Tag: relationships

counting them up

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When I recited the exact date of when I met a friend she chided me, “…speaking of demons! You can’t let go of yours!” I had to laugh. I was ready to blurt out the old caught in the act, “it’s not what it looks like!” Because it is true. For all intents and purposes it doesn’t look like I have let go of anything.
But, as I explained to my friend, I have good demons. I keep them with me to remind me of how my life could have turned out; where I could have been. I think of her brother and know that I am not vain enough to think I would ever have any impact on his life. So, if our relationship had worked out I would be a puzzle piece in his very complicated life. Fate has run its course and everything would be as it is today. There is a demon and his name is Care, because I still do.
Then there is the demon Gabriel. He is the angel of hurt and pain. He exists to remind me of of troubles far deeper than anything I live with today. Liked a drowning survived I have surfaced.
I cannot forget the demon of Humility. I cannot forgive myself for the pains I have caused others. My selfish need to be the center of someone elses world at a loved one’s expense. I never, ever want to go down that road again so I cannot let myself forget.
So many demons to keep for so many reasons. I love them all, need them all, want them all.

And yet. My friend is right.

I was having dinner with someone the other night. We sat stabbing pasta and fiddling with drink straws while discussing family and the expectations bred within bloodlines. Something she said struck a nerve, rattled a belief, and disconnected an age old longing. Just because you are tied by genes doesn’t mean you have to be tethered. I thought I wanted that tell-all, close as shadows siblingry – the first to know, the last to let go kind of relationship. In all actuality I have never known it or needed it. Another demon to let go of.

Divorce

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How does one go about planning to leave? She knows she wants out while he has no clue. He mentally packs a bag on a nightly basis, dreaming of the last time he closes the door while she closes her eyes to sleep. How often is it a mutual decision where one looks at the other and they both know what disaster lies ahead? How often is it a firm handshake, nice try, and see you later? The quiet dismantle of a mistake.

To think of my task is chilling
to know  I was carefully building a mask I was wearing for two years, swearing
I’d tear it off?

If you are the one planning to leave – do you have a mental count down clock, ticking the minutes to freedom? Is your end date so final you know the weeks, days and hours ’til freedom? Do you have an escape route a la Sleeping with the Enemy; something so well thought out no one (including yourself) sees it coming? Will you leave your spouse reeling with IHadNoClue and your friends shocked (They-Were-The-Perfect-Couple. No, I never suspected a thing!).

I know your feelings are tender. Inside you the embers still glow
but I’m a shadow, only a bed of blackened coal
call myself jezebel for wanting to leave.

If you are the one left behind – do you sense the abandonment before it happens? Did he turn away from you a little too quickly to read a text message? Did you feel the distance before you noticed how untouched you have become? Are you secretly counting down the days until leaving, wanting to play the broken, left behind, but secretly rejoicing the respite from unlove? Do you grasp at what once was knowing you never had it in the first place?

Seven months, three weeks, two days and six hours is what he said to me. Why? I thought you were good at this marital thing.
I may be good at it. I’m just not happy doing it.

How I wish that we never had tried
to be man and his wife
to weave our lives into a blindfold
over both our eyes.

~Jezebel, Natalie Merchant 1992 

 

You Didn’t Ask Me

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postsecret.jpg

I know this picture is huge. I wanted it big for a reason. The reason is this: to make the message loud and clear. Some time ago I told a friend this postcard (shamelessly swiped from PostSecret) reminded me of them (grammar be damned, I want to protect the not-so-innocent from scrutiny). Yes, I thought they had something to do with a could-of, should-of relationship. Then, the other other other day someone else admitted to me, “I married the wrong person.” Yikes. What, tell me, what exactly, clued you into the right or wrong of a marriage partner? How do you know that now, and more importantly, did you know that going into the whole “death do you part” deal?
Freak me out. It would kill me to regret any part of the vows I exchanged (and now share) with kisa. I could sigh and say someone else could have been more my speed, more my temperament, more my Me. But, that’s just the way life is…and isn’t. I’m not going to regret something because ultimately, that means regretting someone and that’s not fair. So, I ask again. Did you know you married the wrong person from the very start? If so, why did you do it, let it happen, whatever?
I admit! I play the “what if?” game in my head. That doesn’t mean I’m unhappy with my here and now. I think of old boyfriends and what could have been. I don’t think there’s a person out there who hasn’t done something similar, if not the exact same thing. A kind of WhereAreTheyNow? for ordinary people. I’m sure someone is Googling you right now. If I question my future with my past’s someones here’s what I come up with: a bored housewife with alcoholic tendencies, a military maiden with issues with authority, an atheist marooned at marathon mass every Sunday, a tripped out druggie wondering which sex my husband is having, gay or straight, without me, a overworked mother of three who has to wait through “just nine more holes – just nine more.” None of these are my idea of me.  But, I said yes at the time. Did I know I would be marrying the wrong person? Did I know all these past passings would be considered mistakes? Certainly not. Life just works in a weird, weird way.

Music Lesson

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Weber, Katharine. The Music Lesson.

Music LessonI picked up Weber’s second novel after reading her debut novel Objects in the Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear. In Objects I fell in love with the narration immediately. The writing was so fluid I hoped everything Weber wrote would read the same way.  
I liken Music Lesson to that of a second kiss. It’s not as good as the very first one yet still highly enjoyable. When I found out it was part of the Book Lust Challenge I almost put it on my “must reread” list because I liked it so much.
It’s the story of Patricia. She guards a stolen painting in a cottage in Ireland. Alone. Alone with her troubled past and complicated future, Patricia has time to contemplate the crossroads. The stolen painting becomes more than just “art” to her. It guides her through a metamorphism and an awakening.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust under the heading of “Irish Fiction” (p126).

To learn more about one of my favorite authors, Katharine Weber, go here.