long gone.  I can’t remember when he held me last.  The pain is gone, but the loneliness leaves me melancholy.  It occurs to me that I don’t want to try to find someone to date.  “Fear?” Angel me inquires, “Or is it just apathy?”  To be honest, it’s a little of both.  Suddenly, I wonder if there is someone out there who is right for me.  Too many of the men who show any interest are too young, or they’re complete blithering idiots.  G would be more than happy to date me, and I’m certain that it would be an interesting ride.  Sexually, he doesn’t turn my head. 

Oddly, no one does.  I chalk it up to fatigue and the cautious eye of a woman who is picking up pieces of a broken heart.  I don’t think I’m picky but I wonder.  My conscience suggests G as a possible conquest.  He’s brilliant,  a doctor with multiple degrees.  He’s also not wound tight, and can be as controlling as H.  He would be someone who would take me interesting places, who would always have interesting conversations with me, who would never borrow money from me or try to move in my house.  It doesn’t matter though, because I know it wouldn’t work.  It’s just me.

It doesn’t help matters when I find an email from D in my inbox.  It’s benign.  A reminder that I’ve left things behind that he’s been kind enough to box up.  He only wants to know if I want them mailed to me or would I rather arrange to meet.  I resist the urge to tell him to shove the box up his ass sideways.  Instead, I respond neutrally, without warmth.  I give him no options but to toss it away.  Then I replied to his empty greeting, wishing him and L the best.  I didn’t answer his inquiry the way he expected.  Later, he would reply simply, “OK”.  He couldn’t reply any other way. 

I told J about it on the phone.  He had been out with D.  In fact, they had been out fairly often.  I made a mental note to quietly begin disengaging J from my life.  It’s a loss that I’m willing to take.  I’ll  give J back to D, and then I can fade away into the shadows.  In J’s mind, D and I will always be a couple.  L and D are really a couple.  

I’m alone.  Lonely, yet far better off.  

I rolled out of bed, achy and tired.  After a decent night’s rest.  Too tired, and shivering with cold.  It’s August.  I end up calling out from work which is a rare occurrence.  I have to take my oldest back to the dentist.  I write the third check while I’m there.  I’ve paid them a month’s wages in 2 weeks time, but the kids’ teeth and mine will be up to snuff.  That’s a comfort.  I’m all about comfort now.

I shiver in my stifling hot car while we drive to the high school my son attended last year.  We go through the withdrawal process; teachers and staff are happy to see him, but will miss him.  They compliment him.  He’s a great kid, and it swells my heart to think that others have noticed too.  When we leave, he searches the parking lot for his favorite teacher’s car, “I wish you could meet him.”  I would like that.  This teacher has radical ideas quite different from our own.  Many of the other parents complained and switched their children from his class.  I asked my son, “Why do you like him?  Is he a good teacher?”  My son assured me that he was, but there was more to it.  The man was interesting, passionate about his beliefs.  “But his beliefs are so different from your own.  That doesn’t bother you to have a teacher believe something different?” I asked.  My son asked if it bothered me.  I shook my head, “There are many people who don’t share your beliefs.  I think that this teacher must have some interesting ideas.  He must be intelligent and interesting, too.  I trust your judgement.  If you tell me that he’s a good teacher, and that you enjoy his class and find his views interesting, then I believe that you should stay in his class.”

What a valuable lesson to learn so young!  He found that he could respect and be friends with someone who had a different view.  In return, this very good teacher encouraged my son to pursue a graduate degree.   I hope someday that I can meet him face to face and thank him.  That’s a lesson that I couldn’t have taught my son – not without help.  As we walked to my broiling hot car I asked if he had his teacher’s email.  He assured me that he did, and that he’d keep in touch.

Six hours later I had the kids registered at their new schools.  I was exhausted, but curiously light of heart.  Like the promise of healthy teeth, registration was also a comfort.  My son smiled at me, “I’m looking forward to Monday.  I’m glad that we’re registered.”  He’s taking psychology for an elective.  I pray that it’s the spark that lights the flame.  He’s a natural.  I can’t tell him what to do, but this has been his niche since he was in 1st grade.  I will gladly help him find the scholarships and grants he needs.  On that note, his favorite teacher and I agree.  We will move completely this weekend.  I will have but a few things to pick up, but we’ll be in the new house. 

