On Friday night I take my worried mind to bed, sighing in defeat and resignation, certain that I’ll not hear from him at all.  Sleep is fitful at best, but I manage to doze off by 1 am.

My phone rings at 1:30am.  My eyes fly open and I snatch up my cell phone.  I’m prepared to go in to work, and I’m professional.  D sounds surprised at the different voice he hears, but he gushes anyway.  He’s leaving the bar.  He wants to come and pick me up.  Even if we’re both too tired for sex, he wants to wake up next to me.  I plead fatigue and decline.  Devil me stares at me in the darkness.  He pushes it for 20 min, but I explain that I’m on call, that I’m expected in 30 min, that if I stay with him, then I’ll have to tack 15 min on my call in time. 

Why would he need me so?  Guess he was somewhere where the women were scantily clad, or at least drunk and teasing the eunuch.  I look at Devil me, decline for the last time, and hang up.  She kisses my head and I drift off to sleep.  I don’t even want to see him in the morning.   I open my eyes in the dark and whisper, “It’s done.”  She shushes me, “Sleep.”

I wake up at 9 am.  No call backs.  I slip out of bed and pad about getting myself together.  The texts start soon after, “Call me?  Are you up?”  I ignore them, annoyed at the intrusion, certain that he’s just looking for an outlet.  The fair weathers must have been especially slutty last night.  “Or else they paired up and he was the lonely guy with no one, which is quite often the case,”  Devil me offers.  I shrug and get dressed.  I’ll contact him after I have coffee. 

When I do, he’s bouncy and happy.  I resist the urge to ask if L spent the night.  He wants to go boating.  He wants to travel south for 6 hours.  I explain that I’ll have to board animals, and ask what he really wants to do.  The weather forecast calls for rain, after all.  He decides he’d rather go boating, but wants to meet for breakfast.

I beat him to the restaurant.  Strike 3 for the accusation that I’m always tardy.  I take the opportunity to comment on it, but he sweeps me into his arms.  I pick up the tab for breakfast while he wanders over to chat with a guy he used to work with.  Then I leave.  He shows up about 10 minutes later to pick me up.  No car.  If anything happens, I’m stranded.  My mouth is a grim line.  I’ve used the time to tie up loose ends with the pets.  He studies my face when I get in the truck, “Are you alright?”  I nod, and plead fatigue.  Devil me snorts, “As if she’d discuss it with you…”

Indeed.  I drive back and forth to work writing the script so that my answers are concise and honest.

The only reason to put so much time into my answers is to pad the walls so that no one gets hurt.  Except me, of course.  It all hurts me.  My eyes sad and full of pain. 

back later…pulling a double shift tomorrow…

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.

I have the kids for an extended weekend, and even though I have to take call and work all day on Sunday, they’re happy they’re with me.  I’m happy, too.  When we are all in the kitchen, laughing and cooking, I realize that they’ve both grown so much over the last two years.  It seems like only yesterday they were small.  I have photos of them as toddlers enjoying the holidays at this house.  My mother was alive then.  It’s been a dozen years.  My eyes mist a bit, and they see it.  My youngest puts his arms around me and hugs me, “It’s okay, Mom.  You have us.”  What a gift to have sons who notice when my heart aches a little, even if it’s nothing more than time moving too quickly, and toddlers growing into teenagers in the blink of an eye. 

Sunday dawns bright and beautiful, contrasting starkly with the trauma patients who arrive by air and ambulance.  Our own schedule has emergent cases that can’t wait until tomorrow, but one of the anesthetists tells us that the Emergency Room parking lot is clotted with squad cars.  This time the trauma patient is one of their own.  He’ll wait most of the day to be put back together with metal plates and screws, spending his morning being scanned and x-rayed, instead of ticketing speeders and working accidents on the highway.  It’s unclear if he was a motorcycle cop, or just riding his motorcycle to work, and it really doesn’t matter.  He’s bruised and broken and bleeding.  We’ll do our best to put him back together again.

