Little comforts

I’ve been thinking a lot about exes lately.

And don’t tell me you haven’t. I’m not interested in that. Really, can’t we please, for just a moment, admit, all together, that it’s weird, so very weird, to have exes in the universe? I don’t want to pretend that I’ve moved on—which I have, in a sense. I’m not stopped, I’m not waiting, or weeping. I’m just thinking.

Isn’t it strange that there are people in the world that you used to lay next to every night (if you’re a cohabitating type of serial monogamist, at least), who now have these lives that don’t involve you? They have wives and girlfriends and fiancés and children, and you have new loves, and you live somewhere else, and why does that have to mean you can’t still call his mother? Why does that have to mean that you’re a stalker if you want to see a photo of his new family?

One reason I’ve been thinking is because I’ve been hearing a lot from an ex who was an item so long ago I hesitate to think of him as more than a very old friend. I was visiting home not long ago, and he randomly called. He didn’t even know I was in town, but he instantly started pushing to see me. I agreed to dinner at his intense insistence—he hinted at some sort of trauma. He promised he’d be pathetic, and offered to buy.

We got in the car, and I said, “So. What was all that? What’s up with you?”

“Right,” he said. “So, my wife left me.”

Of course she did. Although there was one point in my life that I’d considered him my backup plan, my safety, in case my life didn’t go the way it expected, I gave up that plan about four years ago when he told me he was having a baby. Since then, I’d been firmly in the camp that supported his relationship, and I’d even been charmed by his wife – and while we’re being honest, I’ll just put it out there. I’m prettier than his wife.

“Oh, buddy,” I said. “That sucks.”

“For her teacher,” he said.

“Yikes,” I said.

“Who is a lady,” he said.

“Oh, fuck.”

At dinner, he told me the whole sordid story. It’s pretty fucking tragic.

He knew our server, it was why he’d picked this particular restaurant. When the server walked away, my friend confessed, “he doesn’t know yet.”

This break had been sudden, and the whole thing had only gone down about three weeks prior. My friend described to me how he understood depression for the first time in his life.

“I wake up in the morning, and I can’t think of a reason to get out of bed. And even when I can, I just can’t think of how in the world I’m going to make myself do it.”

I hugged him, and got a little drunk with him, and said what little, weak things you can say to comfort a friend whose family has just been torn apart. Mostly I listened to him. And when our server asked what the wife and kid were up to, he got the bad news. When our bill arrived, I think it was $5.

“I’ve been getting a lot of free meals lately,” he confessed.

What little things we can do to comfort a friend.

Later, after I’d left town again, he texted me, saying he wished he’d been able to spend more time with me when I was in town.
“I have a lot of friends here, but none like you,” he said.

I’m not sure what he meant by that. In a literal sense, he doesn’t have any other friends who took his virginity. In another sense, he probably doesn’t have any other friends who have considered making a life with him. I’ve thought about what our kids would look like. I’ve considered whether I would take his last name.

But he probably didn’t mean any of those things.

Am I crazy or is he creepy?

I can't tell. I was just sitting there, minding my business late in the week, trying very hard not to beat my head against my keyboard, when an IM popped up on my screen.

He says:
Hey! Whatre you doing?

She says:
whipping some stuff out before I get out of here
and then tomorrow's FRIDAY

He says:
Yes it is!!! WOO HOO!!!!
big plans this holiday wekend?

She says:
Oh yeah
gardening
cleaning my floors
big stuff
Actually I might spend a night in a cabin on the Waccamaw
and do some kayaking
so that'll be good
Oh, you know, and being pious, of course
You?

He says:
LOL>...of course!!!
well...I cleaned floors last weekend so thais done...YEAH!!!
a little golf Frdiay and Saturday mongings...

She says:
Oh nice

He says:
and I do have to clean out the garage one day...BOOOOO

She says:
I hate chores

He says:
me too...

She says:
Why did I think they'd go away when I grew up?
I think I need to have kids. Make them start doing some dishes.

He says:
they just get more and more and more

She says:
srrsly

He says:
we need FUN in our life...hhhmmmmm

This is where I start to feel squeamish. I mean, OK. I like fun. But that long "hhhmmmmmm" felt like a hot breath across a phone line, right? That's not fun. It certainly ain't sexy. So I tried to keep it light and jokey. I figure, can't we all agree that work sucks, eh? Eh?

She says:
Oh, what, like work isn't FUN for you?
It doesn't bring you enough JOYJOYJOY?

He says:
there you go again..scarcasim...I LOVE IT!

She says:
I just can't help it
I'm glad someone around here appreciates it

He says:
I do...let it FLY!!!

She says:
ha
I still have to figure out different types of humor.
Not everyone thinks I'm hilarious, apparently.

He says:
i find you hilarous and interesting...

I don't want bald, married guys my dad's age to find me interesting. Especially if they can't spell for shit. Again, I retort with a joke.

She says:
Me, too!
That's why we get along

There's a pause, so I think it's over. Oh, no.

He says:
so.,...
tell me something unique

Um, what? Is this how old people flirt? Is he that bored? I hardly know this guy. He works in a different building. (I think his WIFE works in my building though.) Are we all of a sudden on Match.com? I play it safe by playing stupid.

She says:
??

He says:
lol
see...you haven't figured me out yet...I am haviong a tought ime with an outage over here and thoiught I would settle my stress by being silly wiht you
sorry

She says:
ahhhhh
I'm slow sometimes

He says:
not a problem...

OK, DIW. What is this? Am I being paranoid? Is he just so well-meaning and innocent and I'm the one projecting? Should I avoid this guy?

I love you, internet

My first boyfriend was an anarchist. An anarcho-syndicist, to be precise, and a young student of philosophy. Big Nietzche fan. So, naturally, he didn’t believe in “love.” I did, though. And I was in love.

I wanted desperately to tell him I loved him, but I was terrified of saying it first. So I moped, and pined, and whenever he said anything that began with “I love …” I froze in anticipation. The sentences always ended with something like “this slice of pizza” “this weed” or “Hegel’s dialectical method.” Maybe, if I was lucky, it was “I love your ass.”

So finally, one drunken evening (Now, I can’t remember how far along the relationship was at this point. I felt like we’d been together FOREVER and would be together FOREVER and that my soul was his soul, and that there was no other love like ours, but in reality it had probably been a month. That’s the equivalent of a decade when you’re 15), we were laughing about something, and I did something really funny, I have no idea what, and he laughed, “I love you!” And apparently the look of soaring joy on my face was too much for him, and he explained that he didn’t mean it THAT way. So, naturally, I cried.

And since then, in relationships, I still have never said the “L” word first. Not-a-once. A lot of women I know don’t. I will ask a man out, I will tell him where to put it (literally and figuratively), I’ll take all kinds of risks in relationships. But the “L” word? No way.

What about you, gentle readers? Do you say the L word first? What’s it like?

p.s. Do any of y’all do this twitter thing? I do. Find me at Twitter.com/serialmono