Few things have fostered such peace in my heart.

J calls this evening and leaves a voicemail message.  He needs to discuss something with me.  I call him back when my son is riding back with his dad.  Immediately he asks if I’ve been on the social networking site.  I haven’t.  I could care less, but I don’t elaborate.  J doesn’t mince words.  A mutual friend called him at 1:15 am, admitting to being strung out on xanax.  She was hellbent on explaining to him WHY she deleted him from her contacts.  She also deleted 6 other people, and I was one of them.  I asked why and he told me that the woman balked, stating that she “had her reasons”.  Then she questioned him about his relationship with me, would he forsake me for her?  He laughed, “She’s my best friend.  I wouldn’t pick you over her.”  This woman has had a couple dates with J, nothing intimate or regular.  She strikes me as horny and desperate.  I’ve seen it before.  There, but for the grace of God, go I.

I told J that I didn’t have time for the middle school drama, “If she comes to her senses and sends me a note and a request to be added to my contacts, I’ll politely decline.  That woman is wacky.  I’ve heard this shit before.  She doesn’t trust you, and she’s willing to slander her friends (including some very married ones) to make you look like a man whore and to make her look long-suffering.” 

F*** that noise!

I very quietly posted a note stating that I wouldn’t accept requests for “adds” from people who deleted me in a chemical induced rage.

I smiled broadly when I walked in my new house.  So perfect it seemed!

J asked if I’d change mind, “No,” I replied, “If she wants to act the ass, then so be it.  I’m through with her.”

D is now “unspoken”.  He’s made an attempt to contact me, but I didn’t bite.  It hangs in the laundry room, forlorn and unanswered.  He can’t follow where I will go.  It no longer matters. 

I venture out, taking the new me out into the world.  I meet friends at the bar.  I consider going to the art gallery on a weekend.  Do I want to go alone or do I want to share it with the kids?  I toy with the idea of dining out alone and it intrigues me.  Will it feel lonely and odd?  Will I look as confident and at peace as I feel?  Will I appear stand-offish and unapproachable?

One of my colleagues laughs, “You will be fine.  People want to talk to you because you are friendly.  You never shut people out.”

I go meet friends at the bar.  We’ve known each other for 35 years.  The majority of the women sitting at the table are reminiscing about their days twirling batons and the boys they made out with.  They chatter about who dated who.  We catch each other up on where this one is now, who married who.  I’m the only divorcee.  I was also too awkward to have been one of their cohorts then.  I smile and nod, laugh when the stories get funny.  Their past is not my own, but they pull me in anyway.  They remember me as a smart girl who blossomed in high school.  Different because I chose my own path and seemed comfortable in my own skin.  Funny and silly, though not irreverent.  One of the popular people.

I wasn’t though.  I walked tall but felt like I never fit in.  I dabbled in this scene and that, pursued friendships in a variety of cliques because I fit in every one, pledged allegiance to no one or nothing.  I liked different music, read different books, held different beliefs.  Those very things that made me different were the very things that drew people to me.  I held them at arm’s length.  Never trusting.

I feel rather like an imposter while I sit at the bar.  We all take turns talking about our lives, our careers.  They all married young, had children, stayed married.  None of them went to college.  All of them told me that they made poor marks in school.  I changed the subject when my turn arrived.  There was too much to be said.  How would I explain my life to them without sounding like I was grandstanding?  I suggested that we order some food.  That would give me time to soften my tale, paint it pink, and make it seem less dramatic than it seemed.  I didn’t feel like I needed to alter my story for my friend who was visiting from Brazil, but for the rest, I would.  They were soft, sweet homebodies, loving mothers, still somewhat wrapped up in appearance, but nice women to hang out with.  The guys were easier.  Happy with themselves.  They drank beer and joked and laughed and told their own tales.

I relaxed a bit.  When it came back to me, I delivered an abbreviated version of my history.  J listened and nodded, aware of what I was doing, but unwilling to push me to disclose more. 

Then the classmate seated to my right leaned over and asked, “So, how’s D doing these days?” 

