Monday, September 30, 2013

The one I let go



Last week I promised you the story of me and this ex-boyfriend. So here it is.

            I decided to go to a nearby university for school because my mom was getting sicker and I wanted to be with her as much as I could. She died during my sophomore year, and it was really hard on me, as I’ve mentioned before. I had Ruth, but she has her own kids as well as the rest of my family to think about. And other than her, I felt alone. Dad pulled away even more after Mom’s death, Eliza wasn’t motivated to bond with anyone, Marie escaped all the memories by going to a school far away, and I found it difficult to relate to or connect with anyone new.

            By the end of my junior year, a year after Mom’s death, I had worked through things enough that I was making connections again and socializing. I didn’t have BFFs, but it was more than I’d been able to do since Mom took a turn for the worse. 

There was a guy at the dorms, a senior getting ready to graduate, and one day when I was passing by his room, there was the mountain of boxes. I asked if I could help, since the guy moving had always been nice to me. And that’s when I saw him for the first time. Fred, the guy’s brother. He smiled and said he’d never turn down help from a pretty girl. It was the first time a guy had ever called me pretty.

I helped them move boxes into their van, and after we finished, Fred asked for my number. He called me the next day, and we went on our first date that Friday. We had an immediate connection, something I’d never experienced before and haven’t since. We didn’t talk about the small stuff, we talked about the important things. Our pasts, our hopes, our dreams. Fred was the first person I talked to about my mom, and he shared his past with me as well. Although his older brother and sister had gone the academic route, he’d joined the Navy right after 9/11 and had been in the military for three years. He’d been to Iraq twice before, and the last time he’d lost his closest friend in his unit. In that way, we both understood loss and how no one would really understand.

But besides our tragedies, we both had huge dreams. I wanted to go to law school at the same university my mom got her bachelor’s, and become a lawyer to advocate for abused children. Fred was fascinated with the internet, which although it was common at that time, it hadn’t reached its full peak of potential, like it's at now. Although he’d only had a few community college classes, he thought he could create a successful service through the internet. He didn’t know what he would do then, only that with something that could connect the whole world together, there had to be something he could create. I was amazed at him, taking this fairly new route, and I saw how brilliant he was. I knew he’d get there someday. 

After all that time of being alone, I wasn’t anymore. And more than that, I loved someone who loved me just as deeply in return. 

After we’d been seeing each other for about a year, Fred was scheduled to be deployed to Iraq in a month and I was accepted to my dream law school. A very, very expensive school, might I add. 

Then Fred proposed to me. I accepted without hesitation. But he didn’t want to wait six months until he got back from the Middle East to get married. You have to understand, his parents married at 19 after knowing each other for six months. They’ve been through a lot, but still love each other madly. To Fred, distance and money and those things didn’t matter as long as you loved each other. And he carried me away with this vision. He told me that he wanted to marry me and he didn’t want to wait. If we knew we loved each other, then why did it matter that we got married sooner rather than later?  He never said it exactly, but I think his buddy’s death really got to him, in that he thought he might die while he was over there, and he just wanted to be married to me. Even if it was only for two weeks.

Ruth had met Fred before and thought him a fling to get out of my system, but the rest of my family hadn’t bothered to meet him because they, too, thought this relationship wasn’t important. So when I brought Fred to meet Dad, Eliza, and Ruth, Dad hated Fred from the moment he saw him. You see, Fred is Latino, and Dad has some very racist opinions. When I announced our engagement Dad said that the only place a person like Fred had in his daughter’s life was picking the food she ate. He also claimed that if we got married, he wouldn’t pay for my law school and he would take away the trust fund he’d set up for me to get access to when I was 25.

That was the first and only time I stood up to my father. I professed my love for Fred and my determination to marry him in two weeks, no matter what my family did. I said I’d rather have Fred than any of them.

I meant it, too. Every word I said about Fred being the most important person in my life and marrying him, I planned on keeping. But the next day Ruth came to see me, which was strange because she never came to my apartment. She told me that my father’s racist comments were wrong and uncalled for, but she thought it was unwise of me to settle down so soon.

She pointed out I was only 22, with my whole life ahead of me. Did I know I wanted to be married now? I said yes, but she continued. She said that without my father’s money, I’d have to take out loans, which would be at least a hundred thousand dollars of debt by the time I graduated, plus the interest, and in my field, I wouldn’t be making a lot of money compared to other attorneys. I didn’t mind working off the loan, but I’d told Ruth before about Fred’s ambitions of creating an internet business. She reminded me that starting a business took money. And we would need a loan, which would be difficult to get when I had mounds of student loans to pay and our financials were tied together. If we got married then, one of us would have to sacrifice our dream.

I thought it through, and I knew I couldn’t give up my dream. But I also couldn’t ask Fred to sacrifice his for mine. I tried to think of another way we could make it work, of how we could be married and achieve our dreams, but looking at everything, I knew there was a very slim chance we could have everything in one bite and not choke.

