Truth Seeking: Making a Mess

The truth is not so glamorous a virtue, but it never lets us down, and it always wins. The truth about ourselves or the truth about others. There is no need to differentiate.

Isn’t there comfort in knowing the old cliché is correct? The truth shall set us free.

I have been silent for a few months now in more ways than one while in pursuit of truth. Silent here. Silent with the SoHB.

There was naturally a course of events which precipitated my last word and led to this silence. And other than the long history upon which I have already expounded, it began with my attempts to set right what I hadn’t made wrong. Desperately wanting everything to turn out the way I knew it could and should be I took upon myself the responsibilities of making amends which were actually his. After all, I had made terrible mistakes as well, and someone needed to be strong stomached enough to go first in swallowing their pride.

Seeing that I was the one who shot the last darts, I knew I had left him wounded, probably too wounded to risk approaching me. I wished to make myself approachable, to show I had softened, but I wanted this softening to be met with an obvious desire for reconciliation. My olive branch was well received, and even seemed appreciated, but I didn’t receive an offer of its return – the one ingredient necessary for laying a new foundation of mutual respect. I should have left mine at his door and walked away, but he answered with such warmth and friendliness, I couldn’t help but stand there waiting for the invitation inside. When it wasn’t forthcoming and no olive branch was offered in return, I felt exposed and vulnerable while being shamelessly patronized. My cup of frustration and resentment ranneth over. That was when I made my mistake.

Upon realizing that I had extended myself far beyond reason and my efforts would not be reciprocated, I was determined to keep my distance. Two weeks had passed without a word between us, but it wasn’t long enough for me to completely surrender wishing he would reach out to me in some small way. I told myself that I deserved to have my effort at reconciliation reciprocated. I deserved to be shown the appreciation he claimed having for it, but it was noticeably absent. I couldn’t abuse myself further. But on a fateful night, I broke my silence.

The band I loved so much was returning to town – the same band that had played the night I first saw her – and subsequently poured a drink down the SoHB’s shirt. I had managed to get a large group together for this show and enjoyed myself splendidly, until many rum & Cokes into the evening I panicked upon seeing most of the group leaving. Fear of being left behind spurred me to follow, even while knowing I was leaving Rachel* and her weekend guest behind. While walking to another neighborhood bar, who should we encounter but the SoHB and Michelle. The Flirt had talked on his cell with him before the show, and I had even offered my own greeting by proxy. The possibility he might come out was always in the back of my mind, but I didn’t think it likely. I solemnly walked along as my stomach turned at the thought of being around them.

At the bar, the group mingled briefly before splitting. I was standing in loose association with the SoHB and The Flirt, trying to be polite but not really paying attention, until The Flirt left to play pool with Alley*. Left alone with the SoHB, a scant moment passed before he exclaimed, “Kwirki! You look so skinny!”

With all the pent up indignance I felt regarding his lack of attention over the past several weeks, I exclaimed right back, “That’s because I AM skinny!” and traipsed off in a huff. My rum soaked brain thought I had thrown him a real zinger.

Rachel showed up incensed over having been left behind, and rightfully so since I was her transportation to the show. My apologies had not appeased her by the time she was ready to leave. Since I was her transportation, but not yet ready to leave myself, she declared that she would call a cab. I couldn’t allow it knowing she would feel resentment over being stranded once more. I decided to drive her the short distance home and return, a trip lasting no more than twenty minutes.

Without stopping to greet anyone upon returning, I immediately went to the restroom. After secluding myself in a stall, I heard Alley greeting someone with a familiar voice … someone wearing strappy heels and aqua colored Capri pants that I could see from below the partition. Alley went out and the two of us were the only ones left in the room. Flashes of fantasy conversations swept through my mind. So many times I had pictured us having a moment alone which might inspire questions or revelations about the true nature of my relationship with the SoHB.

“Michelle! Michelle, is that you?” I called out from my hiding place, knowing I was making a huge mistake, but unable to stop myself.

“Yeah. Who is that?” She asked.

“This is Kwirki. Hang on a moment, would you?” I hurried to right myself so I could make those imaginary talks become reality. “Hang on. I’ll be out in a second.”

She was standing by the sink when I emerged to face her. She watched me expectantly.

“Hey, Michelle. I just wanted to talk to you because I’ve known for some time that you don’t like me, and I was wondering why.”

She stared at me incredulously and then claimed she didn’t know what I was talking about.

“I know you don’t like me.” She continued shaking her head, acting oblivious, but I wasn’t having it. “I know it; I’ve been told, so there’s no use denying it.”

Yes, I had been told. It was during a delightful drive on a shopping trip when Rachel revealed it. The SoHB’s friend, Jeri*, had told Alley that Michelle didn’t like me. She didn’t like me at all, she’d said. Sweet Rachel was afraid the news might upset or anger me. Angry? I was delighted! It reinforced what I’d been telling people for months, but sensed that no one really believed me. The girl couldn’t stand me! I felt validated.

I watched as her expression shifted from false incredulousness to acceptance.

“Well, you’ve said things about me.”

I suspected as much. My pet name for her wasn’t meant to be flattering. For months it galled me to call her his “girlfriend.” In truth, it still did. And so, since the SoHB had neglected to ever mention her name and because of the more lascivious reasons he expressed in seeking a relationship, I felt justified in bitterly referring to her as “the SoHB’s whore.” It wasn’t meant as a personal insult, but of course I knew it would be taken that way if she ever caught wind of it. I didn’t care. Let her think ill of me; She meant nothing. Still, I wondered who had given me away.

“I’ve never said anything that was about you, Michelle. I don’t know you.”

“People have told me things you’ve said about me,” she added.

