Call the Calling Off Off
Today is the first day in a long time that I’ve thought to myself… “Maybe I should just give the ring back… before we invest any more time or effort into this.” Yeah… it’s possible for me to think that way; I’m human too.. For anyone and everyone who thinks and feels that E and I were born joined at the hip: we weren’t and boy was THIS weekend a complete personification of that. Submitted for your review (and I will try to tell these as objectively as possible):
We’re at the gas station. He’s gassing up the car, I’m sitting inside minding my business and listening to the radio antics, when I hear E’s voice talking to someone else. I turn around. He’s addressing a fairly older latina woman who’s apparantly walked over to the car to ask his assistance / knowledge with something. I observe the conversation (has something to do with her tire being flat and trying to use the air pump). In mid conversation I notice her doing the crackhead-neck-scratch a la Tyrone Biggums and immediately, I’m on the alert now. (Hey, crackheads come in all shapes and sizes, ages and races). So she walks away, he finishes pumping gas and reaches in to his car window to get change out of his ashtray. Here’s how the conversation ensued:
Me: Baby, where are you going?
Him: She needs some help with her tire and doesn’t have enough change for the machine, so I’m going to help her.
Me: (remembering the crackheaded scratch) – Don’t help her… you don’t know what her intentions are.
Him: Babe… she’s an old lady… she just wants some help. Look… a redneck helped me out of a bad car situation once… It’ll be fine.
Me: (worried, constipated look)
Him: Do you want me to take one of my canes with me? Would that make you feel better?
Me: (slightly relieved) Yes… I would like that very much.
He walks away and opens the trunk, rifles around in the trunk… then shuts it and walks towards the lady’s car. No cane in hand. Now… I’m stewing. Because he completely placated and pacified me, but had NO intention of really acknowledging my concern for HIM. (apparently, at this time in the blog, I’ve stopped being objective). I watched carefully as he did what ever he was doing to help her. Hoping that this little old lady didn’t have the strenght enough to pull a trigger or try to shank him or whatever. He walked back and now mingling with my intense worry was complete insult (that he said he’d do one thing to shut me up and then didn’t do it). So by the time he gets in the car… I’m a shrapnel bomb that went off as soon as he closed the door. I asked him “Where’s the cane?” He lied and said he took one of the little broken pieces with him and threw it out in the dumpster. I asked him if i went to the dumpster, would I see it in there? Exasperated he answered “Yes, babe, it is.” (come to find out later there was no such piece of cane pulled out from the trunk or thrown in the dumpster either).
Zoom out for a second. I KNOW what he was thinking when he got to the trunk. I was thinking the EXACT same thing as he was back there. “What’s it look like… this little old lady comes over to ask my help… and me this big black man goes into my trunk to pull out a large red and white cane to walk over to her. Umma look like I’m going to beat her ass.” So he left it there. He left it there and protected her… not himself. Which really angers me more than anything. Because if she felt like harming him… now it would have been easier. All so that he could not hear my mouth anymore. Good samaritans in this world get hurt a LOT. I hear about it all the time. And the thought of losing him drives me INSANE. But he didn’t have to pacify me. I would have been just the same for him to be like… “Hush woman… I’ve got this under control.” And just blatantly ignore my concern. Instead of covertly ignore it and let me find out.
After we manage to smooth things out about the fiasco of the night before… we were driving on our way to run errands. We pull up to a corner and he sees a friend of his. A female friend. Rolls the window down and starts laughing and chatting with her. A bit of the way through he says “Female friend, this is Victoria. Victoria, female friend.” I wave and say hello smiley and cordially while she glanced at my finger because she apparantly knows I’m THAT Victoria. So now I’m miffed. I’m just Victoria, huh? He breaks his neck to refer to me as “his Fiancee” to all his guy friends or whatever. But now… right. Probably just compounded by the previous nights anger and annoyance.
So… the challenge here, in general, is for me to … care less.
Care less about the little monikers and the symbols of what we’re supposed to be doing. It shouldn’t be that deep to me that we’re engaged, then. I should just go and announce him as “Oh yeah, this is Earl,” instead of doing my song and dance, compelete with swooning and closed eye smiles when folks ask about him, even through the 2 years that he basically ignored how I was feeling about our relationship because of what he was personally going through. But I held on by my fingernails… not knowing what the result would be… but hoping my caring would make a difference. I guess it had nothing to do with my caring. It was just his job. Maybe I should just be like, “Oh yeah… him? Yeah. He’s ok.” Not worry about him when he goes to places and think about the things that may happen to him and pray for his safe return. He’s got this under control. He’s invincible… and I shouldn’t care so much.
Problem is… I can’t TURN DOWN my caring. It’s on or it’s off. And it seems that for us to actually want to get this living our life together thing done… Umma just have call my caring off. Not give a fuck, and maybe things won’t hurt so much. Does that make sense though? Marry someone that I’m attempting NOT to care about?
None of this makes sense to me anymore.
I cannot spend the rest of my life learning how to care LESS about this man.
Leave a Reply