The toilet flushed; water in the sink ran. Him…suddenly in the doorframe, trying to decipher in the dark whether or not I was actually up and looking at him.
“You ready to go?” Mystery solved.
“You ready for me to go? You usually wanna go a couple more rounds, Contender.”
That was his nickname for me. I didn’t have one for him…seemed trite and irresponsible. We weren’t in love; why act like it?
“Yeah. Need to get to work soon. My material is dryin' up. Need to do some thinkin'.”
“I can’t stay while you think?” He wasn’t usually this clingy.
“I’m sure your wife misses you.” I said what I never did. The elephant in the room had been dismissed. So had he.
I must explain. I didn’t used to be this way. I used to have this thriving hope in people. Believe in their humanity. But all it took was one really raw experience for me to see the error of my ways.
I’m taking full responsibility; I’m not finger-pointing. I know we must all learn from the past and use it as a platform from which to speak instead of an obstacle with which to trip ourselves. I’m up on all the new and old-aged philosophy. The Golden Rule. Karma. The Law of Attraction. “The Secret.” But I didn’t say I had one really bad experience; hell, I’ve had many of those. Bad experiences are my birthrights. If I didn’t have any, I surely wouldn’t be this damn interesting. (Sarcasm? You decide...). What I failed to realize is my hasty resilience was not healthy. I am a natural brooder. Pensive as all hell. Never a ball of sunshine. Naturally hard to love. And I don’t really mind it so much. It was my grandma’s pressure to constantly recognize my blessings (not a problem) and not talk about my issues (there’s the kicker) that left all this residue around.
Enter the raw experience. By definition, a raw experience feels one million times as horrible as the worst bad experience because it disturbs every aspect of one’s being simultaneously; it’s a bad experience made worse by the residue left over from all the other bad experiences; it comes at the wrong time for a person, but the right time in life to become a raw experience. It is elegant in the way the most deadly cancers are – show up from an inexplicable origin, grow with every life breath, evade all medicines but drastic ones that slowly kill the host in the process of healing, and if they aren’t fatal, they make a person unrecognizable (replete with hair and weight loss, flaws in beauty, and a gloomy disposition).
I turned into a monster. I figured it’s better to be the perpetrator than the victim. Don’t care about anyone but myself anymore. Not even the 6’3 fun time standing in the doorway like a wounded puppy because I’m sending him home to his soul mate.
That’s the thing; dudes who do things like this dude does to his wife go unpunished. She’s still at home diligent and waiting. Probably praying for her marriage because she knows in her heart what he’s doing. And when I send him home to her tonight, and he decides that my body was never worth compromising his love with her in the first place, he can wake up in the morning and start again. No penalty. Perfect family. Plenty of penance to do in the form of gifts and date nights. He gets to absolve himself from the indiscretion I’ve become. He’s the public hero and private martyr…and I’m the slut that made it all happen. And do I get a thank you?
Whatever. This whole thing is set up for them to be the heroes anyway. So if I’m going to be the villain, I’m going to be the best damn villain out there because I learned too late that if I’m not the damsel in distress, if I can’t be saved, duty calls from more deserving causes. And I’m not just any old run-of-the mill Saturday morning villain; I’m no Gargamel. I’m The Joker all the way – lying about the origin of my scars and breaking all the rules that would otherwise make me Batman.
“Listen. On your way out, if you happen to see my panties on that side of the bed, toss them in the hamper for me, please.”
Out the bed, in the bathroom, and soon in the shower. When I heard the front door close, I reached out and turned on the radio. I needed inspiration for my next blog.
“Hmm…the villain. That might be a start…”
No comments:
Post a Comment