The Ultimatum

The duffel bag spilled clothes onto the floor – still unpacked from the road-trip I had just returned from. 

Books stacked in piles, and there boxes waiting to be filled.  While I had been away my family had already packed most of their own belongings, but my room remained untouched, awaiting my return.  The move was only a week or two away, and there was still so much left to do.

I pushed away the bed, reaching underneath for all the items that were lost under there, shoved into the darkness.

I sifted through papers and photos – of items to keep and throw.  Dozens of photos looked up at me – most of them of me and Georgie.  I lost myself in the sifting. 

The distinctive melody I’d assigned for when Georgie called me blared suddenly, causing me to drop a photo I’d been looking at.  We had just returned from our road-trip yesterday, and I did not expect to hear from her today.  She had been frustrated with me the whole ride home – after I had made the executive decision to cut the trip short by one day.  One measly day – and she was angry. 

I had a whole room to pack.  I didn’t have time for chatting.  But she was supposed to be my best friend.  I shouldn’t ignore her call.

I picked up.  Absent-mindedly I chatted, my attention still mostly focused on packing.  I began to tell her I was busy, that I would call her later, when she asked me about AMP.

I stopped what I was doing, and composed my voice before answering, “Why do you ask Georgie?”

”Well are you dating him or not?  Do you like him?”

She was supposed to be my best friend… but recent lessons had taught me to be a little wary.

She was supposed to be my best friend…but I was keeping a secret from her.

I calmly replied, “I don’t see why we are having this conversation.  Do you like him?”

”No, of course not,” she sputtered indignantly. 

I was losing patience with her obsessive need to control my life.  I took in a deep breath, aiming for a calm but firm tone. 

”Then I fail to see the purpose of this, I’m really busy Georgie.  We just got back from spending every moment together for over two weeks, and now you suddenly call and ask me about him?”

”I need to know,” she replied.  “I can’t be friends with you if you are dating him.”

I could feel the anger bubbling up inside me, the frustration.  She was so stubborn, so opinionated – and this was none of her business.  Why should she care?  Part of me ached to hang up, but the curiosity of what ridiculous reasoning she would spout off stopped me.

“Excuse me?  You can’t be friends with me if I date him?  Why the hell not?”

“Because, D.  You just broke up with Bob because you weren’t ready for a relationship.”

”Bob and I broke up almost a year ago.  Who I want to date is my business Georgie.”  My voice was rising.  The frustration built up inside me.  Who did she think she was?  I continued, “I’m an adult – I am capable of making my own decisions.  So, unless you know something about AMP that I don’t, like he’s secretly married, or a murderer or something, I don’t know how my dating him would affect our friendship.”  

“It just will.  I won’t be your friend anymore if you are – that’s my decision and it’s final.”

Those last words pushed me over the edge.  “Well, I don’t want to be friends with someone who gives me ultimatums.” 

And with that phone call, our friendship ended.

This post is written for The Red Dress Club prompt: “ Write about a fight.  Who won?  Why?  What happened? Use emotion.”
As always, constructive criticism is welcome.

Sidelines, part I

I have two “sidelines” posts in my drafts – waiting for me to sift through the words and edit them.  While not the same, they are different parts of each other – of my personality.  Here is part one. 

Sidelines, part I

When I was a little kid I used to love being on the sidelines – watching but not actively participating.  It was so easy.  So stress free. 
I knew that if I wanted to, I could jump in anytime.  But, I was content where I was. 

I was content. 

I realize lately that being on the sidelines requires a lot of waiting around, a lot of patience.  Patience is a quality I already have in short supply.  I don’t know when I started to become less patient; perhaps with the onset of adolescence?  It seems like around then I had lost my patience, and gained envy.

I found cards my ex wrote me.  I was 17 at the time and a couple of the cards made reference to my lack of patience, where he decided to remind me that ‘patience is a virtue.’  Even though his next sentence was, “I know how much you hate that saying.”  Guess I don’t need reminders of why I dumped him…

Anyways, back to the topic at hand…

When I realized that I couldn’t jump in anytime, I started to hate the sidelines, and became envious – envious of ones in relationships, envious of friends and cousins getting engaged and getting married.  Five cousins got married before me, two of them younger than me.  When AMP and I were dating, we were ones of the last in our social group to get married, though we were older and in some cases, together longer.  

And, I began to feel the pangs of impatience and envy.

Then we got married, and all was right in the world. 

Right?

No, because then came babies.

And, for a while I was content to sit on the sidelines.  I didn’t even think I wanted a kid at all. 

And then, Mini-Principessa was born. 

And, I fell in love, hard.  I wanted my own little one.  I wanted to be a mommy.  I wanted to see AMP and myself in our own little person we could raise and love.

