I wanted to tell you what happened after that New Year's eve party, twenty-five years ago. I was frustrated with the guy I'd been dating, seeing his true colors shine through. I hadn't yet begun to call him what I call him now, Asshole, but I was getting there. He was controlling and demeaning to his parents, to friends, and to me as well. He expected me to be available the moment he called, but not to expect anything in between. Where did he go for three or four days at a time that talking to me was so burdensome? Why did he make fun of waitresses when we went out to eat? What was I doing with this guy?
At work, I was spending less time acting with Mike and more time comfortably chatting and telling him how I felt. Mike kept asking me to meet with him and his friends, but I kept saying no. I no longer believed that he was making fun of me, but I had a solid rule against giving any guy a second chance. That rule had protected me more than once.
Finally, Mike asked me to go with his Explorer Post on their annual winter camping trip to Pennsylvania. Flippant, I said, "Can I bring my boyfriend?"
"Sure, if you want," Mike said and went on to tell me what to expect if I came. He was excited about it. I decided to go and even Asshole decided to go, but he was going to show up late, he said. That was fine with me. I'd gotten to a point, deadly in any relationship, in which I didn't care what he did. I was just going along with things, giving him the space that he had asked for.
So I met Mike and the rest of the campers at the prescribed place and we drove to a beautiful snowy clearing in the woods. I don't remember anyone else there except that I knew the girl Mike had liked wasn't on this trip. I was focused on Mike. As the afternoon sped by, he and I cut wood for the fire, we set up tents, we strung line for tarps, we laughed. A bunch of us began a snowball fight, and then Mike and I began to wrestle in the snow. Even through both layers of our gloves, Mike's touch was electric. Asshole picked that moment to show up, surly, and ready to make me feel like an idiot for having fun. He lectured about hypothermia, laughed at the sleeping bag I'd brought, and told people how much experience he had winter camping all over the country. They didn't care.
Except Mike. Suddenly, Mike had gone from this cheerful guy to one who was sitting quietly on a wooden bench by the fire. He was sulking. It dawned on me as I looked at him that this guy really liked me. It was genuine and it was sweet. Somehow I managed to get through the campfire that night, existing as far from Asshole and as near to Mike as I could without causing Asshole to blow up. Asshole could be so incredibly jealous one minute and accusing me of clinging the next. I knew it was over. I just needed to tell the man to go away. In the middle of the night in the middle of the woods was not exactly that place so I kept quiet.
In the morning, Mike was making chocolate chip pancakes and offering hot chocolate to everyone. I took the time before Asshole woke up to huddle next to him and chatter. I have no idea what I talked about, but even through our thick clothing, I could feel the pressure of his arm as I leaned into him. I was trying to tell him to wait it out. His eyes told me that he understood.
Asshole spent the next week trying to make me feel like an idiot, but even he could sense that something had shifted. He couldn't actually make me feel like an idiot any more. He said I was too clingy. I said okay. He said he needed space. I was okay with that too. He called me flaky. Okay. He called me stupid. Well, that was just wrong, but why argue? So he went away and didn't call. Days went by and he still didn't call. After a week, I figured Asshole had just done the job of breaking up and I wouldn't have to say the words. I was free to date whomever I pleased.
I didn't take long for Mike to ask if he could make dinner for me the following Saturday. Those sweet days until Saturday flew by in an ecstatic blur. What I remember most clearly about that dinner was sitting on the kitchen counter at the place where Mike was house-sitting and the way he leaned into me to kiss me.
"I'd make a good husband," he said on an intake of breath. Oh, I know, I thought, and kissed him back.
Ten days later, on Valentine's Day, I came home to a dozen red roses at my doorstep. They were from Mike. I called him and within a half an hour, he was there so I could thank him in person. Asshole took that moment to appear at my door after having been gone for more than two weeks. I wouldn't let him in. He begged. I kept the chain on the door. Mike sat quietly in my kitchen. Asshole had flowers. I closed the door and brought my garbage can to the door and opened it again. I took the flowers and put them right into the garbage while they both watched from different angles.
"He's here, isn't he?" he said.
"You need to leave now," I said.
"I know he's here," he said.
"I want you to go and I don't ever want you to come back," I said.
"You'll call me. You'll beg for me to come back," he said, trying to peer past the chain that held the door. I don't know if I waited for him to leave before I closed the door and bolted it.
Oh, I ran into that guy out in public more than I ever could have imagined. I ran into him at different malls, at Campmoor, at restaurants, and at the movies. Somehow each time, I was with Mike and felt protected by that fact.
One day, over a year later, after one of those coincidental meetings, Mike said, "You know he's stalking you, don't you?"
"Really?" I asked. I really could be naive.
"Sure. The odds that he would happen to run into you at all these places this many times are a million to one," he said.
