So, we know I love to regale you with stories about B_, but today I’m going to begin a little throwback Thursday story about one of the greater things I’ve done in my life.
I’ve had plenty of breakups, most of the them, pretty bad. My second to last breakup, the one before B_, was particularly drawn out. We worked together, and were in the same arts/slam poetry scene, so I had to see him all the time. The break up itself didn’t come out of the blue. Things were headed down hill for a bit, and I could not ignore our impeding doom. First came a vacation gone bad on which we went to one of his friends’ wedding and visited some of his college friends. By the next leg of the trip, which was the first time I’d brought anyone to my family’s lakehouse, it became clear he was starting to hate me. Next, we accompanied a youth team to the international youth poetry slam ‘Brave New Voices’, where his resentment grew. We finished off the trip as part of an adult team at the National Poetry Slam, where our poor fellow poets/mentors had to suffer the stench of our rotten romance.
While at my family’s lakehouse, he informed me that he’d be moving in with a friend of ours upon our return to Hawai`i, leaving me to find housing with short notice. Here’s a tip, folks: when you’ve been living together with a significant other, and they want to move out, it’s pretty well over.
I tried to believe in us. I knew I had lost my sense of self, but I hoped that maybe this time it would be different – maybe this time we could repair our fractured bond. We had been such good friends for a time, especially before we ever got into a relationship. Wasn’t it feasible that we could re-bond and move on?
It was not.
I moved into an adorable little house with a couple wonderful roommates, but I couldn’t help but notice that every time he came over, he would spend the entire time watching YouTube videos on his stupid little laptop. When I went away for a couple weeks to go to my friend’s wedding, then job training, I hoped he’d miss me. I hoped I was missable.
My friend’s wedding was bananas, and left me a bit shellshocked for my creative writing teacher training. One night while sitting alone in my hotel room, I got a very bad feeling about the state of our relationship, and texted him saying pretty much just that. He texted something back to the extent of “It seems like things aren’t going well, blah blah blah.” I texted him back saying “Why don’t you pick up the phone and fucking call me about it, then?” Several minutes later he called, and I pretty much broke up with myself, since he couldn’t quite use his words.
I returned from my trip dedicated to making our friendship work and keeping a cool professional relationship. After attending a poetry slam or two and some other events, it was clear that at least a few girls had developed a crush on the newly single slam poet. I felt in my bones that something was going on with one of them, but when I asked him about it, he played the ‘You’re a crazy, irrational woman’ card. Eventually, one of my friends told me he’d confided in her about being really into this girl he was seeing. Finally, over a picture of beer, I told him I thought it was really gross that he’d tried to make me feel crazy, when really I was intuitive. Turns out, it was a different girl than I thought it was, but one I knew.
Immediately, he started bringing to every. single. event. I asked him to give it a little time before he brought her to every. single. event. multiple times — especially since it wasn’t like she came to those events before our breakup. But he’d just get fired up, yelling at me about how he had every right to bring whomever he chose to whatever event he liked. I had to agree: it was his right — it just made him a dick.
Tune in next week to see how much more dickish he got before my great act!
For part 2, click here.