But, I couldn’t just jump in. 

Because, it’s not all about me; it’s not just my decision because it will change both our lives dramatically. 

So, I’m on the sidelines…waiting.  And everyday I hear of someone else getting pregnant.  And I’m jealous and envious over here on the sidelines. 

Waiting.  Waiting for when I can jump in and join.

I’m not good at waiting.

And, I still hate being told ‘Patience is a virtue.’ 

Missing the friend you were

Remember when Bob and I were forbidden to speak to each other?  You played messenger between us.

Remember when Bob and I broke up?  You supported me, you were on my side – saying I should do what’s best for me, and that you and I would always be friends.  You were there for me, in ways no one was.

When I broke up with Bob, I expected to lose some friends… I knew I would lose his friendship for good… the whole ‘staying-friends-with-exes’ never really works out when one person is against the break up.  I knew I’d lose your brother’s friendship; after all, you always take a best friend’s side.

Don’t you?

I guess we weren’t the friends I thought we were.

Do you know how much I think about you?  I’m sad that you forced me to choose between you and a boy.  You never told me you liked AMP… You never told me you had any feelings for him… You never told me you didn’t like him… You just told me that if AMP and I started dating, you and I could not be friends.

Was it out of a sense of loyalty to Bob, someone who has been a part of your life forever?  Or were you just done with our friendship?

When I think back to the years we were friends, I think of all the wonderful memories, all the adventures we had.  And, I miss the friend you were… The friend who supported me, not the one who gave an ultimatum… I miss the friend you used to be.

This post inspired by Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop

If I could do it over again…

Two of this week’s prompts made me laugh out loud… so fitting to think about the past, what with my ex-boyfriend and his wife in town, and my being thrown in their path at every opporutunity (it’s a long story!)

I’m one of those goodie girls – not sure if I’m proud of it.  On the one hand, I like the fact that I’ve only kissed two guys, one of whom I married.  On the other hand, perhaps if I drowned it out with a few more guys here and there, it wouldn’t be such an exclusive club - one member which I’d like to permanently erase from the club’s history. (Or, maybe, waited longer was an option – and have made it a definite club of 1).

Aren’t first boyfriends supposed to be thought of fondly?  You know, with that starry-eyed, nostalgic gaze into the past?

I look at my first boyfriend – and I can’t help but wonder, ‘What the hell was I thinking?’

Dont’ get me wrong – he’s not horrible or anything.  Nor did he do anything unforgivable… He had faults, but so did I.  But, when I look at him now, I am so relieved that I made the choice to break up with him.  I only wish that I’d never made the choice to date him in the first place. 

I wish I’d shared my first ever kiss with AMP.  I wish he’d been the first one I’d said ‘I love you’ to.  It doesn’t matter that I was a delusional 19 year old the first time – I can never change that I uttered those words to someone else, someone who I clearly didn’t really love, someone who now is forever a part of my history.

AMP and I were talking the other day about his past… while we were each other’s firsts, he wasn’t exactly an angel in the make-out department… his list far outnumbers mine.  My being a naturally curious, and somewhat on the jealous side, tried to wrest some details, but AMP said something that made me stop and think… He said, “I don’t want to relive the memories of the past, I’d rather think of you, and the memories I have with you.”

Isn’t he cute?  Tidy way to get me to stop bugging him, but he has a good point – why focus on the past?  Why focus on what we can’t change – even if we wish for it more than anything?

Perhaps if I could go back now, knowing how my life would end up, I would have never made the decision to date my ex… But, what good does thinking about that now? 

I am happy.  I have an amazing husband.  I’ve made the best decision about who to spend the rest of my  life with – so when the ex’s wife and mother sneak in their snide comments about how ‘oh-so-wonderful’ the ex is… I can smile and know that as wonderful as he may now be, I still married the right man.

This post inspired by prompt no. 1 at Mama Kat’s…

Dear Past Love,

I am aware of your contempt for me.  You do not care for me anymore, although you once claimed to love me.  You loathe me for my perceived crimes against you.  You’ve testified against me to others.  You’ve slandered my name, all as a soothing balm to your bruised ego.

Now, the prosecution must rest, and thus I begin my defense:

I apologize profusely for loving you.  That was my mistake.  I allowed the pitiful yearnings of an immature heart to dictate my actions.  I peered through rose-colored glasses that hid the flaws others saw so well.  I imagined you to be perfect, faultless.  My heart was whole, unsoiled, and as pure as a newborn.  I saw only the good: your kindness to me, your charm, your apparent love for me.  I was enamored with your attention.  You fooled me with your facade of innocence, of purity of emotion.  You tempted me with the allure of freedom, of independence.  Worse, on a warm summer day, you drew me close and professed your love for me.

