I Know How That Goes so I Ain't Gonna Touch It

 I hesitate to talk about cosmic, mystic stuff at all. I think more often than not, there are plenty of reasons for the way things happen. That said, I'm pretty sure the universe has just been handing me shit lately because my spiritual glow up makes me seem like I'm way better than the trembling mess I feel like on the inside.

And I think that most times, these things all cluster together the way they do for a reason. I think with the divorce happening, I'm processing some of the trauma around Jay's death from fifteen years ago. I never talked to Nikola about it at all because he never wanted to hear it. He said every time I would try that he couldn't take how it hurt me. Well, that's part of being partners. You have to hold each other's sorrows sometimes. He was always like that though. He didn't want to hear about my pain or my joy. It always upset him. Then he was upset because he never knew me. In order to know someone, you have to give them space to teach you.

Last night, someone asked. So I told the most complete version I ever have. I was heard. I managed not to cry. I think that part of the reason I could never hold it together properly is that I never felt fully like I would be accepted or understood in the telling. I was afraid of judgement. I was afraid to shock with the details. For the first time, I didn't feel that at all last night. I feel so much lighter for it. And comfortable and safe and all those wonderful things you want to be with people you care about. Yeah, it's vulnerability, but I want that so much. I want to be soft and sweet and gentle for people. Open and warm and accepting and absolutely my authentic self. My authentic self is amazing. Even the ugly parts. 

But back to the mystic. I went to a concert with friends on Tuesday in the city where I always wanted to be. Though I'm looking farther north these days. I got to really wrap myself in my people and my music and just let myself be. I love these people. I love them so much it makes me dizzy.

All those years ago, right after Jay died, there was this young man, he must have been 20 at the time. I was barely 22. All fucked up on grief and trauma and absolutely no way to help myself through it. Knowing that dating was not the answer to that heartache even then. But he was positively smitten with me. I encouraged it a little. We made out a few times. Kids that age are stupid. I was stupid. I came to my senses and realized even if he was it, he was not it right now. I clearly distanced myself. I told him that I couldn't be with him. I know now that he never understood that no. I could not have been more clear. It wasn't subtle. I don't ever want to leave someone in limbo that way. 

So we were friends for years. Seven or so? He carried a torch for me the whole time. I really never understood that. I can be truly oblivious about these things. I thought we were friends. He worked crew for events and so he would crash at my house sometimes to be closer to Atlanta. He'd babysit for me sometimes. Gabe loved him. We would go to movies and sit the kid between us. It was a friendship. I thought. I should never have let that happen. 

The night we held Gabe's ninth birthday party, he joined us. The kids all went home or went to bed and the grown-ups stayed up around the campfire drinking and having a good ole time. It was so fun. The party was winding down and I needed a little breather so I went inside and hopped up on the counter in the corner like I always have. He walked in and positioned himself right between my legs. At the time, I was so lonely. I'd been working contract for a year and a half with every word a promise to go permanent. Never a day off. My contract ended rather suddenly and  I found myself unemployed. I was beginning to fear 30. I wanted attention. I'd been drinking. I kissed him. It was horrible of me to do that. I pushed him back and apologized. I told him that it wasn't what he wanted and that I'd be using him and that I didn't want to do that because I cared. He seemed hurt, of course. I was so wrong for treating him that way. I was terrible. And I will never get over feeling like I damaged him. He did not deserve that and it was unfair. 

He kind of backed away and kind of just tore into me. The gist was in a few words "you'll fuck anyone but me." And he left. He unfriended me and made some comment about not having room in his life for my pity party. Gabe asked about him frequently for the first few months and then less and less. That was the worst part. Do what you will to me, but don't hurt him. That makes me so angry.

A couple months ago, he apparently unblocked me and messaged me on Facebook. It wasn't any kind of apology. Just that had been embarrassed and he was sorry that it took him so long to speak to me. No mention of Gabe. I told him that I was sorry that he was embarrassed and that I had been so hurt. I just told him the truth again and told him that the next time he decided to message a woman he'd treated like shit to take it to therapy and leave the poor woman alone. Then I blocked his ass.

I never respond to these men who message me after all this time. I know they see me. And there are quite a few. I leave them on read. I don't go back to a man who hurts me. That's why me and Jim Beam don't talk anymore. I don't know why I had to respond to him. I saw red. My blood pressure went up. I think I'm still carrying that pain because he hurt Gabe. And I get fierce over that child of mine.

So back to show night...

The pre-show hang was great, the show was great. It always is. Looking down the rail at those beautiful faces all lit up in stage lights and the show glow. I had a few drinks and really had a great time. After the show, we were loitering, as we do, and one of the crew walks up from the row behind me and stops. I turn to look at him and I said "You look like this guy I used to know," And he replied with "Because I am that guy." And just in the way he said it, I knew him. And not in the good way of seeing someone and not knowing who they are. Not a happy, funny, silly surprise. A surprise like having a bucket of ice water thrown on you. He sought me out. He knew who I was.

And I lit him up. My sweetest, most loving, gentle, beautiful soul friend was there and I am still sorry she saw me that way. It's out of character. I don't even remember what all I said. Fifteen years of men treating me like an object and all of the trauma of divorce and the way he behaved to me and to my baby all flooded back, fueled by a little liquid courage. 

I finally got a grip on myself. He was at work. This was inappropriate. And if I stood there looking at him for too much longer, I might have punched him in the face and ended up in jail with a sore hand. Not worth it. I didn't exactly storm out, but I'm a tall woman and I was moving.

I called my friend who was there for the whole thing all those years ago. She did not answer. Why would she that late on a Tuesday? I was boiling.

We all went back to the same lovely little place after the show and I drank what was called a Pink Cadillac. It was delightful. Gin, but no cucumber. And I figured he had something he needed to say. So I messaged him and told him where we were if he wanted to talk. Public, my friends around. It was safe. There's this photo from the night with the two of us standing in the background, me rocked back a little on my heels, hipshot, arms crossed. No mistaking my attitude. I was really hoping he'd actually apologize. And he did. And I did.

And we talked. I did zero flirting. Lesson learned. I thought we parted as friends. We hugged goodnight. He always did give good hugs. I figured I'd probably not hear from him. That was fine with me. I said my piece, I apologized. I let him do the same. For me, it was closed. The chapter ended, tidy and clean.

We talked about our kids and the lives we've lived and we talked about the other romantic people in our lives. We talked about old times and music. I offered food and so we went. I paid. I did not want to even suggest any possibility of hope for him. This is like letting a man buy me a drink. Not if I'm not at all interested. I felt like I was very clear.

A man cannot. I don't know what he heard from me that made him think he could just pick up unsubtly hitting on me again. He's in my messages trying to literally get me to come sleep in his house. Things that will never happen for $1000, please. So I keep shutting him down. And I will do. I'll never be involved with a man who earnestly calls me a slut. I do not think too highly of myself. But I think better of myself than that.