I couldn’t hide the astonishment on my face and I stared at him for a long moment before I became interested in my mojito, “I wouldn’t know.  I haven’t spoken to him in weeks.  He removed me from his contacts.”  My former classmate raised his brows and leaned in, “Why?”  My face grew warm, “Probably something I said.  He doesn’t like it and then he deletes.  Who knows with him?”  He continued to study me, but I had no more to say.

Angel me leaned in and whispered, “Fuck!  Did that asshole tell EVERY ONE of his friends about you?”  I turn away and look at her and say nothing.  Obviously, that is exactly what he did.  Why, I’ll never know. 

I’ve never been the story.  I’m not comfortable with it.  I suppose I can assume that he’s told everyone.  I imagine he’s likely lied to our mutual friends.  I know he lied to C and J, painting me in an unfavorable light. 

He’s probably said the same to anyone who would listen. 

I sigh, but I don’t look at my classmate any more.  I busy myself with listening to others talk about their kids.  After I drop off J at his house I drive home on deserted streets that are slick with rain.

Angel me pats my arm, “He doesn’t know all of your friends.”  I nod, “He knows enough.  I have no idea what damage he’s done.  A lot of these people don’t know me anymore, if they ever did.  Now I look bad to them.”  Angel me shakes her head, “You don’t know what they think.”  I nod.  I wish I could disappear. 

My weekend grows more surreal when H calls.  He makes small talk for awhile before turning the conversation to dating.  He’s not keen on it anymore.  He’s not good at it.  He reminds me that it’s even worse for women.  Then he asks is we could go out sometime.  I’m speechless.  On a date?  Yes.  I say that it’s possible, but only to placate him.  I remind myself that he’s unstable and alcoholic and abusive.  I also remind myself that he’s drunk.  He’ll forget it when he’s sober.

The frantic text arrives from my oldest a few hours later.  He’s talking about it to the kids. 

I key in damage control.  Hating myself.  Wishing so much that the earth would just open up and swallow me up whole.  What the fuck is wrong with me?  Angel me turns me around, “You just said the wrong thing.  It doesn’t matter.  You apologize and say you were mistaken.”

My phone just hummed with an incoming text.  H texts:  I miss u an sorry i cant get over you.

I shut off my phone.  My life just got way too complicated.

When I look outside, the sky is an unnatural shade.  It’s Kodachrome blue with startlingly white clouds.  Odd for this time of year, when a low haze hovers, gray and thin. 

“A promise of a new day?” Devil me laughs.  I guffaw, because last night was haunted by dreams.  D didn’t appear, but others did.  I woke up at 4:00 am, crying and confused.  The nightmares disappeared like smoke.  I woke up restless and disturbed. 

Prayer didn’t help.  I still add my own prayers to the list, but I pray for others first.  A childhood friend is dying and has been moved to Hospice.  The sorrow I feel overshadows the promise of her release from pain and her passage to heaven.  It’s unnatural to think of people my age dying.  Hits too close to home.  Fortunately, she lives far away, and I don’t have to carry my gray mood in to face her.  She’s never married or had children.  Her career and life have been simple, but satisfying for her.  Her faith is unwavering, and when she leaves this life, she’ll leave no dependents.  She will leave family and friends who loved her dearly…that tiny girl, who never grew taller than 4 ft tall, but who was exquisitely proportionate, with a brilliant smile and an infectious laugh.  I know that she delighted everyone who knew her.  I always thought she would have been a wonderful mother, especially if she had sons.  Her life took a different course, but was still filled with joy and love. 

“Does it bother you that she’s leaving this life, or does it bother you more to think of the emptiness she leaves behind?” Angel me asks.  I shake my head, “It bothers me that she’s in pain, that she’s so ill at such a young age.  She never lived an unwholesome life.  Do the pious always leave this life early?”

It’s not a question really.  I don’t feel like I’ve been a perfect or pious being.  There have been times that I was selfish, jealous, self serving.  I’ve tempered my faults by always defending the weak, the infirm, by faithfully helping even those who were my enemies.  My sins were small.  Still, they exist, marring my perfection….

“And making you ‘real’,” Devil me continues my thought, “You always worried about that, but you were always real.  You were never invisible.  You always thought you were.  You only were invisible to yourself.”