But I loved him so much, I couldn’t imagine breaking off the engagement. The worst part about this whole thing is that I tried so hard to find another solution, it wasn’t until we were in the courthouse, about to go in to the judge, that I finally told Fred we couldn’t get married, not now. I’ll never forget the look on his face when I told him I wasn’t going to marry him. Shock and disbelief and pain. So, so much pain, like I was actually torturing him to death.

He asked why, if it was anything he had done, and I told him about what Ruth had brought up. But he didn’t understand. As someone who grew up always scrounging for money, working since he was fourteen to help support his family, and watching his brother and sister take out loans, he wasn’t scared of all the challenges we had to face, especially since his parents had faced incredible difficulties. He said as long as we were together, nothing else would matter. But me, the rich, spoiled girl I was, couldn’t imagine a life like that. I couldn’t imagine the debt and the difficulties.

Then Fred offered his hand to me, asking me if I would go with him or if I’d be persuaded by my godmother. I stayed frozen in front of the reception desk, unable to think of the words to say, how to say how sorry I was, how much I loved him, how I wished it could be different. But it all came out as, “I can’t.”

His outstretched hand became a fist, and he walked out. That was the last time I saw him.

Fred went to Iraq and I went to law school. I was sucked into a legal issue at my father’s company and ended up working for him rather than following my dream of working with abused children. Fred left the service after completing his tour, started up his business, and became incredibly successful. And now he’s coming, and he’s going to realize how lucky he was to get away when he did, since I have no spine of my own, working for a corporation, and not just any corporation, but for my father, the racist.

            So now you know it all, and just how bad this will probably turn out.
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Wednesday, September 25, 2013

I think I should just start from the beginning



Yesterday the new tenants moved in—I’ll call them Adam and Carrie. And a lot happened, so I’m just going to have to start at the beginning.

            First, if Adam and Carrie know about me and their brother, then either it doesn’t matter to them or they’re really good at appearing civil. They’re amazing people. They both wanted me to know that I was welcome there (they called it my home) at any time, and even wanted me to come to dinner. I’ll probably be turning that down—but more on why later. 

            While I was showing them around, they told me a bit of their story. Adam and Carrie met as interns at their company, both competing for one of three spots in this incredibly successful business. While some people might be working against each other with such tight competition, Adam and Carrie worked together on a project that ended up getting them both jobs. Ten years later they still work side-by-side as VPs for that same company. 

            And then they mentioned that I knew their brother, and wanted to know if I’d heard he’d gotten married.

            I almost had a heart attack and felt sick when Carrie said that. Until I realized they were talking about their other brother—not the one that I dated. We knew each other from college, and he’s how I met this ex of mine. 

            Then Carrie then brought up him. How he had an incredibly successful internet business (which I knew) and that he’d recently sold it and made a lucrative profit (which I also knew). So much money that if my family had that much, we wouldn’t be renting out our house. But then she told me something I didn’t know—he’s coming to stay with them as he tries to figure out what to do next.

            That’s right. He’s coming. In two weeks. And honestly, I’m scared. Of the chance that we'll meet. Of what he'll say after eight years. Of what I'll say after eight years. How I'll appear to him, with my sad life and dreary job and little friends.

            With this new development, I think I have to tell you what happened. But that’s going to take a long time to write, more than I have right now. It’s messy and complicated and it’s going to be emotionally draining for me. Next time, though, you’ll get the story. Because that’s why I started this in the first place, right?
           
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Monday, September 23, 2013

The New Roommates



            The past week has been eventful. Thursday Eliza and Dad moved up north with their dozens of suitcases and garment bags and hatboxes of clothes and shoes and accessories—enough to fill one small moving van between them. I spent my Friday night moving my home office out of my spare room. I didn’t have much in it but I liked the space because I need an area dedicated to my work to keep me from getting distracted. However, I’ll be able to make do. I donated the desk to Goodwill and put my bookshelves in my living room.

            Then on Saturday, Hannah and Lucy moved in. Charlie and his parents came to help while Marie pleaded morning sickness. Two beds, two dressers, four suitcases, and a dozen boxes later, and everything was in the apartment. That evening I helped them unpack and get settled in, showed them around the kitchen and that sort of stuff. It was nice, hearing about Hannah’s time in Paris and Lucy’s science research, as well as their hopes in their careers in the future. They’re also really into getting high quality clothes at amazing sales, so they would pull out different designer pieces and talk about the amazing deal they got on them. They were very beautiful clothes, but I just never could pull off stuff like they can. They’re both very confident in their bodies, which is great, but I don’t have the courage to show as much skin as they do.

            Then I was all ready to collapse into my usual Saturday night routine: a chick flick, take-out, and ice cream so I can unwind from the work week, followed by some time to listen to my music and think, but Hannah and Lucy are very different from me. They asked me where I wanted to go out tonight. Clubbing or a bar, they said they’re good with either. I had no idea, only that it wasn’t here where everyone is in bed by eight (I’m an animal, I stay up until ten). They ended up calling some high school friends who stayed in the area and got some names of places to go.

