November 14, 2006


There was some of that side to side "oh hey" weirdness that made me unsure whethere we would leave it at oh hey, or actually exchange words, or pass each other, but he stopped and so I did. We spent five years together, it was mostly awful, and the final 18 months he stopped going in public with me because he thought his friends would call him a pussy if they knew he was still with me. I stayed with him inspite of knowing that, for 18 months, and that is the first thing that comes to mind when I see him: That I should call him a pussy and just keep walking.

But he says hi and stops and I stop at hi too. He has a six pack and I have a yoga mat--in comic visual metaphor. He says "JR told me--sorry about your grandma" and it's so sincere it makes me nervous, plus whenever someone says "grandma" I usually cry, and so to avert this I try and make a joke. I say something about seeing old people on the ward of this hospital dying, suffering, the aloneness, it's really sad. Then I say the same thing I wrote here about when I get old, someone tie some corn to me, give me the good drugs and push my chair into the woods and leave me. Except I maybe I don't qualify "when I am old", or maybe he didn't hear it right, because based on what he says back to me, what he heard me say is not my funny little joke but rather a pronouncement that I would like to go to the woods and die now.

He urges me, with stern concerned earnest, to keep going to yoga and it'll get better, I will feel better, that I really don't want to "do that" -- meaning off myself in the woods.
I wonder how can I backpedal with out futher embarrassing us both (ok, mainly me). We have not had a real conversation in almost 2 years and now in the span of a minute on the street, he thinks I have just confessed a dire suicidal wish. I didn't know how to undo this, so I say "ok" and nod like I am taking the advice. Everything I can think to say "I know you think I am insane but I am not" or "I want to live" or "PUSSY!" would do nothing but furhter enshrine me as crazy, and so I leave it "ok. I will." and cross the street, ruing that I have left him thinking that maybe he just saved my life with his concern.

Posted by Jessica at November 14, 2006 11:40 AM | TrackBack