Reflecting on the short life of a friend leaves me melancholy, but I don’t ‘feel’ it like I would expect.  It’s a dull pain, blunt and soft.  Tears prick at my eyes and then back off, like restless beings who are unsure if they want to escape.  There is no doubt in my mind that she will fly to heaven, and the promise of a pain-free afterlife in paradise is a comforting thought. 

“Your pain….” a voice speaks, but I can’t identify it.  Angel me looks puzzled.  Devil me looks at me quizzically, shaking her head.  “My pain,” I address them since I’m not certain who has spoken, “is of no consequence at the moment.”  It’s true.  I’m too busy at work to worry about my pain.  I prefer to sweep it under the rug.  Crying will do me no good.  I will myself not to miss D.  He’s made no attempt to contact me. 

This time it’s got to be over.

When my mind wanders to those good times that I shared with D, I gently lead myself away, “He loves L, not you.”  I’ve stopped asking myself why.  I don’t visit old emails or entertain those love scenes.  I’ve willed myself to forget how it felt to kiss him.  I’ve forgotten how comforting it was to be held close.  I’ve willed myself to forget his touch, his voice.  Not completely gone, but the colors aren’t as vivid.

I’m a different me.  Stronger, more confident, still beautiful…..and curiously empty.

After so many days of uneasiness, and too many restless nights, I call D out on his behavior.  The part of me that wanted to see him dance on the coals while trying to keep me a secret from L stepped back and said, “Enough.”  While I waited for his reply, I convened with Angel me and Devil me to update them on my actions. 

“I don’t believe that he ever broke it off with L.  I think he was juggling the two of us,” my eyes dark and sad, but strangely free of tears, “I’ll never really know why he kept me around so long, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to think about it.”  Devil me starts to interrupt, but I shake my head.  “She loves him.  He loves her.  I loved him, but he didn’t love me.”

Angel me shakes her head, “No.  He did love you.  He still loves you.”

I got up and walked over to the window.  It’s going to rain again.  There is a flicker of lightning, followed by a distant rumble.  Rain is cleansing, but it will not wash away the pain in my heart, “He doesn’t know what love really is.  That’s what he says anyway.  I only wish….”

Wish….for what?  That he revealed his lies sooner?  That he really did love me?  That I hadn’t been so naive, so blind, so trusting?  That I could turn back time?  That I would never fall for this scam ever again?  That I could find someone who didn’t lie?

The response comes swiftly, I had inquired when I could drop off the money that he felt I owed him.  He replied tersely, he would contact me later.  It had been very important that I reimburse him for some toiletries he insisted that I have at his house.  I rolled my eyes, and moments later another email arrived.

“Find another asshole”  Then he quickly deleted me from his contacts so that I wouldn’t pummel him with words. 

Devil me stared at my back for a few moments while I waited for more lightning, “You backed him into a corner.  He couldn’t tell anymore lies to you.  He knew that.”  I turned to her and nodded.  I didn’t reply.  There was nothing more to say.  She picked at the hem of her dress, “He’s always been afraid of you.  You argue better than L, obviously.  She’s the type to just tolerate his boorish behavior, long-suffering.  She’s too nice.  She’s afraid of being alone because her self esteem is even lower than his.  He could always say a few things, make her feel ungrateful, and she’d back down.  You don’t do that.  You’re braver than that.  He doesn’t have the power to make you question your beauty, your intelligence, your parenting skills, your career performance, your capacity to love and be loved.  That is why he surrendered this battle.

“Perhaps this was not a waste of time.  You’ve learned a great deal.  In spite of the circumstances, you’ve grown stronger and more confident.  That’s a good thing.”

“Pity that he finds me so scary.  He really didn’t know me at all, ” I study the floor, sighing deeply before I continue, “He wanted someone who was easy to fool.  I never asked him to give up L and be with me.  He knew I didn’t want to see him if he was seeing someone else.  He lied.”

There was nothing more to say on the subject so we sat for a few hours saying nothing at all until I got up and found something to do.

