See, the rest of it is here today. And this is it. You can finally stop asking, why does this keep going?
..........
So I emailed. And all the anger came out. I said something about how he clearly thought horribly of me, couldn’t bear the thought of speaking to me, was so utterly repulsed he couldn’t answer a single email even to say “stop talking to me” to save me the embarrassment of throwing myself out there, but that maybe, just maybe he could find it in his big, generous heart to simply type the word “yes” or “no” in reply to tell me if he was still going to New Orleans so that I could make the appropriate arrangements.
It was a horrible day. I checked my email as often as possible thinking that maybe he’d explain. It was not possible that often, though, for two reasons. One, my brother was visiting for his spring break (he was in art school where they do things all weird like have spring breaks in April), so I was trying to be entertaining. It was unfair for him to have his trip spoiled b/c I was depressed.
But then secondly, b/c I was too busy being depressed, my electricity was turned off. I hadn’t paid the bill, so when my brother and I returned from a long day at the beach (i.e., staying past business closing time), I found something taped to my door saying I didn’t pay, blah, blah, blah.
We went in and I lit some candles and immediately opened a beer. No AC, no lights, no tv, no hot shower. I hadn’t ever done that before, so I didn’t know what the next step was.
I had to run to my office on campus to use the computer so I could look up the company’s website and see what I was supposed to do to get it turned back on. Of course, that’s when I got Temístocles’ email.
My friends were horrified to learn he’d sent an email. They thought it so despicable that he didn’t call, but I was grateful to have gotten the news in the solitude of my dark office late at night.
He said he was sorry for not responding to me sooner. That he had fallen in love with someone—something about it not being expected or planned. Then some more stuff I don’t remember now and “so no, I will not be going to New Orleans.”
Well, that was good. I got to go to a city I was excited to spend time in with him and not see him. At least I had that to look forward to.
I couldn’t even go home and stick my head in the electric oven or warm the water I’d soak in in the tub while I slit my wrists b/c I didn’t have any power.
So I did the next best thing and hit the “reply” key. In haste and anger and heartache. I copied what he had said about it not being planned or expected and then said something like, “yeah, I know the feeling.”
And then I hit “send”. Yeah, for that one second it seemed totally appropriate, not to mention bad ass of me, to admit that I had fallen in love with him right after he had officially broken up with me.
And then I wished with all my might to the powers that be that I hadn’t.
I didn't have electricity but I did have beer. So I went home and got plastered right after I dropped my check off to get the power back hopefully before I had to leave for yet another conference just a couple of hours from where I lived the next morning.
It doesn’t take much to get me drunk, but I drank about two more after that and went to bed. Sweaty, covered in sand and sun tan lotion. Oh, and tears.
The next morning was awful, to use a totally inadequate word. The power wasn’t on, so I couldn’t take a hot shower. I felt like I was going to vomit—and then, surprise! I did. Just after attempting a slight breakfast of half a banana while my brother tried to clean up in the bathroom, I ran to the kitchen sink and threw up.
So, just to keep track here, April 7th, 2000 (and I’ll explain why I remember this date), I’m now dirty from my beach outing the day before, entertaining my younger brother who’s excited to be in Florida, thoroughly heartbroken, sick, and headed out the door to give a paper at a conference.
Oh, and the only conference presentation I’d ever been invited to (usually you submit a paper, they say, Yes, come, but this time someone said, Hey, please write a paper for our panel). At the time that meant something to me--now, not so much.
I gave my paper without vomiting, took my brother to an art museum afterwards without vomiting, and finally returned home where my power had been restored and I was able to check my email, reading Temístocles’ message over and over and over.
And over.
Shortly after, my brother returned home, and I headed into the home stretch of the semester. But first, some other messy details.
The next week I got one of those mass emails from my old department telling me/us a friend of mine had gone out of remission.
In that same week it became clear that my neighbor was stalking me. I know, how can someone who lives right next to you stalk you? Well he can. One thing he can do is open his door every single time he hears you open yours. And since they’re literally one foot apart, you’re in immediate contact.
He can also, when you let your dog out on a leash attached to the door chain, open his door so that she’ll run in and hang out with him all evening and you have no choice but to stay home waiting for her to finish visiting or go over there and ask for your own dog back.
