Poot and Cubby

This is part 3 of a series for Soap Opera Sunday (as created by Brillig and Kate). Fuzzy on the details? Here are parts 1 and 2. Oh, and Teri asked if Jason lived in the same town as me. Yes, he did, but he lived in town, whereas I lived 20 minutes away on a farm. And I guess if we’re getting technical, it’s really a small city of around 15,000, but with the feel of a small town (which I detested). On with the story…

Where was I? Ah, yes. We had been living together for two years - me in university, he working as a courier. I had just arrived back home from summer school in Germany. While I was away for 6 weeks pining away for my boyfriend, I think he got a little taste of freedom. I think (and rightfully so) he may have used this time to reflect on the fact that he was trapped in this very serious relationship without having experienced much of the world. So about a month after I arrived home he decided two things: He was going to go to university and ditch me.

I’m ashamed to admit that I was pathetic. If I would have watched the aftermath in a movie I would have cringed and screamed at the character to shut up and have some self respect. I begged him for hours to take me back. I played the victim. I didn’t realize at that point that I played a role in his decision. The immature, drama queen me did suffocate him during those early years. I was often moody. I was cryptic in my forms of communication. I expected him to read my mind. I would walk around in a huff and when asked what was wrong I would say, “NOTHING”. I would pick fights for the sake of creating a little drama. I was too young to know any better.

Now I had to find my own place. The only one I could afford was awful - it was called the Crown Royal (yes, like the rye). It was super tiny, had brown shag in the living room, green shag in the bedroom, and the bathroom fixtures were all Pepto Bismol pink. The toilet. The sink. Even the bathtub. I was one of a handful of people in the small building that wasn’t a recent Eastern European immigrant. Or a drug dealer. I had to call 911 more than once - once because a guy was beating the shit out of his girlfriend, and many times because of the drug dealer across the hall from me. People were always buzzing me instead of him and sometimes they would think my apartment was his and would bang on my door in the middle of the night swearing, yelling, or threatening to beat me if I didn’t let them in.

I was terrified and depressed. Not used to being alone, I slept on the couch for the first few weeks because I could see the front door. Like me seeing a killer coming through the doorway would make it better than if he’d sneaked into my bedroom instead. There was nothing but my cats and the constant hum of the TV to keep me company.

I remember thinking that Jason must have been motivated to leave after a cute girl on his delivery route told him she would never date a guy who didn’t have a university degree. I was sure he wanted to go for the available girls and I would have hampered this plan. I realize now how unfair that assumption was, but I was trying to find an explanation for this insane state of affairs. An explanation where he could conveniently play the role of bad guy and I could take no responsibility for the way things turned out.

I think he just needed to find himself without me. During those early days, we tried to remain friends, mostly because I missed his friendship. It proved to be extremely difficult though, when I made very little effort to date anyone else and he was partying it up with other girls, all of whom I thought were total bitches (shocking, I know).

Every guy I met just didn’t seem right. No one else felt like they could be my best friend and my partner. No one wanted to go to my favorite movies with me. No one else understood my sense of humor. And maybe I didn’t try hard enough. Or was too quick to find fault. They all just didn’t seem worth the time. I always felt like I had to be someone else or explain parts of me to them that with Jason just didn’t need explaining.

After months of rotating between being on good terms and me refusing to speak to what I saw as his Player self, Jay and I actually were able to hang out as friends. I became more comfortable (and actually started to enjoy) living on my own and having a life outside of a relationship.

And after two years of wandering around trying to find the next best thing to each other, we tried again. We realized that this break was the best thing that could have happened to us - it’s odd, but I don’t think we would be together today if we didn’t have that time apart. We had both grown up. And we both had a newfound appreciation for what we almost lost.

And if Elliot were telling the story, this is the part where she’d say - And they lived happily ever after (or something like that).

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