I’m not going to comment on the events in Charleston, because my voice is not the voice that needs to be heard. I would encourage anyone reading this to instead, read and listen to black voices, absorb their words, and consider, if you are able, making a donation to the church targeted by an act of domestic terrorism.
This weekend is the Nunes-Wilson Anniversary, and that makes me feel peaceful and happy. I think I might take him to the Zoo this weekend, and we’ll play some FFXIV together while I relax and prepare for my new position to begin on Monday.
Things were a straight up mess this time last year, as I was performing in my last show with my former troupe while they tried to wring the blood from the stone of my heart. A week prior, G had broken up with me badly, attacking my primary relationship, my capacity for polyamory, my value as a partner, my integrity, and my worthiness of family. Via e-mail. From a conference on polyamory in Atlanta, while I was at a concert with my boyfriend in Philadelphia.
I often wonder how things would have gone for me had I attended that conference with her as she had asked. Deep parts of me said “No” to that and I’ve always been thankful to whatever pre-verbal instinct in me always seems to know when things are in jeopardy even if my conscious mind is off in fantasy La La Land where Everything Will Be Fine Probably.
It was strange. She texted me with the typical, “I have some thoughts I want to share with you” text message. I turned to Tom and said, “So she’s probably breaking up with me, today.” He, sagely, asked, “Is this because you’re fed up with being her additional free therapist about a breakup in which you played an already supportive role?” And I nodded. “Probably. I can tell that’s the thing she wants most from me, and I don’t want to give her that anymore.”
I parked the car. We had stopped to get gas when the text had arrived.
Tom helped me put on sunscreen, and asked, “So it’s shitty, what she just did, huh?” And I said simply, “Yup. Now I have to wait for the stupid email.”
We talked briefly on how we were glad that we had established an agreement early in our relationship that we don’t do “We Have to Talk” texts or emails. There’s no reason to inject dread or apprehension into someone’s day. Just be a person. Wait, or ask if they’re free. This wasn’t relevant at the moment, because she knew I wasn’t free. But it would have been nice to have been asked. He hugged me in the parking lot, while the attendants stared, guarding me from the hot sun and sheltering me from the gravity of my own feelings.
“Do you think you’ll stay friends?”
“I don’t know. I guess it depends on what she says. I’ll probably need some time.”
“That makes sense.”
The email came in, and I sat down to read it on hot asphalt. It stained my dress. I noticed melted chewing gum had clung to my sneaker. It was strange that it was exactly what I expected from her at this point, but also still managed to flood me with disappointment. I had hoped for better.
I finished reading it and wrote a brief response. “I have read your email, and understand its contents. I will talk to you on Monday when you get back from the conference.” I asked T if he wanted to read it. He didn’t. I gave him the broad strokes, and he said plain as day, “It sounds like she had some pretty unreasonable expectations of you, and of us. I’m sorry, Love. Do you want to go home?”
I told him no, that I wanted to see the show and spend time with him.
My phone blew up for a significant portion of the afternoon, and at one point I considered throwing it in the river. Did Monday mean not before Monday (yes, that’s why I f*cking said Monday would be when I would talk to her FTLOG). Well what about now, though. Then from others, G is upset (neat story, so am I) et cetera. How about now. Maybe now though. Okay I understand, but one more thing.
I gave Tom my phone. We enjoyed the show. We danced. We spent $15 on a 9 oz cup of beer, and split it. As the sun dipped and the show ended, we walked to the car, his arm around me.
“How are you feeling?”
“… relieved it’s over. I don’t want to give them what they want from me.”
“Proud of you for knowing. You gonna stick to it?” (He knows me, this man.)
“Yeah. I want to get through this show. We’re supposed to rehearse Monday.”
“Is this gonna get bad?”
“Oh, almost certainly.”
I had no idea how bad it would get, but my instincts were at least in the right ballpark.
It’s funny how much can change in a year. In a day. There’s more news, and our household is growing a wee bit, but I will wait to share that until next week when everything is different!