Day of Infamy, Part II (Then)
Some of you, after reading my previous blog post ("Day of Infamy, Part I (Now)"), may be under the mistaken impression that what E did to me was the most heartbreaking thing that I've ever experienced, and that I'm broken, desolate, lonely, and on an island. The truth is, young grasshoppers (and I do mean grass -hoppers) that it's been so long since I've experienced *real* heartbreak that this numbing pain I'm feeling right now is just a shadow of what once was. (Real pain won't come until she starts dating someone else in a month or two).
Settle back, young children, and I'll tell you the story of the Original Cold Hearted Bit...ter Lady.
A History Lesson
Once upon a time, when I was a mere lad of sixteen or seventeen years of age, there was a young lady to whom I had taken a fancy to. Regular readers of my correspondence will recall her name, but for tonight we'll simply call her Ms. K.
No, no, kindly reader, not *that* Ms. K (of her we do not speak), but the "extremely small" one.
After some time of courtship (about three months, if my aged memory serves me correctly) we went on a small date that was supposed to be a little mini-reunion after about three weeks of not seeing each other or talking to each other much due to the stresses and portents of our outside lives.
(Does this sound familiar, dear readers?)
And of course my gentle parents were uncomfortable with us being alone together in an empty house, so at my behest Ms. K sighed and entered my automobile for a countryside drive and a long conversation.
I don't know entirely why I forced her to do so; perhaps it was trying to capture the zeitgeist of our very first date (my first real car date; longtime readers will recall the magical tale of that Clifton evening) but suffice to say, things did not go well.
It took me some time in our conversation, parked in front of the flower shop, perhaps about an hour, before I realized the ultimate design of Ms. K's hemming and hawwing- the end of our relationship. And then of course, because I am a gentleman of the old breeding, I gave her an uncomfortably awkward ride home, keeping my back rigid and a neutral look on my face.
I dropped her off at her house, gave her a light peck, and let her go. (And yes, Virginia, this *was* the inspiration for Ashley's final line from "Love Burns").
Then I drove around the corner, to where I was sure she couldn't see me from the vantage point of the house. My eyes were blurring from bitter tears. I stopped the car, put it in park, turned off the lights and now it's just me on that hillside crying, all-out, my entire body wretching itself again and again, the car slipping backwards sympathetically, my ears burning with shame and revulsion, the entirety of it crashing down upon me like a tidal wave of fear and angst and loneliness and insecurity, my acidic tears burning away what happiness I once had.
I screamed and pounded the wheel and mouthed obscenities and clenched and unclenched every muscle in my body like some twisted, demented yoga relaxation exercise and blanched and finally, began to moan out, every word carving a deep, acrid wound into my soul: "Not as I will...but as You will....not as I will...but as You will..."
I know that had I not prayed that, had I not torn myself apart to beg for His help, I would have driven my car right into a wall, right into a river, tried to kill myself and end the misery right there. But somehow (I can't remember how), I managed to make it back home to the cradle of my family, and to comfort.
Eventually, even to peace.
So there. That's the worst it could get. That's when I dug in my heels and decided that it would never happen again.
So, if it makes you feel any better, my latest ex, you weren't as bad as that.