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Jett Superior laid this on you on || June 29, 2004 || 11:12 pm

Oh, silly me…

So yeah, I don’t know why in Pittsburgh and Purgatory that I would have expected my first husband to have suddenly done something so amazing as –oh, I dunno– become a human being in the last handful of years, but I’m nothing if not an optimist.

I dreaded the call. The very thought of it made me want to hurl all over my nicely-kept toenails. Oh, hell, let’s be honest…it made me want to gnaw my nicely-kept toenails. You ever know somebody like that, huh? Someone who drove you (zzzzip!) right on past the fingernail-chewer that you normally are and straight to razoring around on the toes with yer teefs for quite a damn while?

I just felt like it was cosmically right, however, to call him and inform him that my verybestgirlfriendEVer had died. The last thing I wanted to do was deliver this news to him, as somehow it made me vulnerable to him, but she spent so much time with us, she was the maid of honor in our wedding party, she –in supreme acts of conspiracy with him—arranged secret and wonderful surprises for me while he was devildogging it half way around the planet and ohgodOhGodOHGAAAAHD, if-I-don’t-call-then-I-will-somehow-be-remiss-and-we-can’t-have-that-now-can-weee? See, this is the way my innards work. Pretty fucking rad to be me, right?

So I pull into Subway’s parking lot, I dial information for the number, I call and a boy of fifteen or so picks up the phone. I ask for The (formerly) Young Marine and the kid hollers, “Daaaad, for youuuu….” Dad. Holy Himeny, my baby-faced first husband is helping to populate the planet. I mean, I knew this in theory, sure, but in practice it knocked me out of the ballpark for a minute (and a half). Mike picked up the phone, I said, “Hi, it’s me,” and he proceeded to have a heart attack which he described as “Man, I think I just dropped a load in m’drawers.”

He took the call in another room after asking me to hang on.

I told him that she’d died, that it was not a pretty or romantic or aesthetically wonderful passing-on, and he asked a couple of questions as to circumstances and services, gave me his I’m-so-sorry-geez-Louise spiel and then we were off and running. He peppered me with questions, most of which I answered somewhat tersely; by his own admission I had not left him with a whole lot of closure. Well duh, stupid, I believe in burning the bridge and even the whole fucking town if it sits too close to the bridge’s other side. He then spent a whole heap of my mobile minutes expounding on how pretty dang wonderful he was. He was also very forthright about how “Yep, I fucked it all up, I’ll take full credit for that one, sweetie, “ without one mention of it from me, so I began to think that he’d grown maybe just a smidge. Growth comes in small increments and is very time-consuming for some, after all.

“SO, you still love me?” he asked at one point, and there was no hesitation, no untruth in the firm ‘no’ that I offered back.

“Awww, come on…you still love me!”

“No, honestly, Mike….I really, really don’t.

“I mean, I did at one time, then there was pity, then there was this marked lack of feeling. I could give a damn, Michael.” My insides beamed heavenly as I said it.

It was shortly thereafter –after I’d inquired about the welfare of his brother, whom I truly, truly had always adored—that he began to tick off our sexual exploits in a random fashion and with a great deal of glee he told me that he was proud of those moments with me (proud, I tells ye!)…so proud, in fact, that every single driver he’d hired to date (he now owns a trucking company in Florida) had heard of at least one of our dalliances, if not many.

So the next several sentences were framed up thusly:

“Hey, you remember the time in the stairwell?” Yes, that would be Stairwell Seventeen, Tower A of the Twin Towers, Pearl City, Hawaii, United States, Planet Earth.

“Oh maaaaan, the glass elevator in Memphis, that one still gets me hot.” Apparently we had a thing for upward conveyances, I dunno.

And the barbeque pit and the Millington softball park and my Camaro (yeah, I fucking owned a Camaro in high school, shutthefuck UP, because I did not have those goofy-assed, sprayed-beyond-all-comprehension wings on the side of my HEAD) and interstate whateveritwas in south Florida and leaning up against his parents’ patio door and on and on and on before he finally paused in the midst of his gleeful little hump down memory lane to ask, yet again, “Surely you still love me?”

By then I was so put off that I did what I’d said I wouldn’t do and that was to lessen myself by winding up solid, letting fly the words, and punching him square in the emotional guts.

“No Michael, I surely don’t, but I’ma tell you something….the only time I’ve felt any sort of pang whatsoever was when you found me again and e-mailed me outta the blue a couple of years ago.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, “the only reason I joined Classmates at all was so I could e-mail you.”

“And, I’m gonna be honest here, that pang was for all intents and purposes blood-red anger, because you went out of your way to tell me how well you were doing for yourself and all I could think was, ‘Whatthefuck? So?’ until I reached the part about your boys. When I read about those three sons of yours it made me sick and it made me furious, because all I could think was, ‘Those boys shoulda been mine. All I ever wanted to do was be a good wife to that man, to love him for always, and for us to fill the rest of that always with a whole blessed ballteam’s-worth of boys and the raising of ‘em.’”

Fuuuuck, girl, that just made my stomach go all funny.”

“Well, I’m about to hang up now, so that’ll give you plenty of time to get that shit all sorted out before your wife gets home.”

He lies awake nights thinking of me. I knew it, damnit, and the thought of it does not bring me as much sadistic pleasure as I once thought it would.

6 worked it out »

  1. sean 6.30.2004

    Holy shit. Could that guy be a bigger dick? Ya shoulda burnt the county.

  2. The Dane 6.30.2004

    So… you’re saying you still love him?

  3. Jettomatika 6.30.2004

    Chew rocks, theDane.

  4. red clay 6.30.2004
  5. ntexas99 6.30.2004

    I’m sure glad I read this today … I’ve been working up the steam to call my ex to empty my heart about some stuff, and the last thing I need is for him to drive me crazy all over again.

    You’ve done your public service for the day … if you’ll give me the number, I’ll call your parole officer and let him know

  6. Jettomatika 6.30.2004

    GARY!! Someone’s hollerin’ for you!

    ….and red honey, you coulda linked it, like this, ’steada fucking up the commentses.


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