I called him on Friday and said come and stay for a few days if you want to. I thought I'd like to finish something we started on his last visit. At least that was what I was thinking at the time so I said, "come when you want, give me a couple of days to take care of things." He then said yeah I'd like to come. "Good okay, well, we'll talk next week," I said.
He called that night said he wanted to come ASAP. I was drinking wine with a friend. He was drunk and I was getting there although I reached my tolerance and was about to make coffee. I laughed and implied I was a little tipsy also and we should talk in the morning. It was a little true and took care of the caller.
I slept in Saturday morning, he must have too. We both did not call.
On Sunday a little guilt got to me and I called him reiterating my invitation to come for a few days. He was sober and pleasant, he'd lost the high-pitched whine he uses when he is drunk talking to me. Maybe he talks to everyone that way after a certain point; I can't be sure. I feel singled out for it somehow.
On Monday I was thankful he wasn't here but looking forward to his eventually being here.
On Tuesday he called saying he might have a ride into the city and could he come later that day. I couldn't say no so I said yes even though it was a little early in the week for me to start entertaining. He said he'd call back when he knew anything definite. I said fine. He never called back and I didn't mind; it meant he wouldn't be coming and I could relax for the day.
On Wednesday, he didn't call and I began to get nervous so I called him after work having just purchased minutes on my phone, to see what gives. He said he didn't know anything anymore and he would let me know when he knows something but otherwise
he would come on the ferry Thursday or Friday whenever I wanted. I said I had no preference so he said he needed to get out of the house and Thursday would work for him. Or Friday. "Okay, Friday," I said. "Let's make it Friday" He was hoping for Thursday but I want to prolong the suspense; why do I want to see him in the first place and in the second, what do I hope to get out of this battered relationship? I had answers to neither questions and put them to bed.
On Thursday afternoon he called to say he would be coming tomorrow if that is okay. I said it was and he said the usual time and I said great and he said I'll call you if anything changes, I said great see you tomorrow.
He called early Friday morning to say the bus had broken down and he wouldn't be here at the usual time. In fact, he didn't know when he would get there because he missed the ferry and he was really frustrated, raging, in fact, I could feel it through the phone. I sounded sad and said well just try to figure things out
and if you can't make it today, then tomorrow. "No I'll get there today somehow, I just can't tell you when." His voice was like a machete cutting through jungle brush. I hoped he'd get here for his own sake; he'd explode if he had more trouble, a geyser with steaming orifices. Now I had to wait but at least I wasn't dealing with public transportation gone awry, I think to myself. I can feel his pain, but glad that I'm not personally in it.
He arrived safely at 3 p.m. in need of a triple shot of something but he was happy to have arrived and wanted to go shopping. Now we would only have our giant egos to maneuver around, never a sure thing. His mood changes with the alcohol level in his bloodstream. After a few days I get tired of that being the solution to anything, even chemical addiction but he doesn't see it that way and ignores me. I get pesky after awhile and he gets nervous and belligerent, it all boils over and we are left in emotional meltdown again, he says I'll leave in the morning, I say great, I need privacy.
Monday morning he leaves early. He doesn't know what to think, I don't want to think and... "yeah, nice seeing you too." "Yeah, call me sometime, or not..." We trade barbs and could go on with this rancor but it is too early. The door of my room was not exactly slammed but there was a distinct rebuttal in the way he almost slams it. He is a drummer and can shut a door in a multitude of cadences; that I know this and can read them tells you how closely synchronized we are. He's gone, I breathe easier.
I don't expect to see him for some time, that is to say, a worthy amount of time, but one of us will eventually crawl to the phone and see what the other is up to, both looking for something. In my case, it's a firmer grasp of the streets, a companion, a muse, someone who speaks my language. He mirrors not only my awfulness, but my brilliance. It's an even trade-off. As reflections of each other, when he explodes, I do the same. The trouble with mirrors is what they reflect is a distorted image. It can only be. It's a pity we're not either of us very nice. We each take a turn at it but it comes out wrong, we go back to being who we really are when stressed; disjointed, fractious, unsure.
Two or three weeks will pass and I will make the call. I ask if he's planning on coming into the city. He says he doesn't trust me to behave myself and says he thinks maybe it isn't working out between us. I agree then say, "so what do you want to do, not come in anymore?" Well maybe I'll come later in the week if you don't mind, I have some things to do in town he says. That will be okay I say...call me when you decide. "Well what do you want, it's up to you, you know, it's your room." Yeah, Friday is good I say. Or Thursday if that's better for you. Okay I'll call you Thursday he says.
Thursday morning he does not call and it all begins again. I suspect he'll be here on Friday. It has been uneventful without him. I can't tell you who or what I am--I seem to disappear on my own. I look forward to his arrival after he confirms he will be here Friday at the usual time and do a little housekeeping, buy some food and wine, little things he likes, and begin the wait.
He called Friday morning while I was writing this story to say he would arrive at the usual time. I smile and think, transportation permitting.
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