Much of this won’t make sense without the names … but whatever. I’ve long stopped caring about posts like these making sense. It won’t be articulate either (well, it will be to those who know me), but I’m too tired to work it out. Just want to write this down.
David has been saying for years that my “life is a literary conceit”.
I’m not going to go that far – after all, you can’t say about YOURSELF that your life is a literary conceit – even if you feel that way. Best to let other people express such sentiments.
But here’s exhibit A. None of these represent fresh wounds, by the way. This is all years in the past.
A bazillion years ago:
I was in love with him. The great love of my life. To put it mildly, it didn’t work out. But he was still in my life – for various and sundry reasons. He’s a performer. Our lives were intertwined.
But then, alongside of HIM, there was him. Let’s call the first guy “P” – and I always refer to the second guy on the blog as “M”. Just to keep things clear.
M was a constant. He was not “my great love” – but whatever passed between us was profound, wordless, never expressed – or almost never. We were together for years. We’ll always be connected. What we shared could never be replicated.
There was a strange moment, in the moment of the whirlwind, when I introduced P and M. I have never felt more powerful, and more insane. M was oblivious (or mostly) to the undercurrents in the moment. He was with me. He was fine. He was unaware that he was strolling into a landmine of busted-up hopes and weirdness. Later he said to me, “God. That sucked. I realized as I was talking to him that he was just looking at me like, ‘You are Sheila’s Idiot Freind’. And that is all you are.” I said to him comfortingly, “You just need to realize that you inadvertently became a mating elk at Yellowstone … you didn’t ASK to be a mating elk … but that was what was going on … you guys were clashing antlers, and all that.” “That SUCKS.” shouted M. It was exquisitely awkward. P was jealous, he could barely be polite. He couldn’t have me … but to see me with someone else was … just WRONG. And he couldn’t get himself together. He behaved totally weirdly. It was delicious.
I stood between the two of them, and said, “P, this is M. M, meet P.”
They shook hands. P couldn’t even look at M directly – he shook his hand, looking down, and said, almost to himself, “M. I like that name.”
“M”, by the way, was not a name like Michael or John – it was a bit more rare than that, a bit more singular.
I was in the vortex of the event, grinning from P to M and back, reveling in the awkwardness. I would never behave this way now, life has done a number on me, boy … but at the time, I was the ONLY one in that crowd who DIDN’T feel awkward. M had thought he was just being introduced to a friend of mine, someone M himself admired … but P’s weirdness in the introduction told M everything he had to know. M was like, “uhm … what the hell is this guy’s problem … why won’t he look at me? … he can’t even LOOK at me … Oh. I GET IT. I’M JUST THE IDIOT FRIEND.” M was no dummy.
P pulled me aside later that night and gave me his un-asked-for opinion about M. “I don’t like that guy. He’s not nice.”
Which is so ridiculous. And so obvious. M was not, by the way, “nice”. I would never EVER describe M as “nice”. But was he right for me? YES and YES.
Besides that: dude. P. You’re the love of my life. You don’t get to tell me that a guy who is actually WITH ME NOW isn’t “nice”. No. No.
It was a vicious cycle. He was obviously so invested, still … eaten up with jealousy … and yet not choosing to be with me himself. It was awkward all around.
Cut almost 15 years later.
I am in NYC. M is out in LA, living his life, doing his thing. P is still doing his thing – only now he is married. He had one kid – he, the man who had told me he would NEVER have children … which had always given me pause, even as a young young woman. I had thought … do I want to be with a guy who won’t have children? I’m not ready NOW but I will be someday … It was an odd thing. Well, anyway, P – the man who would never have children – is now married and has a son. It was weird to me to think … and bittersweet … but it’s not like I’m living in the past or anything. Ha. No, I swear! Anyway, P occasionally sends me long letters. Snail mail letters. Long chatty letters. Sometimes he includes a picture of his baby son. I grin and bear it. Whatever.
Then I hear that P now has a second son.
And what did he name him?
M.
P named his son M.
The not-common name … the name from many years ago … when P shook hands with M – in the most awkward moment ever … not looking at M in the eye once, and muttering, “M. I like that name.”
The saddest thing is that I know P probably doesn’t remember that moment.
M was my main flame. For YEARS. He was ALWAYS there. P called him “that guy”, which was so contemptuous. He couldn’t even validate M’s existence enough to call him by his name. I defended M to P. But not rigorously. After all, I didn’t ask for his approval, I didn’t feel I needed it. I liked M. And I was in LOVE with P. So why should he begrudge me my relationship? I said to him, “You have no call to say anything bad about that guy. He’s THERE for me … he’s INTO me.” P said to me bitterly once, “The only thing I like about that guy is his name!”
So when I got an email that P had a second son and that he had named him M … I have to admit. I had a moment.
And they’re all gone now. I remain. I remember. Do they?
