All That's Come Before
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
There's a danger in not writing things down. In not remembering. The staples, you always remember those. Milk and eggs. Big birthdays and big breakups. But the fringe items get murky. They fade with time.
In a piece about The Ex, I wrote: "Before and after. Misleading. There are few events to which 'before' or 'after' can be accurately applied. Unless something happens in a split second—a car crash, a dropped glass—there’s always a chain of events that make up a shadowland that stretches between those two units of time."
And so it goes.
I remember clearly the moment The Ex told me he had to go home, to Vancouver Island, after he had all but moved in with me. We were sitting up talking, appropriately, after seeing "The Breakup." I said I couldn't wait to put up a Christmas tree this year. He said he needed to leave before the week was up. And I remember the day of the final "this is over" conversation -- on an blustery October mid-morning, over the phone, sitting at my kitchen table. I had come to realize that we had passed the point of return -- with love, with trust, with sticktuitiveness. Maybe we both had. There just wasn't enough of those things left to make a good go of it any longer.
Over the holidays, Chief of Stuff and our families were out for dinner when an ex-ex boyfriend -- the one who could easily qualify as a first love, and the same one who had given me a lesson in heartbreaking -- waltzed in with his. Later that night, CoS asked me for details of what had happened with him, and like wandering through the grocery store without a list, I could only recall the big things. Milk, eggs, chicken. My lying to him, his cheating on me, and the phone call out of nowhere. But the details, the connecting segments, were all lost.
Days like the other day, too, will eventually fade with time if not written down, not witnessed.
The last conversation I'd had with The Ex had been the night I told him I was engaged. After initial shock wore off, he came around. We joked ("Do you need a photographer?" he asked. "I know a good one." He had just returned from a weekend in Tofino where his girlfriend was shooting a wedding.) We talked like friends -- exactly what I had hoped we could be eventually, since our breakup was devoid of hard feelings (as if on cue from Dr. Phil, we had done all of that work long before agreeing to quit) -- and agreed to maintain touch through the occasional email or phone call.
This, I was happy about. With the ex-ex, there was zero desire to see or talk to him ever again. He had hurt me to the bone, and the mix of anger and loss I felt just being in the same room with him was revolting. Toxic. But with The Ex, it was a different story. We had intertwined our lives for nearly six years. I truly liked him as a person. And betrayal or lying hadn't marked the end of our relationship. We were simply two people who, having fought the good fight, decided that our lives were going in different directions.
I called him around his birthday, and a couple of other times since to check in. I wrote a couple of emails to see if things were okay when I didn't hear back. And eventually, I did. It was a short note that said, basically, I'm glad to hear things are going well with you. I'm happy. I finally found someone I can spend my life with. We're even getting a dog together -- a Vizsla, maybe. Good luck with everything.
It struck me as strange. The last conversation we had is about how nice it was to not lose touch with someone who knew you when and how there was no reason not to keep things friendly. That, followed by, "Good luck, take care of Leonard." Two and two had added up to five. And until I accidentally dialed his number the other day, instead of the one I was trying for, I didn't know why.
We made awkward small talk. But as long as I had him on the phone then, I asked if there was something that had gone wrong between the last time we spoke and now. He told me his girlfriend -- the same one he once cheated on me with so many summers ago -- didn't approve of phone calls or emails from me. That she reads his email, checks his phone. And that's when I knew. This would be the last time.
"I have to live my life," he said. "I owe it to her."
It made me sad for him...and for her. I've been there. Where the sight of a strange phone number or a woman's name you don't recognize has the power to make you instantly ill. A place where you believe that if you just keep monitoring and keep checking in order to keep reassuring yourself, it will all be okay. It will all work out fine in the end.
But more so, it made me sad for me. Not hurt or angry -- but sad, in the purest sense of the word. And not because I want to go back there. I don't. But because, for all practical purposes, it's like he has died. Like I simply dreamed him. We don't live in the same state, or even the same country. He doesn't -- has no reason -- to ever visit here, and vice versa. We won't talk. I won't be on the email list of people to get pictures of their new dog, or in a year or two, new baby. There will be no chance encounters on the street, or in Aisle 5 of the grocery store. And with no friends in common, there won't be any through-the-grapevine updates.
Five-plus years of my life, tied up with a ghost of a memory.
So the next morning, when brushing my teeth next to Chief of Stuff, when he said an ex-girlfriend-turned-friend was coming in for the weekend, I simply asked what the plan was. He wondered if I'd be available for dinner or lunch with the two of them.I told him he didn't have to bring me along. That I didn't need to be there to babysit. That I trusted him. Because I do. Because I'm not going to be that girl responsible for eliminating people from his life. And because jealousy was an ugly, ugly thing that I yielded to long ago, and I didn't like the girl I was when it was calling the shots in my life.
So I said this: "I don't want you to feel like I have to be there. You're friends. Feel free to hang out without me." I said this not just to say it, but because I really meant it.
He said he wanted me there. Wanted the two of us to get to know one another. Wanted the three of us to become friends. He seemed so sure, so solid.
And just then, spitting toothpaste over the sink in my t-shirt and boxer shorts, still groggy with sleep, I knew that my life to this point -- all of it -- got me here. Taught me hard lessons that I learned well. And somehow, because of all that, I ended up exactly where I was supposed to be.
I love that, with this man, there's no worrying about where his head, or his heart, is. No worrying that there's something he's just not telling me. No need to scan his email or phone messages. I love that with this man, there's no keeping score. No tit-for-tat.
I love that with this man, I can count on him. Without a doubt. Without exception. Without condition. And that all that's come before brought me to this place, to him.
Posted by Erin 12:22 PM
Labels: Past Tense
Wow - thanks for sharing your reflection! I know I need to spend a little more time looking in the mirror and writing things down..