A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || August 2, 2002 || 6:55 pm

The ghosts are up and walking, and why am I surprised? The graves we push the living into are always shallow and loosely-filled, at best….

Seeing the notice from Classmates that I had an e-mail waiting in their message center didn’t bring on any cold sweats or stomach knots or even the mildest sense of foreboding. There is someone important from my past that I’ve been searching for without much luck –that in and of itself is a mystery, as I can ferret out people with the best of ‘em– and that’s why I purchased the crapping ‘gold membership’ or somesuch in the first place.

I forgot about the whole ‘if-I-am-registered-here-then-people-that-were-once-thankfully-gone-may-not-stay-put-in-my-past’ end of the spectrum. Well, fuck me. The first husband, the one that many of you did not know I even posessed (yes, darlings, that makes me three times out now, yet only twice down), deemed it necessary to drop me a line today.

On my old site, beneath the photo of the two of us, I wrote,

“Michael….he was my first and only blind date and an uplanned one at that (I was snookered by a friend of a friend). I largely did not give two shits about him, but he was persistent as hell and quite charming…two characteristics I usually find apalling. I was his completely; he was unprepared and unqualified for a truly adult relationship, although even he thought he was ready.”

Such a succinct and kind way to sum up the relationship with the man to whom I handed my soul on a gilt platter of utter devotion and passion, only to have it eaten in the most sloppy and unkind of ways. Along with it went the purest, sweetest and most trusting parts of me.

I tend to break it down into wry, pat comments: “Never marry the first person to bring you to orgasm,” crass shit like that. The least crass, however, is the most true: “The person with whom you fall in love is not necessarily the person you were meant to be with.”

I still have all the photographic and literary evidence of that union tucked away; I am not so jaded or even so strong a person as to be one that can burn and trash pictures and letters.

Biff (husband part deux, father of Sam and Scout) never understood why I kept them; he felt it was due to some unspoken devotion to Michael. Why I told him I kept them was then and still is now true: They are pieces of my existence, in quite a literal way parts of me. I have children and I am vain enough to think that perhaps one day they will sift through all the bits of paper holding words and images in order to garner a more complete knowledge of their complex and sometimes maddeningly indeciperable mother. Some day when they are grown and have babies of their own they will come to understand that a person has a life, is a whole and complete being before kids come along, and this understanding may lead them to ask things about who I actually am besides a wife and a mother —regardless of any other context children see their parent(s) in throughout the course of their lives, it all boils down to the fact that you are ‘mom’ or ‘dad’, and that tends to be the be-all, end-all in a child’s eyes where you are concerned. They do not think of you in the realm of having dreams and passions and thoughts and ideas of your own. I myself was very, very taken aback when I birthed my first son and had that quiet little epiphany. It’s really quite mind-rattling.

And so.

“it’s been a long time;” he started. No shit, Sherlock. It has been twelve years that have gone in the blink of an eye, and I’ve not really wondered about you. Sure, I’ve been nagged at the back of my mind occasionally on the third of June (“There’s something about this day…what is it??”) while doing whatever it was I was doing on those twelve days….and then realization takes over and it’s done with. That’s the furthest the wondering gets.

“i saw you on this site and thought i would say hello.” Well, whatever in the fuck for? I’ll tell you what the fuck for. I told you before I walked that one day you would wake up and realize that you had jonesed up the best thing to ever happen to you for then and for the rest of your born days. I told you that you’d never, ever find another woman who would (or could) even hold a candle to me. I meant it, and by the look on your face, I could tell that in your heart of hearts you knew it like you had never known anything else in your entire life. how many days do you wonder, Mike? How long and how hard has the memory of me dogged you? I knew it would….

And I just don’t think of you. At all…and you know that I’m not one of those silly bitches that thinks if I bury something deep enough in the psyche then, “Hey, wow! It never happened!” Not my style.

“hope everything is well…” Yeah, it really is. See? Your hope is magic! Never let it die!

“i have three boys, 13,5 and 21 months.” Now, that’s the only part that hurts, because I remember being that tender nineteen-year-old and picturing those boys in my minds’ eye…knowing that they would have gorgeous blue eyes because we both did, knowing that they would be intellectually gifted because we both were. Knowing that they would be loved further than the moon because I had always wanted a whole blessed ballteam’s-worth of baby boys. Waiting to start a family until it was practical and we had a duty station closer to one of our families. Waiting until I got at least two years of college under my belt. Waiting until you hit E4 or E5. Being smart. Then being smarter and postponing indefinitely because you began to go out whoring and coming home, infuriated by your guilt, to smack me around.

The end wasn’t when we signed the papers, nosiree….the end was when I hit back and you had to get your jaw wired shut. I knew that night as I waited in the emergency room, still all cold with fury and you looking amazingly penitent, that I could not live a life that involved battering (and being battered by) the person I held dearest above all others. I was made for fighting the rest of the world…not my own little world.

I was done –in my head, if not in my heart– that night. I just tried to tell myself otherwise for months afterward. Coming from the home that was (not just) broken (but twisted and scorched to dust) the way mine was, I always swore that I’d never just give up and let a marital union I was a part of die. Platitudes are so great when you are young of body and middle-aged in spirit. Old souls just can’t make room for them.

“write me back if you wish.” Now that’s just not fair; it’s not fair to leave it open-ended for me to ponder over. But then, fairness was never your strong point — not in dealings with me, not in dealings with anyone. You were always selfish that way. I used to pity you before I grew to feel nothing where you were concerned.

“have fun….. michael.” Cracking a table-full of spirits open in your honor just as soon as I hit ‘publish’, kid. Fun it is.

5 worked it out »

  1. Matt Rossi 8.2.2002

    You gotta love it when the past comes oozing out from under its cage. Well, maybe not love it…I can relate to this more than I’d like to.

  2. Jett 8.3.2002

    Ladies and gents, my alter-”intelli”ego, Matt Rossi.

    Yes, I’ll admit freely, we ARE the same person. He’ll never tell, though. I’m the dumb half that yells (paraphrasing the lovely Laura), “Look at the monkey! Looooook!”

  3. clayton 8.3.2002

    you still amaze me

  4. laura 8.3.2002

    yeah, is there something in the air? i just had someone from the not so distant past email me offering nothing but wanting everything. wtf is that anyway? and yes, look at the monkey!

  5. Jo-Ann 8.4.2002

    You know…. what they say is true… they never change. He has kids? hmmm does that mean a new wife? And he’s on the web looking up his ex-wife? Jett honey… you did good leaving his ass. There are things we have in common that you and I must discuss at great lengths some other time.


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