In Your Honor
“Did you get a chance to read the blog?” I ask David as we pull apart from a long, sloppy kiss. He has just jumped into my waiting SUV in the parking lot of the bank across the street from the bar where we’d planned to meet.
“Yeah, I logged on last night for an hour. You write a lot! I couldn’t believe how much was there. I was thinking of printing it all out so I could read the rest of it on the bus this morning, but I didn’t.”
I smile and lower my head. “Yeah, I do write a lot. It all just comes pouring out of me. I can’t help it. So what did you think of it? Did you like it? Some of it is pretty explicit…”
He stares out the windshield at the passing traffic on the pike. “I feel like you know exactly what I'm thinking, like you're inside my head. It's amazing how well you know me. I still didn’t get through it all. I noticed that you wrote about everything that’s happened, but…” he trails off as if he’s not sure how to phrase what he wants to say.
“But what?”
“…but you never really talk about how you feel…how you feel about this. About us.”
I am aghast at this statement, and I struggle to downplay my astonishment. Isn’t it perfectly obvious how I feel about David and about us? As of today, November 8, I have written over 11,000 words in the blog, have logged countless hours—usually when I’m supposed to be working—putting into words everything that has happened between David and me since the night of the concert. If that isn’t a clear sign of the love I feel for him, I truly have no idea what is. If someone wrote 11,000 words in my honor, I’d be pretty fucking ecstatic. What more does he want from me?
“I…I thought I did,” I stammer. What a lame answer! What I really want to tell him is “I love you…love you more than anything, David, and I’m always thinking about you. I married the wrong person, and I’ve known it all along, and I’m so sorry because I know it crushed you. I want to be with you all the time, I want you to be in my life again…and yes, I would seriously consider leaving my husband for you…but unless and until you stop drinking and doing drugs permanently, that’s just not possible. Because I will not tolerate a life of insanity, and that’s exactly what it would be if you are still using.”
But I recognize that I have no right to say it, though those words have been on the very tip of my tongue for four years now. What a hypocritical monologue that would be, coming out of my mouth. I am married, for god’s sake, and anyone who knows me thinks I am the “good” wife, happily ensconced in a life of perfect domestic tranquility with R. Yet I’m sitting here in my car with my ex-boyfriend, making out with him like a teenager—-fully expecting that the evening will end with us making love, even!—-without a shred of guilt or even a moment’s thought to the wedding ring I am wearing on my left hand. I’m not exactly a shining example of virtue myself.
Besides, I spent three years telling David how I felt about him and about us, and what good did it do me? I won’t put my heart on the line with him again. I’ve already told him too much, as far as I’m concerned, and I already feel terribly vulnerable, though I’d never admit it.
“You have been on my mind every single day since July 11, 1997.”
“I miss you so much.”
“I still have the mousepad that you gave me for Christmas one year when we were dating. I use it every day at work and I always think of you.”
“I want to see you again.”
“I’ve been in love with you since I was nineteen years old, and I’ll never stop loving you.”
“I had the hottest sex of my life with you, and I just can’t help but think of that whenever I talk to you.”
I have no idea what else he needs to hear me say to be convinced that I love him more than anything else.
I’m at a loss.
“Yeah, I logged on last night for an hour. You write a lot! I couldn’t believe how much was there. I was thinking of printing it all out so I could read the rest of it on the bus this morning, but I didn’t.”
I smile and lower my head. “Yeah, I do write a lot. It all just comes pouring out of me. I can’t help it. So what did you think of it? Did you like it? Some of it is pretty explicit…”
He stares out the windshield at the passing traffic on the pike. “I feel like you know exactly what I'm thinking, like you're inside my head. It's amazing how well you know me. I still didn’t get through it all. I noticed that you wrote about everything that’s happened, but…” he trails off as if he’s not sure how to phrase what he wants to say.
“But what?”
“…but you never really talk about how you feel…how you feel about this. About us.”
I am aghast at this statement, and I struggle to downplay my astonishment. Isn’t it perfectly obvious how I feel about David and about us? As of today, November 8, I have written over 11,000 words in the blog, have logged countless hours—usually when I’m supposed to be working—putting into words everything that has happened between David and me since the night of the concert. If that isn’t a clear sign of the love I feel for him, I truly have no idea what is. If someone wrote 11,000 words in my honor, I’d be pretty fucking ecstatic. What more does he want from me?
“I…I thought I did,” I stammer. What a lame answer! What I really want to tell him is “I love you…love you more than anything, David, and I’m always thinking about you. I married the wrong person, and I’ve known it all along, and I’m so sorry because I know it crushed you. I want to be with you all the time, I want you to be in my life again…and yes, I would seriously consider leaving my husband for you…but unless and until you stop drinking and doing drugs permanently, that’s just not possible. Because I will not tolerate a life of insanity, and that’s exactly what it would be if you are still using.”
But I recognize that I have no right to say it, though those words have been on the very tip of my tongue for four years now. What a hypocritical monologue that would be, coming out of my mouth. I am married, for god’s sake, and anyone who knows me thinks I am the “good” wife, happily ensconced in a life of perfect domestic tranquility with R. Yet I’m sitting here in my car with my ex-boyfriend, making out with him like a teenager—-fully expecting that the evening will end with us making love, even!—-without a shred of guilt or even a moment’s thought to the wedding ring I am wearing on my left hand. I’m not exactly a shining example of virtue myself.
Besides, I spent three years telling David how I felt about him and about us, and what good did it do me? I won’t put my heart on the line with him again. I’ve already told him too much, as far as I’m concerned, and I already feel terribly vulnerable, though I’d never admit it.
“You have been on my mind every single day since July 11, 1997.”
“I miss you so much.”
“I still have the mousepad that you gave me for Christmas one year when we were dating. I use it every day at work and I always think of you.”
“I want to see you again.”
“I’ve been in love with you since I was nineteen years old, and I’ll never stop loving you.”
“I had the hottest sex of my life with you, and I just can’t help but think of that whenever I talk to you.”
I have no idea what else he needs to hear me say to be convinced that I love him more than anything else.
I’m at a loss.
posted by Anonymous at 12/02/2006 12:21:00 AM
2 Comments:
Well, he'll know it now...after he reads this.
I doubt he'll read this again. He hasn't been to this site since that night, for a few reasons, I suspect:
1. He doesn't have easy access to the internet.
2. He forgets the URL of this site.
3. He knows I have a StatCounter linked here, and he doesn't want to visit because then he knows that I'll know he's been here.
I wish it were that easy. I wish he would come here again and read everything.
Thanks for the comment!
Post a Comment
<< Home