The other two trauma patients don’t come to surgery.  One is just bruised and scraped from a bicycle accident, he chats with the trauma team.  My supervisor returns to the department shaking his head, “They don’t even think he’s broken a bone.”  We sigh with relief because we’re busy enough at the moment.  The third trauma patient arrives in the early afternoon.  We wait for an hour for word, which is strange, normally we’ll get news before then.  When word comes, it’s grave.  First responders weren’t certain that the patient hadn’t suffered a gunshot wound to his head in a drive-by shooting.  Witnesses were spare with details, but slowly the accident details were patched together.  The victim was hit by a car while crossing the road.  He was dragged a fair distance.  People passing by stopped to stare at the bleeding man, but no one called for an ambulance.  The car that struck him down was long gone.  When he arrived in the Emergency Room he had no pulse.  His body temperature was 101, absorbed heat from the asphalt road and the sun overhead.  He was beyond saving.  My supervisor shook his head, “They may have been able to save him if someone had called 911 sooner…” 

I work past the end of my shift.  I’m exhausted.  I head home, feed the kids, and we head to the new house.  The second cut hasn’t been done so my yard looks pretty shitty, but I’ll let it ride for a few days before I say anything.  H is being dramatic.  He’s cleaning his garage.  He’s found cookbooks and my family history.  I toss the binders in my backseat. 

I call D while I’m driving home.  I still need to shower and dress, but it’s 7:00 pm.  I suggest that we go to a different restaurant.  D won’t hear of it, “It’s a nice night.  We’ll take the Harley.”

Devil me giggles from the passenger seat, “You should tell him about the patient the trauma team is working on now.”  I’m too tired to argue.  I’m almost too tired to eat, but I manage to feel somewhat better after a shower.  I head over.  He’s been busy.  His boat is sparkling clean with new seats installed.  The carpet in the truck replaced.  His house is clean and tidy.  He’s started a couple projects.  He’s not been with me, but he’s not been with L either.  Other than his ride downtown, he’s been a homebody.

My helmet sits next to L’s helmet on a high shelf.  Her helmet is smaller than mine.  It’s covered with dust and a fine veil of cobwebs tether it to the shelf.  My helmet resides in a fabric bag.  It still looks new, flat black, and badass.  He helps me put it on, and touches my nose with his finger while I tighten the chin strap, “Cutie.”  We leave, rumbling through Sunday evening streets, quiet and restful before Monday’s bustle.  The sushi restaurant isn’t busy since it’s nearly 9:00 pm.  As we’re seated, a woman at the bar throws herself drunkenly on her companion.  She’s loud and obnoxious.  Every so often she swears loudly.  D and I giggle behind our menus until we realize that her companion isn’t gently leading her out.  D says, “He needs to get their sushi to go and take her home.”  She throws her hands up in the air, upsetting her empty wine glass.  D comments on her gold and diamond watch.  I look at him blandly and cock an eyebrow.  He shrugs; he notices things like that, “It doesn’t make her any less obnoxious.”  We sip sake.  He wants to order two gluten free rolls and his favorite.  We’re hungry though so we end up ordering 4 rolls…Spider and Dancing Eel for me and Super Rainbow and Volcano for D.  As we pick up our chopsticks, we notice that the companion of the drunk woman is paying his tab.  They totter out, with her staggering on 5 inch heels.  D’s eyes sparkle, “Tell me when the door closes behind them.”  I smile and nod, and we applaud loudly, much to the delight of our waitress. 

“They’ll probably go and admire your Harley…”, I sigh.  D laments that the drunk woman will want to sit on it and go for a ride.  I tell him that she’ll probably vomit in my helmet, and the thought of it makes us both giggle.  Later, when we leave, D laughs, “Look!”  He points to a bench next to the Harley.  Incredibly, the drunk woman is reclining on the bench, head in the lap of her pretty drunken friend.  He looks disheveled, and very much like D’s friend, TJ.  I don’t mention that, but I giggle just the same.  D cautions me against talking to the drunk woman, who is snoring loudly with her friend looking like a Raggedy Andy, brought to life. 

I shudder.  I’m just happy that he didn’t call L during dinner. 

He often reaches back to caress my legs or my breasts while he rides.  Angel me smiles, “He can’t believe that you’re there.  That’s why he touches you.”  She believes that he’s smitten, at least for the moment.  Devil me and Real me aren’t so certain.  He doesn’t check the  social networking site so often, but K  thinks it’s because of the attention I get.  Innocent, but it hurts him. It doesn’t matter that on any given page, on any given day, someone is paying someone a compliment or innocently flirting.  The problem is that he doesn’t know some of the people who post suggestive comments.  He commented on it once, and I shrugged, “You worry about someone who lives 3000 miles away?  He’s also in a relationship – with another man.  I really think that the suggestive comments he makes are not meant to be taken seriously.”  He threw his hands up in the air and claimed it to be my business, not his; I shushed him and pulled up the profile of another guy who he thought paid me too much attention…..married, 68 years old, and living in Ireland.  He looked at the screen before turning away. 

