it’s over

Despite our falling out, SB has never left my mind. Not totally anyway. There’s too much history. Too many things that remind me of him. Add in that his oldest daughter and I have gotten closer, and well, he’s just never really left.

I’ve been going through some emotional upheaval lately. Lots of reframing of what I want and how certain relationships fit into my life. And whether they should fit into my life at all. Part of me wanted to reach out to SB as I’ve done so many times in the past.

But what I couldn’t answer for myself was, why? Was it that I really wanted his counsel? Was it that I was ready to have him back in my life? Or am I just missing something in the hole he used to fill? And since that hole is empty, why not reach out to the last occupant?

I broke the silence several days ago. Sending a rather flip text about a service I read about in a magazine called “Be a Tree”.  They encourage biodegradable caskets. They include seeds with your body so that as everything deteriorates, you quite literally become plant food and sprout a tree or a bush.

He’d always wanted to be cremated. His family has pretty much told him that’s all well and good but that they intend to bury him. Perhaps this was the happy medium. So I texted to tell him he could be a tree. That I knew it was morbid, but there you go.

There was no response. So the next morning I texted again. Saying that perhaps my earlier missive was inappropriate. And that if so, I apologized. He responded and said that no, it wasn’t inappropriate, that in fact it had made him laugh.

That was the extent of it for a few days. Then I got drunk one night. And as we all know, my phone should be taken away when I drink. Not because I drunk dial, but because I drunk text. I wish blackberry had something like g-mail’s mail goggles. That has saved me from more than one better-left-unsent e-mail.

Alas. The first text was to tell him I was drunk. On Dr. Pepper and coconut rum which had always been our drink. The second was to say that I missed him sometimes but that I didn’t know what to do about it because I’m still hurt and I feel like the cancer has changed him.

Then he sent me a friend request on Facebook. Which I accepted because the root of all this is that I’m morbidly curious about what’s going on in his life these days. The next morning he sent a text to say that he missed me sometimes too. That the cancer had changed him. That when he “blew up” at me (his quotes, not mine) that it was because he was jealous of me and angry at himself.

And there we sat. Naturally I worked it over and over in my mind. Was I really ready to be friends with him again? What had really led me to contact him? Maybe he and I should just be Facebook friends for a while and see how that goes? Should I tell him that’s what I think? A dear friend advised me to hold off on any grand declarations and just let things work themselves out.

So that’s what I did. And now, many days later, after checking in on his Facebook status updates, I’ve seen all I need to see. Nothing has changed there. It’s the same story. I could drop right down into it as though I never left. But I’m not in the habit of going backwards. And all of the little things that used to annoy me only slightly, seem larger somehow. Before I could overlook them because of the position he held in my life. I see know how that has truly changed.

Do I still miss him sometimes? Yes, absolutely. But I miss the person he used to be. I miss the relationship we used to have. Those days are over. Unquestionably.

texting SB

I sent SB a text message the other day. I was at an art museum, stopped to have lunch. I’m not sure why I did it. Other than the fact that I just wanted to. It was short and simple.  I wanted him to know I was thinking about him. That a mutual friend had told me his last MRI had come out clean and that I was glad.

A couple of hours later he responded. He said thank you. That he’d often thought of me too. That he hoped all was well.

I also took several hours to respond. All is well.

Is this the beginning of a reconciliation? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think I’m lonely and sad. And he was always the person to whom I would turn when I felt that way. I do still wonder about him. How he’s doing. But I don’t think I’m ready to go back there.

I still don’t know if I ever will.

I think that it was easy to break the habit of daily phone calls and near constant text messenging at first because I was so busy when the fall out happened. It many ways it was one less thing to fit in to an already jam packed schedule.

But now, things have lightened a little. And my relationship with Aaron is not what it once was. BOF and Hollywood have always been intermittent presences. And there’s a budding new relationship but it’s with someone who will not always be available to me. All of which make me feel SB’s absence more acutely.

It’s not that I don’t have friends. I have lots of friends. Casual and deep in all corners of the globe. I have lovers in my life with whom I can discuss my fears and anxieties, share my successes and revel in theirs. But I don’t have that one friend. The one that I can talk to about anything. About all of the lovers. About anything and nothing at all.

