The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Enduring

A. called me this morning, earlier than she usually would, which immediately alerted me to some kind of strange happening on her end.

"I just had a surreal experience," she said.

"Oh?", I responded without much enthusiasm.

"I was driving to work and there he was, riding a bike on the other side of the road. He had a tan, and he was riding a bike."

He would be the man she'd had an affair with nine years before it dissolved without fanfare. He is also the man responsible for two unplanned, extramarital pregnancies, one of which terminated on its own and the other with medical help. He is the man who introduced to the underbelly of the city, taking her to the clubs he worked in which were loaded with gangsters and eventually to a sex club where the two of them participated in orgies and other related activities. He is the man who told her repeatedly he loved her, only to leave her waiting by phones on weekends when the family was away, or sitting in a car in a dark parking lot for hours without ever arriving. He made her bleed, he made her cry and he almost drove her insane. Somehow, she let the relationship go away, but then this morning, he'd rode by her on a bike. With a tan.

"I couldn't believe it. My reaction, I mean. I was like 'Oh look, there's S------ riding a bike', and nothing more. What do you think that means?"

"What? Your lack of reaction or the fact that he was riding a bike?"

"My reaction," she screeched, getting a little giddy now.

"Well," I started, choosing my words carefully, "I guess it means you're officially over him."

"Yeah? You think?"

"Well, sure. It's not like you pulled over to ask him how he was or anything, right?"

"No, I just looked away and kept driving."

But, she also mentioned how angry she is to know he is still living in the area, that he's probably still with his wife who should have thrown him out long ago and most of all, that he has the freedom to ride his bike on a workday while sporting a fairly impressive tan. I asked if he'd seen her and she said she didn't think so.

"That's good," I said. "He's the type who would find you at work and try to have coffee with you, to get some closure." Which would translate to 'let's do it again, for one last time'. The man is scum.

So, she chatted in an almost merry tone of voice which told me that my instincts were right. No, she's not over him, not really. She wants to be, but she's not. Though she said she'd had no reaction upon seeing him, I couldn't help but notice that she'd called me to talk about her non-reaction and that her demeanor was very nearly frantic. The fact that she's angry that he is still alive (she really thought he'd be dead by now, given the company he keeps and the drug addiction he'd had when they were together) is also telling. I don't wish death on any of the people in my past. We reserve death wishes for those we have some kind of lingering passion for because knowing they no longer exists is like some kind of liberation. The thing is, she wanted me to tell her that she's over him, that she's moved past the insanity of that time because she needs to believe it. The life she is living now is calm and uneventful, but at least it's hers and her family is intact.

"How do you think you'd react if you saw R.?", she asked.

"I don't really know," I responded, which is the truth. I've gotten past most of the anger and regret, and I've moved into a happier place where knowing he is living a life that better suits him actually pleases me. I don't want to know any more than that, but I'd loved him once, still do in that 'forever' kind of way, and I want him to be happy. That said, seeing him again might be a hard thing for me to handle. Right now, he is a memory, an idea that exists in a different world and if my sisters didn't insist on keeping in their lives, I'd probably think of him much less than I do. For the most part, he is no longer real to me. Seeing him would undo all the work I've done to make him imaginary.

The thing is, though, that R. was nothing like the man she was involved with. He was decent, kind and usually put me first. I just don't think I could ever be dead inside when it comes to him. I'm sure I'd have some kind of emotional reaction.

"But, it's great you're over what's-his-face," I said, a little too enthusiastically.

"I know!", she answered, her tone the same as mine.