K asked, “How many people are just cyber friends on your page?  How do you meet them?”  I honestly didn’t have an answer for him, so I told him that it was probably 20 or so.  He laughed, “I think it’s more than that.  Have you tallied them?”  A boring task to be sure, but to entertain K, I pulled up my contact list and counted.  Then I called him back.  He laughed at my hesitation to sing out the number, “It’s more than 20, isn’t it?  How did you meet them?  What do they do?”  They’re actors, comedians, colorful people who work in healthcare, who own bakeries, university professors, physicians, many write screenplays, some are journalists, some are stifled people living in small, well-to-do communities, some live in other countries, “They find me.  I don’t just send requests to people I don’t know.  They send requests to me.  Eighty.”  K laughs heartily, “Eighty? No wonder D is nervous.  You move easily in the world that he wishes he had.  You’re too much for him.”  D wanted to work in theater following graduation, but once he married R his father had a serious sit down with him and he became a blue collar Union man.  Dreams died hard, and he regrets much, even if he’s comfortable in his life.  Still, it nibbles at him. 

He doesn’t have to worry about L running off.  He doesn’t think that she has the option.  Maybe in her mind, she doesn’t, but honestly….she does.  She just doesn’t want to settle for a man who might be older than her.  Silly, but that’s part of the reason why women color their hair, slather on anti-aging cream, and squeeze into girdles.  We want to appear younger.  I don’t look my age, and I don’t take it for granted.  I’m thankful every day that I don’t have enough gray to warrant color.  Only a few silver strands dance with the light brown locks.  My sisters have had to use hair dye to cover grey since they were in their early 20s.  Genetics have been kind, and I appreciate that. D is completely gray. 

I tell K that D does so many little things to be sweet to me.  When he shops, he reads labels to make certain that products are gluten-free.  If I mention something, he listens, and he researches it, “That’s why it’s puzzling when he gets weird and pushes me away.  I make a big deal out of all the little things he does, because I appreciate it.  It’s nice when someone cares enough to take the extra time to read labels.  Makes me feel a little better about dropping big bucks on dinner at the steakhouse.”  K laughs, “It must be a let down to go back to L, but she’s safe.  She doesn’t require the work that you do.  You’re high maintenance.”  I immediately protest so he explains, “You have to follow a special diet, you still have kids who are minors, your ex husband is crazy and won’t leave you alone, you have a demanding job with weird hours….”  Then he laughs and adds, “And you’re 11 years younger than L so he’s got to worry that you’ll find someone better and leave him.”  I sigh, because it’s all true, and it makes me feel like damaged goods, “Thank you for making me feel like shit, my friend.  Besides, we all have baggage.  No one is a perfect, blemish-free specimen once middle age arrives.” 

I think about all of this while I watch D sleep.  He touches me in his sleep, pulls me close and kisses my face and head.  I wake up every time, happy even though I will head to work exhausted in the morning.  He talks about calling out today, since I’m off, but I tell him I have appointments to make, and chores to do.  I won’t have the kids this weekend so I suggest we plan something fun for then.  He’s delighted.  He wants to go out of town for the night, I’m not sure where. 

Devil me shakes her head, “You’ve fallen again.  When will you learn?”

I spent the 4th with the kids, but I have to return them to H in the evening.  I’m hoping that he’ll be good to them tonight, and that they’ll have a fun evening together.  I know it will be better than mine.  The unease I feel is oppressive as the sky when storm clouds pile up and press close. 

I pull into D’s driveway ten minutes early.  He doesn’t answer his landline, his cell, or his door, and I return to my car to decide what I’ll do next.  My first instinct is to head to the nearby bar, have one overpriced and crappy mixed drink, and then head home.  As I reach for the ignition, my phone rings.  It’s D, sounding a bit windblown and sheepish, “Hey, Honey!  What’s up?”  I don’t hide the chill in my voice when I remind him that he asked me to meet him at his house at 6:30 pm.  He apologizes; he’s been riding the motorcycle, and lost track of time.  When I ask how long I’ll have to wait for him, he tells me that he’s downtown.  It will be 20 minutes.  I stare at the place where the keypad used to be, and shake my head.  It’s 87 degrees out.