I miss that. And I think that’s part of what made me text SB the other day. Even though there’s still too much hurt to even think about mending fences.

green green grass

Let me just start this post by saying that it is fueled by Guinness, too much existential conversation, and an iTunes playlist entitled “sad and sappy”.

We were in our favorite dive bar. Conveniently located near work. Drinks stretched longer than I thought they would. My friends were toasting me. Honoring my recent professional successes. Which was wonderful and great, but is also a little weird. I was just doing my job. I’m happy that I do my job well, but I hardly need the gifts and many rounds of drinks that have been sent my way.

It was fun and light when our whole little group was there. When it was just the two of us is when things got heavy.

My friend is getting married. Her fiance just had a birthday party. She turned to me and we started talking about relationships. About creative projects and drive. She’s no longer playing in a band and misses performing. She’s missing having her creative outlet. She’s a writer and has a graphic novel that lacks only a chapter and a half to be complete.

She can’t find the focus to finish. She loves having someone to come home to every day. Someone she genuinely wants to hang out with all the time. And she doesn’t have to spend that time justifying her existence, or performing, or being “on.” She can just be. But she’s finding it all too easy to slip into complacency. Watching too much TV. Too much routine all the way around.

She said she feels old. She’s a couple of years older than me and one of the most youthful people I know. She’s always talking about things she and the fiance do. Outings to see bands, day trips on his motorcycle, parties, etc. She wanted my advice, as a formerly married lady, on how to avoid the rut.

I’m the last person to ask for advice on relationships. I wouldn’t know a healthy one if it smacked me in the face. And then she started talking about how jealous she was. Of me. Listening to me talk about my non-profit to be. She misses having something in her life that she’s not only passionate about, but that she’s actually doing.

I had to stop her in her tracks. Because I feel like I’m half assing everything in my life right now. Yes, I’m fresh off some pretty major work success. But while I was pulling that stuff off, there was a whole lot falling to the wayside that I’m now trying to pick back up. And I’m in the race toward the beginning of the season. There’s still way too much on my plate and I’m burnt the fuck out on it all.

And my non-profit to be? My partner in crime is currently vacationing in Italy. I’m a one woman shop. Doing all the artwork requests, website maintenance, and general admin are killing me. Trying to coordinate local events on top of it? Not happening. I have to cancel an event that was scheduled for this weekend because I just can’t do everything. I love the work, but it’s a pretty big undertaking.

The only thing I want to do is play with my blog. The other blog. The one filled with sex and perversion.

I set my beer down and looked her dead in the eye.

“If it wasn’t the non-profit it would be a chorus. I have a standing offer right now to sing someplace but I’m just not. And if it wasn’t the chorus it would be something else. Because I need to fill my life with projects so that I don’t have time to think about how fucked up my personal life is.”

And it’s the truth. I’ve lost my best friend and the loneliness from that is starting to really set in. I have lots of friends, it’s true, but they all seem to be separated somehow. The ones that knew me before, the ones that know my alter ego, the ones that know me from work, on and on and on. And while I’m incredibly close with many of them, I don’t have that one person I know will always be there. My primary partner is having a baby with someone. I’ll go see him in a couple of weeks and then after that who knows when we’ll see each other again. The baby mama will be there all summer and then he leaves to go on a national tour until June of 2010. I’ve essentially agreed to be someone’s mistress, albeit long distance, but plans are in the works for a trip this summer. And there’s the string of filler companions. The ones that scratch an itch in a moment, but offer me little in the way of substance.

So there we were. The two of us. Staring into our half empty beer glasses. Each wishing we had what the other has. Or parts of it anyway. Each wanting to comfort but with no idea of what to say. So we started talking about how the only way to make God laugh is to come up with a plan. How maybe we just need to find peace with not knowing what the hell is going to happen. How just being truthful and honest is all that matters.

Then she laughed and said, “I’m in a dive bar drinking Guiness on a Monday, I have no money in my bank account, and don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Maybe you shouldn’t listen to me.”

“Babe, I’m right there with you. Drink for drink and dollar for dollar.”