            Then I made the mistake of telling them I didn’t really drink. I mean, I’ve had beer…once. And I drink wine at dinners. But I never get drunk and I’m just as happy with a Shirley Temple as a martini. They squealed with delight because that meant they could both go out and drink, and I could be the designated driver, riffling through my closet for something to wear, all before I told them I would go.

            I was exhausted from last week (and you probably remember how last week was for me), but I wanted to get along with Hannah and Lucy and make some sort of change to my life, so I agreed to go. I spent most of the night sitting with a virgin drink, watching Hannah and Lucy take shots and dance with guys, all while thinking I’d rather be listening to something with a piano or guitar than a dubstep.

            Preferences for evening activities aside, I think I’ll get along with Hannah and Lucy. They’re so happy and bubbly that it’s hard not to like them. And I’m sure once they’re in town a bit longer and make more friends, they’ll go to their parties and I’ll be back in my PJs with my romances.
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Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Crap



It’s two in the morning as I write this because I can’t sleep. And the reason why I can’t sleep is because just before going to bed, I finally realized why our new tenants’ names mean something to me.

            They’re my ex-boyfriend’s sister and brother-in-law. 

You know how there are some exes that, even though it didn’t work out, there’s nothing sour about your relationship? You can have pleasant conversations at parties or if you run into each other at the grocery store? Well, this ex is not like that. It’s not like we’re antagonistic toward each other, in fact we haven’t even talked to each other in eight years, but there’s just…a lot of hurt from what happened. On both sides of it.  

            All of this might not be a big deal if it weren’t for the fact that I’m the landlady while Dad and Eliza are away. So if anything breaks or they don’t pay their rent or something happens where I have to go over there and take care of things as the landlady, then I will need to come face-to-face with them. Also, I will see them at least once next week when they move in. 

            To make it even more stressful, I don’t know if the new tenants even know that their brother and I dated. Which might seem weird, but while we were dating, they were on a big adventure in Asia, trying to find themselves and learn about Eastern culture in hopes of finding balance in their lives. As part of that, they cut themselves off for one year with contact from the West, and said only to contact them if someone had died or been maimed. We were over before they got back. 

            So on the one hand, maybe they won’t know. It all depends on whether or not this ex-boyfriend of mine told them what happened or not. At worse, they hate me for a relationship that ended badly eight years ago; at best they have no idea what happened and I feel awkward about it.

            If I know him, my ex, at all, he didn’t tell them. Between his pride and the circumstances, I’m sure he wouldn’t want to admit what happened between us to anyone. He probably tries to forget it whenever he remembers us, with an angry shake of the head as he wonders why we were ever together.

            But what if he changed, or I didn’t know him like I thought, and he did tell them? I hate conflict, and even just the potential of this can of worms opening stresses me out. 

I’ll keep you updated on it, but I hope there’s nothing more to talk about on this subject.
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Monday, September 16, 2013

I'm Staying



The week of back-and-forth, of uncertainty, of hair-tearing indecision was finally settled because Marie asked me to stay.

            It’s not that Marie is in charge of my life or anything, but when I told her I might be going up north with Eliza and Dad, she asked what in the world I would be needed for up there. In truth, not a lot, because Dad’s never taken my advice with the business before, so why would that change now? I would be doing the same work I do here, just in a different place. Then Marie talked about how she’s still feeling ill from her pregnancy, and how helpful I’ve been with my nephew, and that she can’t imagine having to go on without me. How can I leave my sister alone like that? I might have been too ungenerous in my previous post. Marie is a hypochondriac, but pregnancy is difficult, hypochondriac or not. It would be insensitive of me to leave her under the circumstances, and I like to be needed. Besides, I never really liked living up north to begin with, and not just because of the hard time I had up there. It was cold and crowded and noisy—much different than my quiet little town.

            And, in other news, I’m getting roommates. They’re Charlie’s (my brother-in-law) sisters. They’re a few years younger than me, and for this blog I’m code naming them Hannah and Lucy. Hannah is a classically trained singer, who has spent the past year studying in Paris. From what Charlie’s mom has told me, Hannah would love to be a Susan Boyle kind of figure, with a classical voice but having a broad appeal, although for now she has a part in a production in one of the theatres downtown. Lucy has been away for her undergrad and graduate work, but has come back home to get her PhD at the local university. They both wanted to come back into town after years away, but as this area is pricey, they needed another roommate in order for them to make the finances work. I overheard Charlie talking about this to Marie, and since I have a two-bedroom apartment, I offered the extra room to the two girls.  

            Even though Hannah and Lucy are a few years younger than me, I’m excited to have roommates again. I haven’t had one since my undergrad, and so while I’ll have to re-learn how to live with other people, it might be really great. From what time I’ve spent around Hannah and Lucy, they seem to be really fun, vibrant people. Pretty much the exact opposite of me, but I think that contrasting personalities can do a lot for each other.

            Who knows? Maybe these changes will be just what I need.
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