I look at Devil Me who stage whispers, “LEAVE!  Tell him to FUCK OFF!”  I wave a hand at her.

“Oh, and I have nothing booze-wise.  No mixers.  No alcohol,” he continues in an embarrassed tone.  He tells me that he’s on his way.  I hang up without saying goodbye.  For the next 18 minutes I hit the liquor store and the grocery store.  I tuck the receipts in the bags.  He calls me when I’m pulling in the driveway, “I’m home, Baby.”  I don’t know how I could have missed him on the Harley.  He must have hauled ass.  I grab the bags from the car, my mouth set in a grim line, tense.  My heart pulls away from me, like a dog pulling at a leash, afraid and wanting to return to the safety of the car.  I set the bag with the booze in the bed of his truck, and set the other grocery bag on the floor, and D looks puzzled for a moment, until he realizes that I mean to leave.

I turn then, and follow my heart to my car.

D runs past the bags, fear in his face and his voice when he calls to me.  When he gets close enough, I turn my eyes to him.  There’s no light, only menacing darkness.  He hesitates for the briefest moment before reaching for my arm, and then he pulls me back to the house.  When we pass the motorcycles, I notice the double seat on the Harley, “Did you have a passenger?”  My voice is ice.  He lets go of my arm, and looks into my cold, dark eyes, “No passengers.  I met friends for a drink.  That’s all.”  I step back, and the distress deepens in his voice as he reaches for me, “Please?”  I stare at him for a few moments, “What are the plans for tonight?”  He sighs, “No plans, but I promise you’ll see the best fireworks show, and from “The Island”.  I want you to have a good time.”  I look skeptical, and he moves closer.  Then he takes my hand and leads me inside.

Devil me slaps her forehead with her palm. 

He takes me into his arms, and looks into my eyes.  The compliments fall like rain, intent on softening my eyes and my heart.  Words fail, so he resorts to kisses. 

Angel me whispers to Devil me in the corner, “She wonders why he tries so hard to keep her around.  I can see, even if she doesn’t.”  Devil me matches the chill in my eyes with her own, “If he’d tell her that he loved her….”

*******

He doesn’t though.  Something will hold him back from uttering those words, even as he takes her to “The Island”, even as he holds her close and rains kisses and compliments.  He offers her dinner, makes certain that she’s comfortable.  He wants everything to be perfect.  It isn’t.  He knows that.  He can’t thaw the ice in her eyes, and it bothers him, but he’s determined to wake up next to her in the morning.  Fire blooms in the night sky and lights her face in scarlet, blue, white, yellow, and green, reflecting in her eyes.  She looks like she did as a teenager, when he first fell for her.

********

Devil me looks smugly satisfied, “Guess you’re off the hook, Honey.” 

D is torn, “Once you get them home, settled….” his voice trails off.  I glare at him.  He licks his lips, clears his throat, “If they’re okay, if you still want to….I know you can’t spend the night….but if you still want to….I’d like you to come back over for a little while.”

I will return, but I don’t spend the night.

I will talk to him on the morning of the 5th, and I won’t hear back from him for 2 days.  I look at Devil me, “He’s with the one he really loves.  He’s with L.”  I shake my head, “I need to tell him that he needs to stop seeing me and just stay with her since he loves her so.”

“So when will you tell him?” her words hang on the air, unheard except in my own mind.

Soon.

Near midnight I slip outside, silently as a cat so I won’t disturb the children or the neighbors.  It’s fairly quiet, with only the rare whine and pop of the occasional bottle rocket, followed by distant barking dogs.  I look skyward at the silvery orb that is the moon and it’s glow lights my face and casts my shadow behind me.  My racing heart calms and my mind becomes clear as glass, still and quiet.  This is what peace feels like.  In my hands I carry the burden that I’ve harbored for weeks.  It’s time to send it away, and evaluate my feelings. 