“I’ve said things that I know could be taken that way, but none of it was really about you. I don’t even know you. He’s the only one I’ve had a problem with,” I said, thinking I was being very reasonable.

“What did you say about me?” she asked.

I knew the score. She was baiting me.

“I’m not going into that, but it wasn’t really about you…”

“What did you say, Kwirki?” she pressed.

“I’m not going into that …” I said again, but she continued. “Never mind,” I chuckled, shaking my head and walking to the door. She wasn’t going to let the conversation be anything more than a Jr. High showdown, and I wasn’t interested. I realized that all my imagined conversations had included something she didn’t have … a willingness to hear, a desire to learn the answers to all those unasked questions and resolve those needling doubts she must have about the gaps and inconsistencies in the SoHB’s version of the story.

She called after me as I grabbed the door handle with a comment that must have made me think it worth one last effort, for I turned and walked back to her.

“Look. I know I’ve said some things that could be construed to be about you, but nothing I’ve said was ever really about you. I don’t have a problem with you; I don’t know you. My issues have been solely with him and how he began this relationship.”

Next thing I know, she tells me that she’s heard I’m crazy … how everyone says so and not just the SoHB. I pressed to know who, and she answered that it had come from The Flirt for one. Her blow hit its intended target. She had unearthed one of my fears … that my acts of rage and desperation had turned me into a revolting creature, even to my friends. I was shocked and dismayed to learn that The Flirt had spoken openly and malevolently about the offense I committed against him. She was only too pleased to point out that doing things like pouring a drink on someone and my offense against The Flirt were proof of my craziness. I held onto my dignity by a thread.

With a remark about how she and the SoHB had been together a year, she spared me from further revealing how deeply her words affected me by providing the opening for which I'd hoped.

“A year? Did you say it has been a year?” I asked incredulously. She replied that it had. “Has it really been a year? Because you wouldn’t know it by the way he was treating me a year ago.”

She wasn’t buying. “Why should I believe you, Kwirki? . . . the person everyone says is crazy. The SoHB told me that he made it clear to you that you didn’t have a relationship.”

I snorted. “Well, I don’t know how clear it’s supposed to be when he was cuddled up in my bed after starting to see someone else.” I wanted to go on. I wanted to laugh at her for taking his words at face value. She should know him well enough by now to realize that his chronic indecisiveness won’t allow him to make anything clear. But I didn’t get the chance.

“Why do you care, Kwirki?” she interrupted. “It’s been a year. Why do you still care?”

I blankly stared at her for a split second. It was the same question I continually asked myself and could never find a satisfactory answer. Thankfully, I was saved by The Flirt coming in the door to break us up. The humor of him coming into the women’s restroom barely registered as he ushered us out. My mind was still consumed with Michelle’s revelation.

“Wait, Flirt!” I said following him. “Wait, I need to ask you something.”

I caught up with him and began the interrogation.

“Michelle said you told her I was crazy. Why would you tell her that? Her, of all people. Why?” I instantly broke into tears.

It happened back when he was angry over what I’d done to him. It was just talk, he explained; just shooting off steam. I clung to him as I cried, my mascara leaving lash marks on his chest. We were mercifully hidden from everyone else by a long wall. I blubbered openly, letting out all the frustration of having the true nature of my relationship with the SoHB unacknowledged. He patiently held me and spoke soothing words, finally saying the thing I’d needed to hear.

“It’s a betrayal, Kwirki,” he volunteered. “It is.”

“But he doesn’t see it that way!” I wailed. The pain, the helplessness, all the pent up frustration poured out of me. “That relationship is such a sham! It’s just a sham, Flirt, and it kills me!”

Time was lost on me. There was no telling how long we stood there like that when I noticed someone’s arms were wrapped around The Flirt from behind. I recognized them, and quickly wiped my eyes before the SoHB, obviously intoxicated at this point, revealed himself.

“Kwirki! You look so skinny!” he exclaimed once more.

Having worked myself up with The Flirt, I wrapped my arms around the SoHB’s neck and hugged him close to be sure he heard my spiteful words.

“Tell me, SoHB. Are you fulfilled now that you have someone to fuck?” I said into his ear. He muttered that he didn’t hear what I said, but seemed all too ready to get away.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” said The Flirt, having obviously heard my comment. “That’s not going to help.”

“I know. I know,” I babbled, already regretting my remark.

After a few more moments, Alley appeared and asked if I was okay. With uncharacteristic unselfconsciousness I looked straight at her with swollen eyes and tear-stained face and emitted a forlorn, “No.” Shortly thereafter, someone decided we should leave. I managed to make it out without seeing the SoHB and Michelle. Despite having ridden downtown with someone else, The Flirt climbed into my car for the ride back to Rachel’s house where his truck was parked. When we reached my street’s intersection I asked if he wanted to come home with me instead, which, of course, he did.

Before he left in the morning, we sat on the side of my bed in a solemn embrace.

“I still can’t believe you called me crazy, not so much in general, because I can’t blame you for being angry with me, but did you have to talk about me to them? Why them, Flirt? Why did you have to call me crazy to them?” He apologized again. “Just, please set it right, now, okay? Please.”

“I’ll try,” he said. Melancholy hung over him as he left. It hung over both of us, and it appeared we had surely spent our last night together. The tragedy of my broken heart was destined to leave nothing in my life untouched. All of my friendships, all security I possessed in anything, in any relationship, would not go unsoiled before I would truly be free. But now there was no one to point fingers at and blame but myself. I had started the confrontation with Michelle. I had let myself lose control of my senses again, and I was becoming afraid of never feeling in control again.

* = Names have been changed to protect those whom I like.