Thursday night I sent out two e-mails: a silly one to all my friends, in which I included the SoHB for a change, and another for only the SoHB that was about a workshop series I thought would interest him. Friday morning he replied to the workshop notice with a ‘thank you’ and a little note about how he wished they were held on different days. Since he gave me an inch, I decided to try for a mile. I asked if he was ever going to respond to my original e-mail. He answered that it would nice if we could be friends; He just didn’t want to argue with me or anything like that. I replied with an e-mail that said I wasn’t looking to argue, but it may happen. I said that since I didn’t know his thoughts or feelings, I couldn’t predict what my reactions might be. I likewise couldn’t predict how he would react to my own thoughts, but that was the risk one took when something important was on the line. It was important to me, at least. I said that I hoped I would be worth risking an argument, if that’s what it came to, but that was up to him. I told him that I personally couldn’t carry on with a person as though there wasn’t an elephant in the room. I asked that since pretense made me uncomfortable, and confrontation made him uncomfortable, what were we going to do?
I stayed online while clipping coupons for a trip to the store, but the magical mail chime didn’t sound. I did my grocery shopping and returned to immediately check my messages. Nothing. It had been three hours since my last e-mail. I sent a final message of “Say something,” but believed he had already left work. There would be no response before seeing him. I was downtrodden.
Rachel* had invited me to happy hour, but I knew I couldn’t risk drinking in my current frame of mind. I desperately needed to talk to an understanding ear; I needed a shoulder to cry on. I needed someone who wasn’t overtired of the story and who wouldn’t shrink from my tears. I needed The Flirt.
I called him knowing the chance of his availability was slim. Miss Kentucky had to be coming in that night if she was going to the Chili Cook-Off. I was surprised he even answered the phone. After verifying that he had no plans for the evening (Miss Kentucky had conveniently missed her flight), I asked if I could come over to talk. He naturally wondered what I needed to talk about, but I was reluctant to discuss anything over the phone. I assured him that it wasn’t about us; I just needed to talk. He was reticent about letting me visit, but I felt a phone conversation was too impersonal. I wanted to know why I couldn’t come over. He tried excusing himself saying he might go out later, and I tried telling him I wouldn’t stay long. To my persistent inquiries over his reluctance, he eventually revealed that he didn’t trust himself. I argued that since we were both sober, I trusted us, and particularly myself, but he wasn't buying. Then, it was my turn to spill.
I told him that I needed to talk about the SoHB and me – that he had the most insight into our relationship. He had seen us through all stages and could sometimes surprise me with his observations. I confessed to recently sending e-mails to the SoHB and questioned why he wouldn’t even try to reconcile. I wanted to know why he was so willing to let everything go. Why wouldn’t he risk an argument if it could mean saving our friendship? I tried to remain within the confines of the last few weeks. I didn’t want to put him in the middle any more than I had to. He revealed that the SoHB hadn’t told him what happened, except to mention that he’d said something while drunk. My only response was to say that while accurate, it wasn’t the only thing to have caused this rift.
He didn’t offer any revealing insight, but then, I didn’t expect it. I just needed a supportive ear – someone to validate my hurt feelings. I finished our conversation and moved on to other things. As the evening deepened, I found myself becoming angry again. I re-read my account of events posted here, because reading it two days earlier had given me a new perspective. I saw how transparently I argued about being wronged, trying to prove my case when all along I could have made different choices, also. It helped, but only slightly. As I prepared for bed, I was plagued with thoughts of making biting comments to him, especially about his girlfriend since The Flirt told me she wasn’t coming. I couldn’t retrieve my thoughts from their vicious bend. I was angered that he ignored my last e-mail knowing we were bound to see each other the next day. I felt helpless. It felt as though I’d undone all my hard work preparing myself for this event. I sat on the side of my bathtub and prayed.
As I prayed for guidance in handling the situation – in handling my anger – God whispered, “Humble yourself. When you humble yourself before your enemy, I can be your defense.”
Visions of David and Goliath, Job and his friends, My Lord before the Sanhedrin passed through my mind, all situations where victory was achieved through meekness. I knew I’d hit the wisdom jackpot with this one. There was no way to fail. The answer was very simple; my stumbling block was pride. Although opposed to renewing any romance throughout most of our relationship, I didn’t want him to stop longing for it. My pride kept me from speaking to him that first two weeks after he confessed to seeing this girl. My pride wouldn’t allow me to consider that he may have done the best he could. There was only one thing left to do – make an offering.
Whenever I feel my spirit is in abject poverty over a situation, I know that there is some flaw in my character which needs to be sacrificed – that must be purged by offering it to God. I go through a ritual of dimming the lights, covering my hair with a shawl, and kneeling before my couch, a chair or low stool, or my bed. (This particular night I added lit candles to the routine.) Then I pray an offertory prayer, giving over to God whatever weakness plagues me. So, I offered my pride to the Lord this night, asking that He replace it with a spirit of humility. I asked that He remind me to be humble as I faced the SoHB the next day.
I went to bed with my Bible, wanting to read by lamplight a passage from Job. I remembered studying it in college and being moved that God had Job make an offering for the friends who maligned him. I studied it in conjunction with Matthew 5:24, which comes from the Sermon on the Mount and says:
Leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift.
I was in the midst of finding just the right verse in Job when my doorbell rang. I was startled; It was past 1 o’clock. Who could be ringing my doorbell at that hour? The only person who ever did that was the SoHB when stopping by after a drinking binge. Could it…? Surely not. There was only one occasion when someone other than the SoHB rang my doorbell like that, and it was strangers who obviously had the wrong house. I put on my robe and warily padded to the door. I moved as silently as possible in case I didn’t want to answer the door. I peered through the peephole, and there he was, smugly puffing a cigarette …
… The Flirt.
*** to be continued***
* = Names have been changed to protect those whom I like.
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