I light a candle, and begin to pray… for myself this time.  A novel idea, for usually the prayers are for others.  It feels odd praying for myself, asking for guidance, but that’s only because I do it so rarely.  It’s comforting, praying outdoors, because I don’t feel disconnected.  I’m one with the earth, barefoot in the grass, one of the blessed creatures, equally beautiful, valuable, common.  My prayers float up on gossamer strands, quiet and sincere requests.  All are heard, some will be granted.  Reply is not required. I pray until the well is empty. 

I become aware of my hands.  It’s time to send the burden away.  I kneel and prepare the fire, and the pieces of L’s card flare, turning slowly to ash.  I gaze into the flames, but there is only dancing gold to compliment the silvery glow of the moon.  Eventually, golden specks chase each other, little fire creatures, working their way through the bits of my burden.  I watch them until they disappear.  Before I slip back inside, I look at the moon again, “What will become of me?”  The moon glows…silent.

Angel me follows me to my room.  She looks concerned, “Do you feel any better?”  She didn’t like me holding onto the pieces of L’s card, “You shouldn’t have kept her card so long.  Burning it under a pure moon.  As if that will make L go away?”  Devil me answers for me, “Don’t be ridiculous!  Of course, L isn’t going anywhere.  She knows that.  Burning the card is only symbolic….”  I nod, then leave them both to debate while I shower. 

They’ve taken their discussion somewhere else when I emerge from the bathroom.  I don night clothes, kiss the children goodnight, and give in to sleep.  There are no dreams, just a void, welcome.  I wake feeling empty and new, odd but at peace. 

Devil me hands me a cup of coffee, “You look like you slept well.  No dreams?”  I shake my head, “The pain is gone, but my heart feels strange today.”  I sip my coffee.  She sighs, “The strange feeling means that you’ve changed your mind about participating in these games with D.  You know you can’t win.  You no longer care, and you are supposed to meet him tonight.” 

“I haven’t heard from him.  He likely went out with L yesterday.  He’s likely spending the day with her today,” my eyes are neutral, “You’re right about the game losing it’s appeal.  I should break off the date, stay home.  I could tell him that he should take L since he loves her so.”  Devil me tilts my face to hers so she can see my eyes and murmurs, “There’s no anger, no tears….Have you disentangled him from your heart?”  I shake my head, “I don’t know.  Maybe.”

I send him a text to inquire about plans.  He responds that I should come over at 6:30.  I look up, “He’s likely with L.  I should go over early.”  She looks shocked, then giggles.  I giggle, too, then I remember something and it widens my eyes for a moment before sending me into gales of laughter.  Angel me pokes my arm and smiles at Devil me, “It’s not THAT funny.”  I wipe a tear from my eye, “Oh, yes it is!”  They both manage to look amused and confused at the same time while I try to compose myself.  Finally, I blurt out, “My earrings!  I left my earrings on his dresser!  If L stopped by then there was evidence that a woman was in his bedroom!  Hope she finds them before he did.”  I don’t care about the earrings, they’re cheap crap that he picked up for me on one of our outings.  If I lose them, it doesn’t matter.  If it gets him into hot water, then I can’t think of a more deserving person.

Angel me looks disgusted, “I thought you’d turned a corner, you cruel thing.”  Devil me laughs with me before asking, “You’re going to go with him, aren’t you?  Just to be a fly in the ointment.”  I nod, “It’s just a game.  It’s nearly over.  Besides when I disappear from his life, he’ll never find me.  I promise to leave it be when I know I’ve won.”

“When do you know if you’ve won?” the voice comes from within, “Because I don’t know that anyone will win this game.  I say cut your losses, disappear while you can.  Clean break.”

What I should do….

The work week has been hectic, with a short staff and many emergencies.  D stays in touch, which is nice, but I’m still a little skeptical.  I wonder if L comes out to the house much, or if he sees her on the days that he doesn’t see me.  It’s ridiculous to consider, but I can’t help it.  I worry it like a dog worries a bone.  Devil me grabs my shoulder, “Stop it! You know for a fact that she’s not there every day.  The bathing suit bottom was dusty, and tucked away in an odd place.  It wouldn’t make sense for her to put it there.  She might have been there recently, but you know that he dumps her every time you come to back to him.  Besides, you don’t know that he didn’t put it there himself, banking that you would find it and put in extra effort.  And the card may be something that he gets every year regardless.  Your realtor told you that L bemoaned the on again off again relationship she had with D.  I’m surprised you didn’t make the connection then…”

I have to admit that I’m a bit ashamed that I was naive and trusting in light of the glaring neon signs that kept popping up all over the place.  Even now, I’m at a loss as to what to do about it.  It’s awfully nice when I’m the girlfriend.  L must feel the same to have stuck around for almost 13 years.