So we said we loved each other and that we were grateful to be in our lives. And we hugged long and hard in the parking lot. I cried the whole way home.

ending

I’ve spent the last several weeks buried in work. At my actual job where I’m paid, it’s my busiest season. Trying to pull off a grandiose party that will be the theater’s single biggest fundraiser of the year. At the same time keeping other types of giving on track. It is madness. In my free time, I’ve become a bit of an accidental activist. When I was in LA in January I signed on to help a friend with a website for a little grassroots campaign he’d started. Our “little” grassroots campaign has exploded on us. On a national level. We’re scrambling to keep up and have started the process of applying for 501(c)(3) status.

That campaign is the reason for this post. Our cause is centered around gay rights. When the time came for me to send out an email to virtually everyone I know about the cause and how to be involved, I included SB on the email. Even though he’d told me not to contact him. I did it in part because I wanted him to know what I was doing. But also because he’s a gay man and he knows other gay men. I didn’t really expect any response from him.

The next day, however, I received a text message.

“I don’t know if it was an accident or not, but thank you for sending the email. I want to be a part of your life and I want to be a part of this cause. Let me know what I can do.”

Intending to deal with the whole thing later, because I was at work and busy, I responded simply to let him know that including him had not been a mistake. That I’d sent the email wanting to spread the word far and wide. Then I went back to work. But his text was tugging at me.

So I picked up my phone. And sent the following, “Why? Last time we talked you seemed pretty clear.”

“Fine. Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“Don’t be like that. If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine. But I think I’m within my rights to ask.”

There was a long pause.

“I don’t want to talk about it now. You were hurt. I was hurt. We may not be able to just pick up again, but I’d like to try.”

I never responded.

I’ve hurt and I’ve grieved and I’ve moved on. And you don’t get to just treat me the way that he did and expect to come back just like that. And I seriously doubt that receiving one mass email was what made him want to be part of my life again. So if he was feeling that, why didn’t he say anything?

The thing is, I’ve forgiven him for what happened. I still love him and I always will. But I just can’t pick things up again. He was too good of a friend. The hurt was too deep. It would always be in the back of my mind. It would always make me filter what I said to him. And I just can’t have that kind of friendship. Not with him.

Tonight I told him all of that. I hated having to say it. But I didn’t like having the issue just hanging in the balance. We both deserved closure. Or, maybe I just wanted closure, selfishly. Whatever the motivation. It’s done now.

this is not the reaction I expected

I don’t miss him. I never thought that I would speak those words.

There are moments, of course, when I do miss him. Because it was my habit to call him on my way home from work. He would keep me company on my commute. I’d like for him to know about the advocacy work I’m doing. Because I think he would be proud. There are adventures I know he’d love hearing about.

But whenever I think of picking up the phone or sitting down to craft an email. To attempt to make amends. Something stops me. A realization. That SB and I have ended our friendship. For this lifetime anyway. It ran it’s course. It’s over. And strangely, there’s a quiet peace to that.

I firmly believe that people come into each others lives for a reason. When we need them most. Because we have something to learn or to teach. Because they are a part of our cluster that is always present. SB came into my life in a time when I was desperately unhappy. When I was in a horribly abusive relationship and refused to acknowledge it to myself or anyone else.

I was at the edge of the abyss. Dangerously close to disappearing forever. But he saw me there. And he pulled me back. He saved me. Even before I wanted to be saved. He was by my side through all of the aftermath. And lord knows there was plenty of aftermath.

I’d like to think that I gave him something too. That there was understanding and compassion. Laughter. Acceptance. Strength. At least for a while.

The thing is, when he first got sick, we said our goodbyes. So that everything would be out and everything that came after would be bonus time. I’ve spent the last year grieving for his loss. Even though he hadn’t actually gone. I think that on some levels that was holding me back. Maybe I was holding him back too.

I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m at peace with what’s happened between us. I will forever be grateful for his presence in my life. I’ll still get the addition to my tattoo that I’d been planning as a remembrance. But I’ve taken down his photos. I’ve deleted tons of random emails. The bound copy of his poetry has been tucked away in a corner of my bookshelf. His leather jacket, rainbow flag, and tarot cards have all found homes in my apartment. His letters  have been tied with ribbon and placed into my ex-box in the closet.

The impulse to reach out to him fades a little more each day. But at night, when I look at the stars, he will always be there. Just as he always was.