Drama drama drama

So much has happened in the last couple of weeks, and I feel like I haven’t had the time, or energy, to write anything down. I feel like I’m working so hard just to maintain this even-ness… and I don’t really think I like the even-ness anymore. What I mean is that I enjoy the more even emotions—the stability I’ve managed to attain for myself—but I absolutely hate the mundane existence that ate my once exciting life. It seems a horrible contradiction… so much drama that I don’t want, so little excitement that I do. Does that make any sense?
 
Last Monday (October 1st), my dad called. Luckily, I’d just finished with my tax test, because, as always, the conversation left me in tears, convinced I was the most heinous bitch on the planet. He began the conversation on the premise of checking in on what was going on. I should have known better. My father rarely calls without some type of agenda. After a few short minutes of chit-chat, he started in on me. The conversation looked something like this:
DAD: Well, I wanted to see if you’ve changed your mind about participating in the wedding.
ME: Well, no… I really think it would be too emotional for me…
(Why would I have changed my mind? I told him already that it would be too much. I told him that if I came, I’d no doubt spend the entire time crying. I just don’t think I can watch my father marry someone else. )
DAD: Well, I know you spent the weekend with your mother before deciding not to come, so I thought maybe you’d had some time to think about the consequences of your actions, that maybe with some time, you’d come to a better decision.
(Actually, I decided the minute he told me he was getting married. In fact, Leila, who was with me at the time, had to drive the rest of the way home because I was sobbing too hard to drive. I told her seconds after getting off the phone that I simply couldn’t go to the wedding, among other things. But… bygones.)
ME: Ok. Stop. Just stop it. I’m getting really sick of you and Sara (my sister who defends my father before he even needs defending most times) implying that Mom is behind all of my decisions. I am perfectly frucking capable of making my own decisions!
(For instance, the decision to quit college and marry a man I’d only known two weeks, or to move to Wisconsin, or to let him go back to Iraq, — I certainly didn’t consult anyone else for those decisions.)
DAD: Ok. I just would have hoped you’d have decided better. I really think you came to the wrong conclusion here, but again, if that’s all you’re capable of, then I guess that’s as good as it gets.
(Better? Different! Why does he always think his way is the only way that makes since?)
ME: You know, Dad, I really expected a little more understanding from you. I mean, if anyone should understand making a decision that no one understands—a decision you make because its what’s best for you and it’s what you need—you should.
(i.e. leaving his wife and kids for his whore and moving down to Mexico with her)
DAD: *Sigh* Well, originally I called because ML and I have decided to have people donate to charity rather than give gifts, so I was calling to find out what your favorite charity is—we already have Sara and M’s (ML’s daughter)—*insert snotty attitude here*but I suppose if you aren’t going to participate, it really wouldn’t be appropriate to include yours, now would it?
(There is a pause. My jaw is open. I am crying. I really hate this.)
DAD: It’s really going to be a shame. Everyone in the family will be there but you… everyone will notice if you aren’t there…
(Ok, not EVERYONE in MY family will be there, because I will be with MY MOTHER at her house with a really great Thanksgiving spread and lots of hugs that you can tell are real and not obligatory. So suck on that!)
ME: *Thoroughly depressed and crying* Ok, Dad. I can’t do this right now. I have chores to do and homework that has to be done by tomorrow. I just can’t take this right now.
DAD: *Casually* Ok. Do good on your homework.
ME: Bye. *Click*
 
So after that conversation, and the third night of missed homework (when he told me he was getting married, when I told him I wasn’t coming to the wedding, and then this last conversation) because of crying, I have decided that I’m taking a break from my family—or at least that side of it. I will not answer emails or phone calls for anyone but my mom (and if she continues to play Switzerland) my sister.
I just really don’t think I need the added stress. There isn’t enough of a benefit from having my father in my life to continue allowing him to tear me to emotional shreds.  (And, yes, I realize I’m probably a bit oversensitive about everything, but when you’ve walked through the battleground that is our relationship, you’ll be oversensitive too.)
I have no intention of making a “stand.” I’m just going to be extra busy until the semester is over. Hopefully, that’ll make life a little easier.
 
 
 
 
 
On Wednesday, October 3rd, after I got home from class, I saw an email in my mail box. “Thomas B***** has sent you a message.”
Holy shit. I knew his name instantly. My heart raced as I rushed to check my Facebook account. Sure enough, it was him. Thomas, freakin, B*****!
I met Thomas in first grade. He and another boy were my only real friends. They competed for my attention—and even as a young girl, I knew how flattering that was. I liked Thomas. And even after my family moved away, when we went back to visit my grandparents, I was always so excited to see him. I’d run over to his house, and I’d have to stop at the corner to catch my breath, repeating “be cool, be cool…” to myself. And the whole time we played together, I was trying to work up the nerve to tell him I liked him.
Our last summer together, I was 10 or 11 years old. I had finally gotten the nerve—on the very last day of my visit—to tell him how I felt. We went walking around a vacant field near his house. I stopped, and I think I even told him to close his eyes. Then, I kissed him. And ran.
I ran as fast and as hard as I could. I was so certain he didn’t like me that way—and I was so worried about being rejected. A few hours later, I came back to his house to say goodbye. He was napping on the couch, so I just brushed back his hair and kissed him on his forehead. I never saw him again.
I thought about him quite often though. In fact, until the incident with JH at 14, I still imagined a fairy tale ending with him. I imagined, in my 13 year old mind, that we were meant to be together. I imagined our lives were a movie, and that one day, we’d meet on the street and know each other instantly, and we’d fall back in love and live happily ever after. I even looked for him a few times, calling various B*****’s from the Florida phone book.
But when I stopped believing in happily ever after, I pushed Thomas out of my mind, like a dream that had never really existed—a life I wasn’t really meant to have. Besides, he’d probably forgotten some silly little blond girl who nearly knocked him over trying to kiss him.
But then, there he was, sending me a message on Facebook.
We traded several emails, and then, on Friday night, we started talking on the phone. I swear, it felt like nothing had changed. He was still the little boy I knew. We were instantly connected. For one night, it seemed as if we were children again. And all I wanted was for that feeling to last.
It didn’t, of course. The fact of the matter is Thomas and I have both changed so much from the two children we were in that field. And though there is a longing to go, to reconnect with the innocence of puppy love and fairy tale endings, I realize that I am glad things have worked out this way. I may not have the fairy tale, but what I have is so much more important…I have me.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Thursday morning, after trading several emails with Thomas, I decided to take a leap of my own and call **Shane **. I’ve known where he works for months, but I haven’t been able to contact him. Our last conversation was so tense…and not talking to him is better than the awkward feeling I get when I know he’d rather be doing anything else than talking to me. Thankfully, our conversation went well. He’s happily married. He loves his job. And he seemed to be genuinely happy to hear from me. We talked for almost an hour. And we ended on a good note, I think. Neither of us knows where we’ll go. If Rebecca, his wife, still has an issue with me, I doubt we’ll have much contact, if any. And I don’t think I really want to be his friend if it causes him trouble in his marriage. I know how hard it can be to defend your friendships to your spouse—not fun. In any case, Shane is doing well. And even if we cannot be friends again, it was so good to hear how well he’s doing.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
School is going fairly well, considering all that shit that keeps coming up. And the efforts at the gym seem to be paying off, slowly. But more on that later. I think this is enough for one update.