Now it all feels like an experiment or a test.  L and I are the lab rats in a maze, with poor L thinking she’s running through the maze alone.  L doesn’t know about me, which is astounding in itself.  Your boyfriend disappears for weeks and months at a time and you don’t suspect that he’s seeing someone else?  She’s an intelligent woman so she must have seen the same signs.  If he’s made mistakes and tipped his hand to me, then he must have tipped his hand to her often.  Is she that naive, or is she just turning a blind eye in the hopes that “this one” will tire of D and leave for good?

Angel me cocks an eyebrow, “I would venture to guess that she turns a blind eye.  He hates to be caught with his hand in the cookie jar.”  True.  When I think of the way he responded when he was caught “red-handed”, I have to agree.  K always said that anger and panic are one and the same with D.  He felt like D wasn’t so angry about me calling him out as much as he was afraid that he’d lost me for good, “He KNOWS you’re too good for him.”

D calls me the day after our dinner out and asks me to have dinner with him again.  It’s possible because I’ve worked an early shift.  I have call, so I opt not to stay overnight, and that seems to upset him a little.  He’ll ask me later if I ended up working, which causes Devil me to poke me in the ribs and whisper, “He’s getting possessive again.  Do you need any more proof that he’s not seeing L?”  I decide to push the envelope, and I suggest an outing to an art gallery that L and her friends have been know to frequent.  It’s a brash move, because one of her good friends is a docent.  He immediately responds that he’d love to go, and I smile coldly at my phone.  To sweeten the deal, I offer to come over and cook dinner on Friday.  He’s very happy about that, even though we won’t eat until 9:30 pm.  I cook in 4″ heels and he snaps photos of my legs and feet, the flash going off every few minutes.  Dinner is great, and I stay overnight, which delights him.  He’ll oversleep cuddling me, hooking a leg over mine and enfolding me in his arms.  I pack up the leftovers so that he can take them for lunch, and head home before sunrise after he kisses me passionately. 

He’ll text me a couple times today.  He says that he and his buddy from work rode motorcycles and went out to lunch on Wednesday.  It’s plausible since they work the same shift and often ride together, but I wonder if he didn’t meet L on her lunch break.  She works in the southern part of the county.  Would he risk it?  I’m not sure anymore.  He’s made it a point to leave my toothbrush out on the counter, alongside his own.  Always in the past, my stuff was tucked away immediately, proof positive that he was hiding my presence.  The wine glasses match up on the counter.  The only time there was an extra was when his sister and brother in law were in town, and I made it a point to check and make sure that they were in town and staying with him. 

Sometimes he tells the truth.

J resists giving an opinion.  He’s looking for a drinking companion tonight, and is seriously disappointed when I tell him that I have call.  He’s exhausted the rest of our friends since he goes out every night.  He’s cooled on M, preferring to sleep with old friends from school.  I reserve judgement, but D shudders, even if some of the girls are not to his taste.  J is also superstitious, believing that our fortunes in love affairs run opposite of one another.  When I soar, he crashes and burns, and when he’s riding high, D has ditched me again.  I wave it away, “We get involved in dysfunctional relationships.”  He argues his poor luck, and I resist the urge to tell him that his luck would be better if he were employed and not drinking his unemployment check up every night.  It’s hard to tell anymore if he disapproves of D because he’s been such a cad, or because he’s wondering if he could have a casual relationship with me (after all, many of the old friends from school weren’t willing to sleep with him back in the day, but they’re lonely now). 

D isn’t perfect, and neither am I.  Maybe he does love me a little.  I gave him a greeting card with a funny, romantic sentiment written inside.  He laughed when he read it, “Can I keep this….for evidence?”  I laughed, “Of course!”  Angel me giggled in my ear, “Just don’t tell him that it’s a replacement for the card that L sent.”  I make a mental note to find the same card that L sent, and mail it to him next year.  Angel me grabs the note with wide eyes, shocked silent for a long minute before laughing heartily, “Calculating Bitch!!”

