Published by admin on 16 Dec 2008
A year ago I was sitting at Tara’s house crying my eyes out because my boyfriend at the time and I had put the final straw on the back of our relationship. The Christmas photo.
Louie is a Jew. Also, he’s kind of an asshole when it comes to people taking his picture. Or, at least, he was kind of an asshole that day. All I wanted was a simple fucking picture of him, me and our dog so my mom could take down the random photo she had of us and put up a photo I actually liked.
God, he was such a dick that day.
The next morning he broke up with me. Told me he was moving out that day. That it was over. It was. But that night, this night one year ago, I came home from Tara’s house, my eyes red, drunk, and furious, and didn’t even look at him. I didn’t want to see him. I wanted to leave him. I went to bed and he slept on the couch. He never once had slept on the couch, so I knew he was pissed, but at the time I thought he had no right to be pissed. This year of reflection and some kind of sideways reconciliation with him has taught me that boy oh boy there were certainly two of us in that relationship and whenever you have two people telling a story there are dramatically different versions. Louie is probably going to read this. And to him I can finally, a year later, say, “Thanks, man. You did me right.”
So now here I am. I’m sitting in my office typing these words, drinking from a heavy leaded crystal glass that was given to my boyfriend by another woman. A married woman. A woman who in the recent past has tried to get my boyfriend to go on expensive vacations with her. A woman he’s having dinner with next week. I wish it didn’t bother me the way Louie’s female friends didn’t bother me, but it does. And I’m fighting the urge to throw this glass against the wall. It probably wouldn’t break anyway.
Here’s to a year gone. A new year coming. A break up. And a glass I’m not going to break.