I will take my share of the blame.  I should have thrown off the rose-colored glasses.  I should have peered deeper and not accepted your perfection at a glance.  The counsel of wiser ones, I should not have tossed aside.  Perhaps, if I had distanced myself for a moment, if I had listened to shrewd direction, I would have averted heartache.

I should not have said, “I love you too.”

I was enamored with you.  I cared about you.  I apologize that my love was not sufficient for you.

You play the victim exceedingly well: the teary eyes, the strong emotion that chokes your voice and causes you to walk away, the broken heart worn on your sleeve.  I applaud your performance.  It is touching, to the untrained eye.  Only I see the calculating gleam in your eye, the hard glint of steel beneath the vulnerable appearance.

I am sorry that I am unable to mourn the end of us forever.  I know you want me to.  I have put you behind me.  I have walked away from the guilt you’ve tried to choke me with.  I have found my love.  He has picked up the pieces of the heart you shattered.  He has shown me the meaning of love, of devotion, of true happiness.

For this I must thank you, for if you had not scarred me, if you had not torn to pieces my innocent view of life and love, I would not appreciate the love I have now.

I bid you farewell.  You will forever be a part of me, a harsh lesson I had to learn, but you will never hurt me again.

Good Bye.

 

— This post is doing double duty this week.
For Sleep is for the Weak’s Writing Workshop – prompt “Escape” – I chose to write – “Write a letter to or about an old relationship you escaped from.”
And for Mama Kat’s Losing It – Prompt #5 – “What’s so good about it? Write an interesting piece of writing where the last two words are ‘good bye’.”

Sifting through the Past

The thing about moving is, you always find little pieces of history and memories laying around, waiting to be discovered. Or at least if you are a pack rat like me, who dreads throwing anything out, in case I may “need” it one day.

After a year-and-a-half of being married (and thus, a year-and-a-half since I moved out of my parents house), I was kindly informed that it was time to move all my belongings from their house. I don’t even know how I got away with keeping things there that long – probably because my parents realized how small the place was – but when we moved into the new house, I was left with no excuses.

Of course, I didn’t simply throw away all the items that I clearly hadn’t used or ‘needed’ in the past year-and-a-half – no, I decided to sort through everything.

Lo and behold, pieces of my past came crashing through.

A few were welcome – childhood memorabilia, old writing projects… But then there were the items from past relationships. Now, my dating history isn’t vast. There was a summer romance for a French boy – which was definitely more trouble than it was worth. And there was Bob (not his real name) – the only other guy I’d ever dated. Bob and I had been together 2 years, on and off. On for year-and-three-quarters or so, then I broke up with him, and then I followed a mad, and very dumb, impulse to get back together with him for a month or so after a summer apart. Bob and I were wrong for each other. I was young and unaware of what I wanted in life – he was a few year’s older and knew exactly how he wanted me to be – even if that’s not what I wanted.

The relationship is old news. We broke up when I was 19 – almost 6 years ago. I’ve been married 2 years, and he’s been married a few months now. So, when I stumbled across the locket he gave me for our one-year dating anniversary – I felt like I opened a cupboard to the past.

Don’t get me wrong – I don’t care for him anymore. I’m madly in love with A and there’s no room for anyone else. Sure, Bob will always be special in that first boyfriend kind of way, but that is all. And truly that wasn’t the issue. The issue was, I knew it was in the past, A knows it’s in the past – so is it wrong to wear a locket that an old boyfriend gave me?

My heart says yes. A says to do whatever I feel like doing. He’s not the jealous type really, or at least he wouldn’t admit it. But, I feel it’s disloyal. And yet, it’s beautiful and I’d always wanted a locket, so I can’t bring myself to throw it out.

I’ve dabbled with the idea of giving it away. I had offered to give it back to Bob when we broke up, but he refused. I’ve thought of giving it to one of my nieces, but that seemed strange. To keep it for a future daughter that may or may not be, also seemed very strange. That is what I will do with pieces A gave me, not a person that has no meaning to me any more.

The locket will always remind me of Bob – so should I just keep it tucked away in a box of the past – or is that like I’m not letting go of the past? I don’t feel like I’m holding on to Bob, or the idea of Bob, but would keeping the locket seem like I am? Is it wrong to keep mementos and pictures of the past, or should they be tossed, burned, discarded?

These are questions I struggle with.

And, that is why I wish it had continued to be “lost” and then no decision would have to be made.

 

- Inspired by prompts 1 & 4 of this week’s  Sleep is For the Weak Writing Workshop.