In the meantime, I’m going to be sweet, doting, and ever so wonderful. 

It all sinks in, and I begin to watch the clock. Angel me chides me softly, “Breathe, sweetie.  Monday is far away.”

It’s not far enough, and my heart fluttters alarmingly.  I don’t know that I can pull this dinner off.  It’s going to be nerve wracking for certain.  Devil me tells me that she would opt out and take D somewhere cheap, “That’s what he deserves!  You’ve been too nice.  You should have ripped him one, publically, so that everyone knows he’s an asshole.  I shake my head, “I just want to fade away and dissapear.”

“You can’t do that,” cautions Angel me, “Too many people perruse your page!.”  I nod, because she’s right, but eventually I will disappear anyway.  I’ve promised a few that I’d let them know where I’ve gone, but they don’t seem interested in following me…so the list dwindles smaller.  Angel me looks alarmed, but I wave her fears away.  What difference would it make if D never finds me again, “He loves L.  He forgets me when I’m out of sight.  Honey, I’m nothing.  He just wants an expensive dinner.”

I decide that after dinner, I’ll drive him home on the pretext that he can change clothes. and wait outside  I’ll not enter his house, because I’m not going to ever be welcome.  I’m actively debating with myself….should I wait for him or should I leave.  If I leave, I’ll text him, plead a headache and say that I’m sorry that he disapproved of the restaurant and wanted only to fuck and sleep following it all. 

The next text arrives.  He’s had a change of heart.  He wants me to sleep at his place.  He’ll just not leave me out of his sight.  That’s fine, of course.  It’s still the end.

It’s all good, because freedom is mine.

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.

He knows. And he knows that I know, but he’s not able to say anything.  He acts as if nothing is wrong, but the tension is there.

He’s afraid I’ll disappear.

He catches me staring skyward in the dark, and he comes to me quickly, dispensing kisses and stroking my hair before he enfolds me in a hug.  Eyes glitter and glow in the dark.  He doesn’t see them.  He just bustles about trying to please me. 

He doesn’t want me to leave, either. 

It all surprises me.  He obviously has at least L (if not more).  I’m obviously expendable.  Although, obviously not expendable at all. 

K laughs heartily at it all, “He loves you!  I told you so!”  And afterwards, when we all calm down, I say, “You know I’m crazy about you.  I love you, honey.”  Natural as drawing breath, but a trap nonetheless.  In the past, he would have joked his way around it, not responding and leaving me feeling sad.  This time he snuggles me close and looks in my eyes, “I love you too, baby!”  He’ll say it more than once.  He’ll also take me out to dinner, with nary a blink of an eye.  He even suggests that we try “my” sushi restaurant next time.

I report to K.  He laughs again, “I told you so!”  Angel me snorts in disgust, “You should have asked him to kiss your ass.”  Devil me giggles, “No need!  Sounds like he already did.” 

I don’t tell any of them that he stepped out of the restaurant to get his phone so he could call his dad.  I’m quite sure that he also called L.  He checked out a liquor store nearby. I imagine him lying to L as he browses the shelves, telling her that he’s out with R or C, but that he’d RATHER be out with her.  I roll my eyes, text K, and watch the door.  This ISN’T going to work.  I need to break it off and find someone who isn’t an asshole. 

After all, as I was getting ready to go out, I borrowed his hair gel and reached under the sink for the blow dryer.  I figured I’d fluff up my hair a little.  The cord of the dryer was caught on something and it fell out when I pulled out the dryer.  It was heavy nylon, and I held them up…curious….It was a pair of bathing suit bottoms, full panty with an attached skirt.  I hauled them out and looked at them, eyes growing cold.  They were fairly large.  I folded them up and put them back under the sink.  After dinner we stopped at a department store so he could look at electric razors.  I found a pair of heels.  He shook his head, “They look amazing, but why don’t you save for an expensive pair?”  I giggle, “Because this is so much more entertaining!”  He walks away to look for batteries, and my smile is gone.  He’ll get some produce and sandwiches for the next work day lunch.  We ride the motorcycle home, and he hands me the bags, “I have to park it.”  No problem.  I carry in the bags, beeline it for the bathroom, then I stuff the bathing suit bottoms in my purse.  They’re huge.  I drop my purse into the bag with my shoes.

He doesn’t realize that I’ve lifted L’s bathing suit. 