Well, okay. It just didn't matter to me. Mike bought me a can of pepper spray and made me put it into my purse, but to be honest, I was always with him and that felt like all I needed. That's all I need, even now.
Thank you for listening, jb
At work, I was spending less time acting with Mike and more time comfortably chatting and telling him how I felt. Mike kept asking me to meet with him and his friends, but I kept saying no. I no longer believed that he was making fun of me, but I had a solid rule against giving any guy a second chance. That rule had protected me more than once.
Finally, Mike asked me to go with his Explorer Post on their annual winter camping trip to Pennsylvania. Flippant, I said, "Can I bring my boyfriend?"
"Sure, if you want," Mike said and went on to tell me what to expect if I came. He was excited about it. I decided to go and even Asshole decided to go, but he was going to show up late, he said. That was fine with me. I'd gotten to a point, deadly in any relationship, in which I didn't care what he did. I was just going along with things, giving him the space that he had asked for.
So I met Mike and the rest of the campers at the prescribed place and we drove to a beautiful snowy clearing in the woods. I don't remember anyone else there except that I knew the girl Mike had liked wasn't on this trip. I was focused on Mike. As the afternoon sped by, he and I cut wood for the fire, we set up tents, we strung line for tarps, we laughed. A bunch of us began a snowball fight, and then Mike and I began to wrestle in the snow. Even through both layers of our gloves, Mike's touch was electric. Asshole picked that moment to show up, surly, and ready to make me feel like an idiot for having fun. He lectured about hypothermia, laughed at the sleeping bag I'd brought, and told people how much experience he had winter camping all over the country. They didn't care.
Except Mike. Suddenly, Mike had gone from this cheerful guy to one who was sitting quietly on a wooden bench by the fire. He was sulking. It dawned on me as I looked at him that this guy really liked me. It was genuine and it was sweet. Somehow I managed to get through the campfire that night, existing as far from Asshole and as near to Mike as I could without causing Asshole to blow up. Asshole could be so incredibly jealous one minute and accusing me of clinging the next. I knew it was over. I just needed to tell the man to go away. In the middle of the night in the middle of the woods was not exactly that place so I kept quiet.
In the morning, Mike was making chocolate chip pancakes and offering hot chocolate to everyone. I took the time before Asshole woke up to huddle next to him and chatter. I have no idea what I talked about, but even through our thick clothing, I could feel the pressure of his arm as I leaned into him. I was trying to tell him to wait it out. His eyes told me that he understood.
Asshole spent the next week trying to make me feel like an idiot, but even he could sense that something had shifted. He couldn't actually make me feel like an idiot any more. He said I was too clingy. I said okay. He said he needed space. I was okay with that too. He called me flaky. Okay. He called me stupid. Well, that was just wrong, but why argue? So he went away and didn't call. Days went by and he still didn't call. After a week, I figured Asshole had just done the job of breaking up and I wouldn't have to say the words. I was free to date whomever I pleased.
I didn't take long for Mike to ask if he could make dinner for me the following Saturday. Those sweet days until Saturday flew by in an ecstatic blur. What I remember most clearly about that dinner was sitting on the kitchen counter at the place where Mike was house-sitting and the way he leaned into me to kiss me.
"I'd make a good husband," he said on an intake of breath. Oh, I know, I thought, and kissed him back.
Ten days later, on Valentine's Day, I came home to a dozen red roses at my doorstep. They were from Mike. I called him and within a half an hour, he was there so I could thank him in person. Asshole took that moment to appear at my door after having been gone for more than two weeks. I wouldn't let him in. He begged. I kept the chain on the door. Mike sat quietly in my kitchen. Asshole had flowers. I closed the door and brought my garbage can to the door and opened it again. I took the flowers and put them right into the garbage while they both watched from different angles.
"He's here, isn't he?" he said.
"You need to leave now," I said.
"I know he's here," he said.
"I want you to go and I don't ever want you to come back," I said.
"You'll call me. You'll beg for me to come back," he said, trying to peer past the chain that held the door. I don't know if I waited for him to leave before I closed the door and bolted it.
Oh, I ran into that guy out in public more than I ever could have imagined. I ran into him at different malls, at Campmoor, at restaurants, and at the movies. Somehow each time, I was with Mike and felt protected by that fact.
One day, over a year later, after one of those coincidental meetings, Mike said, "You know he's stalking you, don't you?"
"Really?" I asked. I really could be naive.
"Sure. The odds that he would happen to run into you at all these places this many times are a million to one," he said.
Well, okay. It just didn't matter to me. Mike bought me a can of pepper spray and made me put it into my purse, but to be honest, I was always with him and that felt like all I needed. That's all I need, even now.
Thank you for listening, jb
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