*****************

Days became weeks.  I didn’t go out.  I didn’t write.  I went to work.  I took care of the family.  I carted things out to the house.  I stayed away from D.  When I felt lonely, and when I missed him, I took my pain by the hand and gently led her back to the present.  “She loves him.  He loves her.  You loved him, and he didn’t love you,” became my mantra.  Devil me rode shotgun when I drove to and from work, “Breathe.  You’ll get past this.  Loneliness is relative.  Use this time to reflect.”  She allowed me to vent, offered a shoulder to cry on.  I didn’t call K or J. 

Work intervened and kept me busy.  I was sent upstairs to assist with surgery on an infant too unstable to be transported to the surgical department.  Something clicked.  I was sent upstairs again.  The surgeon was interesting in adding me to the team.  Meetings and rounds were held on Friday mornings at 9, could I be there?  I sat taking notes while the surgeon and cardiologists discussed the patients who would be coming in to have surgery.  The lights were dimmed so we could watch the echocardiograms projected on the screen.  The surgeon was delighted to hear that someone new was joining the team.  I was there for the first open heart procedure (to correct a congenital abnormality) on an adult.  Groundbreaking.  I was there.  The patient did very well.  The next day we did surgery on a baby who was only a few weeks old. 

I was officially part of the Open Heart Service.  I couldn’t have been happier!  In fact, I was so jazzed that when the night shift nurse called out sick I quickly agreed to work her shift.  My shift extended from 12 to 22 hours.  I would be very tired and very happy when Saturday dawned and my relief arrived.

******************

Friends intervened as well.  They coaxed me out for dinner and drinks.  I remembered the housekeeper at one of the hospitals I taught at telling me, “Girl, you gotta eat!  Let the men take you out.  You decide if you want it to go anywhere.”  I painted my toenails, made up my face, slipped bright earrings into my lobes, and dressed carefully.  No matter if I wasn’t looking.  I could still make the effort to look nice.   In spite of my newly minted confidence I still blushed when approached.  They were all youngish and good looking.  My friends teased that I was a cougar.  I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but I flirted back anyway

But as exhilarating as it all was, I couldn’t let down my guard.  Someone joined our merry group.  He graduated with all of us, married a lovely woman, raised two daughters, and has a very successful business.  We all traded tales and history, laughed at jokes, sipped spirits.  He plants himself across from me, and the interrogation starts.  Insidious.  He doesn’t try hard to get into my good graces, and he doesn’t try to impress, but I feel it just the same.

Since I trust myself first, I don’t push that unease away.  I watch and listen.  Wait.  A week later he’s trying to scare up a group to go out.  We decide on an expensive beer garden to start.  He’s there early.  One other person shows up and he has her text me to see when I’ll be there.  I cock an eyebrow at Angel me, who looks alarmed.  Another young man snuggles up to me at the bar while I wait for a grossly overpriced sorghum ale.  He cuddles me so close and so comfortably that I wonder if he won’t kiss. me.  He can’t be 30.  B, the newcomer, watches it all.  He’s not flirting yet, but as the night progresses that changes.  He’s subtle, but it’s unmistakable.  He only gives himself away when he comments on my soft eyes.  He picks up the tab for all of us.  When he walks me out to my car, he takes me into his arms and kisses me without restraint. 

Then he invites me to the bike fest in ________.  The one in the center of the state.  It’s held in February.  It’s the one D goes to.  The irony nearly makes me laugh uncontrollably.  He’s scheming to have another single friend take me as a passenger.  He’s mildly irritated that he wasn’t able to get this guy to come down and go out with the group. 

Apparently, he decided that he wanted a fling with me on the first night he met me.  He texts me no less than a dozen times before I get home.  The drive from the bar takes me 10 minutes. 

Devil me and Angel me glare at me when I come in at 4 am.  “What the FUCK are you doing?” Devil me growls.  I smile while I grab the pitcher of water in the refrigerator, “I have no intention of being B’s mistress.  I’ll not go to __________ with anyone.  D would be there.  I’m not even going to lead B on.”  I sip my water and head for the shower, “I just find it amusing that he’s scheming so hard to have a fling with me.” 

Angel me shakes her head, “Don’t kiss him again!”

I laugh, “I won’t!  Don’t worry!”

Dancing to the edge of the cliff, I stopped and looked at the drop.  Then I turned and walked away.