no cat for me
I won two passes to see “The Cat in the Hat” at work. Well, actually I only won one. There were four to give away, and they decided to give them individually, which is very silly, since no one really wants to go see a movie alone. At night. One of the other people who won gave me his pass. “Do you have someone you can take,” he asked. “Yes,” I answered without thinking. I’m so used to having someone to take. To thinking in pairs, and knowing that I always have to get enough for two. So this co-worker, sweet and kind as he is, gave me his. And there I was, dumbfounded with two free passes in my hand, trying to think of who in the world I could take. Well, not really who in the world, because there are people in the world I would ask. But who, locally. I had two free passes, one that was given to me because this guy was kind enough to give his up, and now there was pressure, all kinds of pressure to secure a date, or a someone to see this thing with.
It’s completely ridiculous. It’s a children’s movie. And I haven’t seen a movie in several months, so missing out on this one would normally be no big deal. The thing is, the whole office knows *I* won the ticket. The more nosy co-workers even noticed that I somehow scored two tickets. Not that it’s any of their business, I know.
So I spent the past couple of days trying to find someone to take. The fed ex guy, maybe? Heheh. No, not really. Not seriously. It entered my mind, because I’m crazy that way, but I wasn’t REALLY thinking it. I have a friend who might have gone, but I never bothered calling her. Because I haven’t called her in months, and I’m not the kind of girl who calls you out of the blue for no apparent reason, other than to invite you to see The Cat In The Hat.
So yesterday at work I spent most of the time plotting to leave early and force myself to see the movie, with or without a partner. And that would have worked out okay if I hadn’t have left the tickets here, at home, on my desk. It’s like I planned all along to not go. And now I feel shitty and awful because people will ask me today at work, “hey, how was that movie,” and I’ll have to tell them that even though I won the tickets and they didn’t, and even though I pretty much knew from the start that I wouldn’t go, and they could have, I didn’t.
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We spent yesterday frantically cleaning out the old place, filling the dumpster with acres of crap, and packing my little car with as many boxes as we could possibly stuff into it. I wasn’t up for several back and forth trips because my new place is about 13 miles from the old one. Sure on paper that doesn’t sound like a lot. But trust me, it’s not a drive you want to be making over and over again. Especially when on each end of that drive, you have to climb stairs with big, heavy boxes in hand.
By about 6pm we had it all here (at the new place) and sat down to catch our breaths.
“Let’s shower and get pretty and go out to dinner.”
“Or you could just do homework and we can order in.”
“Yeah, we could, but it’s your last night here.”
“Okay. But you have homework.”
“If you’re trying to use my homework as an excuse not to go out with me, fine, otherwise I’ve already offered to take you out, so I’m really not concerned about the homework at this point.”
“Alright.”
It was our last night out and I wanted to make an Event of it. Why, though? I’m sure you’re wondering. I spend all this time talking about how I’m not happy with him, and how I’m so glad it’s finally over. Why do I even care to have one last night of fun with him?
I can’t figure it out either. But I do. Did.
So we went out and had fun, but of course it’s never quite the Event that I had in mind. Not with him. After all this time, our hearts just aren’t in it anymore. I barely brushed my hair, and didn’t even bother with make-up. We went. We ate. We stopped off at Target for some last-minute supplies for my place, and we came back here. He turned on the tv and fell asleep in the recliner. Just like old times.
At 6am the alarm went off. We left for the airport at 7. I asked him to drive, figuring that this would be the last time for a really long time that I’ll have someone drive me around. It was early too, and I wanted to sip my coffee. For the most part we rode in silence. The silence of five years finally coming to an end.
Airports used to be fun. When I was a kid it was such an event to go to see people off. In hawaii, you always see people off at the airport with lei, so that they don’t stink of airplane when they arrive at their destination. Of course, they always do, but at least they have the fragrance of the lei to semi-cover it up. Everyone would stand around in the gate area (which, incidentally, is ALWAYS the furthest gate from wherever you were when you checked in,) and make idle chit-chat until boarding time. Then the passengers would walk into the tunnel, always sure to turn around and wave to all the people who came to see him off, before disappearing around the corner of the boarding tunnel. Most of the family and friends would then go home, but the hardcore ones would always sit in the window-ledge and watch the plane take off. When you’re the one on the plane, you always wonder who stayed back to watch you take off.
I’m assuming aside from the lei, this was standard airport procedure for most families.
Now it’s so different. They’ve sucked the romance out of it. Not that there was any romance in this case, but we all know how nice it used to be to get in your very last goodbyes at the boarding gate.
We sat down at the chairs in front of the security screening area. We’d been to this very spot three or four times in the past year, so we knew the difference between a decent line, and one that would take way too long to get through. This morning’s line was as good as it gets. He went to the bathroom. I sat and tried not to think. But that’s almost completely impossible. Especially today.
So I watched people and distracted myself with being amused by their confusion. That worked pretty well. And then he returned from the bathroom. He sat next to me and started going on about socks. “Buy yourself socks.” Granted it wasn’t as random as I’m making it out to sound, but really – socks?? We’re saying goodbye here. Socks have no place in this conversation. But he is emotionally vacant when it matters, and that is to be expected. So I cry and he hugs me and tells me he loves me. And somehow that hurts more, because I’d like to just pretend he doesn’t. It seems like it could be easier that way. I tell him he should probably go get in the line. After one last hug, he does.
We part like strangers, both too pained to look each other in the eye. People begin to filter into the area we’re in, separating us. I walk away, crying like a crazy girl. People are everywhere, as they tend to be in airports and I avoid eye contact with them all. Several minutes later I return to my car. I’ve been waiting over two months for this day to arrive. I’ve been very excited about it, and I know it’s the best thing right now. But I can’t help but feel really extremely shitty right now. Alone in my car, I wail like a child.
Driving out of the parking lot, I consider a smoke. It sucks that *that* still enters my mind at times like these. Instead I opt for shopping. Two pairs of pants, 100 jewel cases, and a new mouse (he took the one I was using with him.)
It’s okay. It will be okay. I know that. But still it’s hard and it’s scary and it’s full of crap that I don’t want to deal with. Of course that ’s why I didn’t end it sooner than I did, so I realize completely that we have to do things that we don’t want to do. Still I reserve the right to be irrationably and unreasonably moody for a bit. My eyes and sinuses are terribly sore right now because they can only produce so much. My allergies have picked today to flare up. Today, of all days, after two allergy-free years. Thanks.
I can’t help but wonder what I’ll become to him. Not that it matters. What I become to him doesn’t affect my life at all, and although I realize this, I continue to wonder. Will I be the ex he complains about? Will he remember me for everything that I did wrong? Or will I be the one that the new gfs wish to outdo? I’ve always wanted to be that one. The legendary ex. I don’t think I’ve been that with anyone, yet though.
Bleh. It’s like 3AM and I’ve stayed up far too late because I want to make sure that when I slip into bed, I’m so dead tired that there will be no time to think about it. No time to cry, or even to feel a little bit crappy about it. I think I’ve just about reached that stage of fatigue.
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