dualité deux: promesse

a tale in two acts: une & deux.  be sure to read both

promesse

Here I sit, the fourth and final day of your absence, listening to Jack Johnson.  I wish you werent coming back.  I plan on going to bed before you come in tonight.  Just one more way for me to show you how much I dont care.  The times I have spoken to you have been nasty, and laden with disgust.  I hope you heard that.  Yes, I did have an attitude, and if you cant figure out why, I’m certainly not explaining it to you. There is no room for you anymore.

What with the drama your ridiculous family caused this weekend, I worry now that you wont leave.  That you might be rethinking your plans.  Well friend, i am afraid it is too late.  I am resolute this time, and if you dont go of your own accord, that decision will no longer be yours to make.  I can’t live with you anymore.  I am tired of your bullshit.  I dont like the sound of your changing voice.  It makes me want to hit you with a brick.  I fucking hate you.  And you’d better not think you are leaving this mongrel dog.  I never wanted it, and you know it.

Many times in the last weeks, I have envisioned how I am going to change this place once you are gone.  I am going to take your oversized and selfish studio as my bedroom.  A nice view from those windows in there, and it goes right out to the deck.  I’m going to get a wood burning stove for the deck, sitting on some nice flagstones.  Can you imagine how romantic it would be to sit out there in the chilly late fall evening, but a few steps from my bed?  Huddled under blankets, a fire cracking.  Yeah, imagine it.  Because you wont be there.

The room we shared will go to Dale, so that they all have their own rooms upstairs.  I have no memories there.  I am repainting the downstairs too.  And if I want to paint a mural of branches and birds in the living room, I will.  In fact, I plan on it.  I dont care whether or not you think "normal people" paint on their walls.  I am a fucking painter.  I fucking paint.  Instead of spending these years with nary a comment on my art, discouraging me in every way possible, and stealing all of my time for your petty pursuits.  Fuck you.  You arent my fucking boss anymore.

__________

You.  Ever since you called me from Rod Stewart the other night, things have been different.  How I missed your barrage of emails, and our normal conversation.  I’ve never really gone in to it before, but there are some reasons I like you so much, aside from the existential way you listen to my music and know why I sent it to you.  The fact that you own a car you bought yourself is one thing.  And the fact that you stand on your own two feet, and have put off that camera purchase for over a year, until you paid off your credit cards.  You have patience.  You have had so much patience with me.  How many women would be stood up three times, and then agree to "just friends" when my clearly abusive and neurotic partner and I tried to work things out?

I have some things to tell you.  I want to find out where things would go.  I do want to take that day trip around the city with you taking photos in the subway.  I want to discover Philly with you, and the fact that you always tell me to bring my kids means more to me than you could ever know.  The cheeky way you told me I had to show up for it to be fun was cute.  I want to fix your shower.  I’m handy like that.

The most importat thing I want you to know is that I dont want to be saved.  I dont want you to live here, ever.  I’m sorry if that sucks.  No, weve definitely never gotten to the point of discussing such things, but I’ve thought about it.  I need you to have to get in your car to come see me.  You’ll appreciate me more, and I’ll still have my independance.   See Jamie, I tend to jump into things.  And I’ve decided that I’m not doing that anymore in my life.  So, once she is gone, I’m going to show up for those plans.  Really.  Even if we dont become anything more, I’ll know. 

Secretly, I think about you on that deck with me.  I’m not a stupid woman, but I cant have you be the biggest regret in my life.  I told you once that youre a person I’ll think about when I am 75.  I dont want to be that old woman, wondering.  Some might think thats ridiculous, but a year and a half is a long time to get to know someone.   I have had a long time to think about it.

And you know what the biggest thing is?  I would let you steal my records, but you wouldnt take them.

It’s going to be chilly in a month or so.  Pick up some firewood.  I still have a copy of that first cd I made you.