It goes out in the next day’s garbage.

Let’s see D explain THAT to L.  Devil me applauds, “THAT wasn’t nice!  I like your rationale, sassy!”  My eyes are cold and hard.  Angel me touches my arm, “What if he says something?”  I smile, but it’s not warm and comforting, “That’s the beauty of it all.  He can’t say anything.  That’s why he’s kissing my ass.  I’ll keep him on his toes awhile.”

“Then what?”  Devil me asks.  I look at her with dead eyes, “Then I dump him for good.”  Angel me asks if I still love him.  I do.  I don’t like the fact that he dates me and L.  He’s keeping doors open with her.  It makes me want to say, “She loves you, and you love her.  I should go.”

K says, “His family likes you better.  ALL OF THEM.  Even the fucking cat!  That’s no lost on him.”

But do I need to waste my time?  Because I’m thinking that I should just tell him to go away and never contact me…I don’t know anymore…

K laughs at me when I tell him the latest.  He’s down, partying with J.  They’ve been fishing today on a friend’s boat.  They’re working on getting their drink on now.  I tell him that D has emailed me once and sent two texts.  Laughing, he says, “He hasn’t spoken to me.”   I tell him that I don’t think that D knows that I saw the card, or that I took it.  He thinks I’m wrong.  He’s not sure that D didn’t leave it out on purpose.  I’m skeptical, “Why?  To start a fight?  He doesn’t care about me.”

Devil me giggles, “Of course, he does!  Why do you think he’s in constant contact?  He’s worried that you’ll disappear.”  He’s used to me responding immediately and with a wordy reply.  I didn’t reply to last night’s text so he sends another tonight.  That one I reply simply to….”Thnx”.  Not like me at all, but I really don’t care to carry on the charades with D anymore.

My eyes twinkle when I suggest that I should ask him out for sushi and present him with  the pieces of L’s card, offering apologies for taking it and admitting that it got “a little torn up”….which sends Devil me into gales of laughter.  Angel me laughs as well, “That would be funny….dumping the pieces of her card on the table….!”

My eyes grow cold…”I’d prefer to burn the pieces on the next full moon…”  The mes nod, because they understand.  The full moon is clear and honest, a fitting witness to duplicity, and a clean break for a broken soul.  But Angel me points out the obvious, “That means that you have to keep the pieces for 2 more weeks.  Do you want them looming over you?”

They’re both concerned that the light is gone from my eyes.  My colleagues at work have noticed it too.  I’m working in the Kingdom, and the staff is less professional there.  One of the anesthesia providers and a physician’s assistant try to draw me back, “You are our comic relief here.”  I look at the PA and say, “Bullshit.  I had a bad weekend.  Leave me be.”  He looks hurt.  The orderly gently asks me in the hallway, “Lady, are you okay?  You look so sad….like your heart is breaking.”  My eyes feel the sting of tears, and I shake my head, “No, love.  I’m not okay.  You’re right.  My heart is breaking, but I’ll be okay.”  He pats my back in support.  He’s kind enough to keep my secret from the others.  He’ll check on me tomorrow, because he’s young and good-hearted. 

My heart is empty all day.  The vines and brambles and thorns stay put.  If I remove them, I fear that I’ll die because there will be nothing left.

Devil me whispers to Angel me, “The light is gone….I’m afraid that the light won’t return,”  she pauses before saying that forbidden thing, “That’s the only thing that binds her here.  Without a soul….”  Angel me growls, “The light will return.  She’s tethered here.  It doesn’t matter that she has no soul.  She’s had children, so she can’t just fly away….” 

Devil me swipes at her tears, “Does she know that she has no soul?”  Now it’s my turn to laugh, “Of course.  When a child arrives unwanted then they are denied a soul.  You have to be wanted to have a soul.  When a child arrives unwanted, then they have no soul.  They can’t be admitted to Heaven.    They are like dogs.  They are nothing.”   The light and the twinkle are gone from my eyes.  The mes know this, but it doesn’t diminish their desire to be with me.  They’re distressed to know that I know my fate. 

I shake my head, “No.  It’s okay. It could be a void or some sort of afterlife.  I accept my fate.”

The mes hold my hands….”You are more than the person you were.  You have a capacity to love and promote change…..

…..you are free…”

I am free.