I sat in my office, sweating through the 35th consecutive day of temperatures over 100 degrees, as the air conditioning blasted the sweat off of me. Banging away at my PC, I desperately tried to organize my upcoming conference trip (countdown: 2 weeks), but all I kept thinking about was what Thad had said over lunch.
We had gone and grabbed a quick bite at KFC, and as he was driving me back to the University, from out of nowhere he said, “Have you ever just wanted to move away?”
And my heart sank-as there it was: the inevitable depression that came along with 40. In that one statement he expressed depression and complete displeasure with everything in his life, which, of course, I assumed meant me. Typical of Thad to be late on everything, even late to his own sorrow, as his birthday was almost two weeks ago. “Yeah,” I said, but then, “No. Are you okay?”
He just waved his hand to signal ‘I am done with this conversation.’ And that scared me even more.
We drove on in silence.
Whereas my depressions were loud and tawdry affairs, his were quiet and lonesome. I would roll about the floor and moan, decrying my horrid life to the Gods, but he would just retreat like a hurt animal, either to heal or flee. I just didn’t want him to flee. Not again.
So sitting in my office, typing and web surfing on my trip, I just wondered how he would fare without me for almost two weeks. I mean, Thad hated it when I went I made evening plans without him; whereas he, on the other hand, could skip away from me at a whim-but, me, oh, I had to clear it with him first. And I had cleared this trip with him, and even asked him to go, but his fear of travel precluded him leaving the state.
But I didn’t think the reality of my actual departure had started to sink into until I had really begun to rattle about the trip, now post-birthday. And apparently already depressed about his 40th, suddenly he was now aware of my imminent departure, and had already started showing signs of separation anxiety. If I didn’t answer the phone now in 3 rings or less, he would howl. He always wanted to know where I was. And suddenly he was snippy about everything, especially the trip, which he had no interest in talking about. And it’s not that he wasn’t being supportive, it’s just that he wasn’t being that supportive. But I understood and made myself hold my tongue.
I refocused and continued through the conference brochure, making notes of which meetings I wanted to attend and which tours I wanted to take. The trip was for the International Shakespeare Conference, which looked to be a good one; I had attended them on and off over the last decade all over the world, and always enjoyed them. They were full of interesting international scholars, editors, and book people, and as I was looking for a publisher for my next book, the contacts I made at the Conference could make or break the project. Plus, I had never been to Puerto Rico and was looking forward to exploring the island. And although not a beach person, a tropic local was appealing, especially as it was a remarkable twenty degrees cooler there on the Equator than it currently was in nasty ol’ Oklahoma. I just hoped Thad would be okay in my absence.
Later at the house, as Thad made dinner in the Kitchen, his cell phone went off.
I sat in the dining room perusing the conference schedule. There was a session on Mistress Doll I would definitely have to be at. And a sunset boat tour I shouldn’t miss.
His phone rang again and he walked out to the Dining Room and picked it up: “Hello?” and then “Oh! Hey! How are you!” and then promptly dropped his voice and walked straight into the Bedroom.
Immediately en guard, I strained to hear but I got was “Bettina…yes, crazy,” a few laughs, and then a, “I’ll call you later.”
As he exited and walked back to the Kitchen I restrained myself for exactly one and a half seconds before I asked, “And who was that?”
“Oh…that?” he paused, and I could tell he was trying to calculate the decision of lying, but then just, “Julian. The drummer from…”
“Yeah, I know who he is.” Spandex Hair Mane! “What did he want?” I tried to sound casual, but know I sounded like J. Edgar Hoover with a run in his stocking.
“Just to say ‘hi.’; Thad said coolly. “I had called him last week and he was just calling me back. We might go do something.”
“Really?” I said, standing, telling myself not to recreate the Garden Rapist massacre here in the Dining Room.
“Yeah,” he said defiantly. “I mean you’ll be gone soon, and I have to have someone to hang out with.”
If he had stabbed me with a dagger it could not have hurt any more. And that’s exactly how he planned it from the look of accomplishment on his face: this was my punishment for leaving him. “Oh, neat,” I said way more icily than I meant. “What about Bettina? I mean, can’t you hang out with her while I’m gone.”
“Yeah, but she’s depressed, so she’s no fun.”
“What do you mean?” I wanted to stab him repeatedly with a screwdriver.
“Well, don’t say anything, but she broke up with Bayne the other night. That’s one of the things Julian wanted to talk about. Apparently they had some big blow out at Bayne’s late Sunday night and stuff got broke, and they haven’t spoken since, and Bettina says she hates him and never wants to see him.”
“Then you should probably spend more time with her…”
“Yeah,” he fakely smiled, walking back into the Kitchen. “So do you want chicken or ham on your salad?”
“Ham.” I said, my face beginning to twitch, looking for that screwdriver.
Thad hanging out with Spandex Hair Mane while I was gone was actually the worst thing that could happen. As I assumed there would be drinking, and infidelity, and then we have to break-up, all while I’m trapped on a damn Caribbean island, powerless. I began to pace, wishing I smoked, wishing I smoked. And I could tell Thad was just doing it to get to me, just to smite me. And that enraged me, as why would he do that when he knew what a nervous traveler I was? It was just cruel!
“I don’t want you hanging out with him!” I kinda screamed, arms akimbo.
“Pardon me?” Thad said looking around the corner of the Kitchen. “And why not?”
“I just don’t.” I barked.
“So, I’m not supposed to have any other friends besides you? Is that it again?”
“No,” I lied. “You know what I mean. But guy friends: no.”
“You have male friends…” he countered, in a tone that said not to trifle with him.
“I know. It’s just that you know how nervous I get about leaving, and why would you do this to me right here before I go-just to punish me for going? You know this is a work thing and I can’t get out of it. I’m trying to get a publisher for my book, you now this? And I invited you and you said no. So why don’t you not jerk me around on this just because you’re mad that I’m leaving.” I was raging, yes, but it was a wee rage.
“He’s straight,” Thad said in a calming voice.
“Well, yes, you were too when I met you.” I snapped.
He walked over to me, “It’s nothing. He’s just a friend. It’ll be fine.” I could tell he now was getting the attention he wanted, and was thrilled by it, which just redoubled my pain and hurt.
“I still don’t want you hanging out with him.” I repeated.
“Sorry,” he said impassionedly as he moved away. “But don’t tell me who I can or can’t be friends with. It’s rude. And it’s just a friend thing.”
I eyed him and remembered the screwdriver was in the tool box in the linen closet again…but then thought of something even more painful.
“Okay,” I smiled. “If that’s how it is, then you won’t mind if I go have coffee with the Gaybor?” I said it with as much moxy as I could smarth. “I mean it’s just a friend thing.”
I had called his hand and raised him one handsome gay neighbor.
“That’s fine,” Thad said in a most unconvincing tone.
“Good. Okay. Then I’m okay with you too. Just as long as we’re clear.” I said back to him, my voice shaking.
“Good,” he grimaced.
“Fine,” I agreed.
We stood there, silent, like two old west gun fighters, just waiting for the other to drop first.
“I’m going to go home now,” Thad said after a second, with eyes down.
“Okay, but…” I began.
“No,” Thad interrupted. “We’re done here for today.” He said, finger up. He washed by me, grabbed his keys and walked out the front door.
I heard his car start, back out, and drive off down the street in one fluid moment.
I looked in the Kitchen to see that my salad was only half done and wondered if I had overreacted.
But logic was not with me, but rage was as he had left me alone in my lividness. And all I wanted was to cause him pain for the pain he had caused me. I went to e-mail the Gaybor.
That would teach the little bastard.
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