He can also be waiting for you, terribly sad looking, on his front step when you return from absolutely anywhere you’ve been other than your apartment.
In the midst of this I went to New Orleans. It was horrible, as was to be expected, b/c I imagined myself every where I was looking with Temístocles as some happy couple.
The one “bright spot,” depending on whether you’re thinking about things as unhealthy or not, was one of those street performer types selling something (was it a ball? a coin? a testicle? I can’t remember) that was supposed to bring me good mojo. So I got one and it worked.
I got home from New Orleans and slept with my other neighbor (not the stalking one) within two days. Seemed like a totally good idea since I was crying everyday. And drinking heavily. Oh, and since he lived on the other side of an apartment wall from me.
Though he’d seen me with the other neighbor, stalker neighbor pulled out the big guns. He left for the airport one morning and was supposed to be flying home for the summer. I was so relieved.
But when I woke the next morning one of the first things I saw was his car right outside the window. My heart sank. But then I quickly thought that maybe a friend had taken him and brought the car back. Yeah, that was it.
When I opened the door I saw that that was not it. Taped to my door was a bunch of roses, a small teddy bear (fastened to the door by its neck), and a note.
I grabbed my dog and let her pee in the house while I pulled all the blinds down and pretended not to be home all day. His note said something about being in love with me and wanting to stay in town to see where things could go.
I should say here that we spoke about three times up to this point. But during one of those times, b/c his English was slightly broken and we weren’t communicating completely clearly, I made him say “penis.”
He was showing me a brochure for that museum display of bodies without skins, muscles, etc. I was listening and asking questions, but one of them was “what is that?” I can’t remember what it was that I was asking about, but he took it to mean the display’s penis.
That's his pene.
What?
Pene.
Pene?
Yes...his, uh, penis.
No doubt he thought that was suggestive. Something like, “What’s that, hmmm? Well, do you have one that big?”
So anyway, I didn’t even know his last name. It was impossible for him to have been in love with me. I assumed he needed a green card. Still, I stayed inside until he left, and this time for good.
I slept with my other neighbor a couple more times for good measure, then returned to Illinois for the summer. It was long and miserable, but I pretended it wasn’t that big of a deal. B/c yes, I still hadn’t learned my lesson about pretending.
I had no more contact with him again. I discovered that he did move a couple of hours away from me, and so we did end up living near each other. That would be Temístocles and his wife.
And just a few years ago I met up with an old friend who told me she had bumped into him. He asked how I was and said that he felt horrible for how he ended things. It was really the only way that whole thing could have been worse. It was a lifetime ago and I had long been over him by that point, but then to hear that someone feels sorry for you just dredges up all kinds of old insecurities.
At least for about five minutes.
And so, the last part is why I remember that the day I got his email was April 7th. I’m certain I wouldn’t have remembered that perhaps even the next year if the following year, 4/7/2001 I wasn’t sitting in my bathroom, alone, looking at the positive sign on the pregnancy test I had just taken.
I had been dating someone for six months by that point, and for those six months had totally careless and unprotected sex. Still, I was shocked. How could I be pregnant? I wasn’t going to be pregnant ever.
So the next part of the story, if it were to continue, is both fortunate and unfortunate. The relationship I had next was with the father of my two boys, a man I’d come to hate. A man I’d come to lose all respect for and who would take me to the darkest days I’ve ever had.
And yet, I am grateful for every single aspect of my relationship with Temístocles b/c it led me to an experience out of which I’d get my two boys. I’d go through anything in order to end up with the two of them, and so I wouldn’t go back and change any part of it.
And so, a couple of people mentioned in comments that they wanted to see how this ended even though they knew it wasn’t good. And I suppose it didn’t end well. But my take on it is that it did.
I wouldn’t have my boys if it didn’t play out just as it had, and I’ve never been so sure of what I’m doing as I have been since I found out I was pregnant that first time. I get to look in on two kids that I actually made inside my own body every single night, even the bad nights, and be in complete awe of their existence, so I’m pretty good with how it all turned out.
And finally, your t-shirt (thanks to Debbie for the bust image she found!).
over at 
Recent Comments