My Friend's Boyfriend

A girl I know left her husband for another man... a fireman.  She got skinny and hard-bodied and had hot, fiery, passionate sex and they traded effusive exclamations of undying love for each other while having heated love-making fests.

Then he stopped calling and texting.  He couldn't handle the intensity of their relationship or her need or his feelings of being tethered... whatever.  But then he would show up again a month later wanting and expecting everything to be just as if they could pick up where they left off.  Only, my friend couldn't reconcile his words and his actions, so she had to break up with him.

She is in counseling and going to 12-step meetings and working through her grief and poor decisions.  She was feeling good and on her way back to strength when she noticed a man who had been sitting in 2 of her weekly meetings all along.  He is at least 12 years her senior and suddenly she is in love again.  He is a "beautiful man".  He makes her soul "light up".  They are both "open and available" to love.  He is "safe" and for the first time she can truly love and be loved.

On the one hand, I kind of roll my eyes: it is SOOOO Jr. High.  She said all this same stuff (but different) about the fireman.  Now she has beautiful old man and it's all new and good and lovely.  What about husband (and father of her 2 kids)?  What about fireman?  And how safe and good and open and available can they be when they are both still SO broken??

On the other hand, I am JEALOUS beyond measure!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Even if it is pretend and Jr. High, I want to be with someone who makes my soul light up. I want to be "open and available to love" and be with someone also who is.  I want to feel "safe and secure".  I want a fireman or an old, beautiful man.  I want to be skinny and hard-bodied and have hot, fiery, passionate sex and trade effusive exclamations of undying love while having heated love-making fests.

I am TIRED of living in an alcoholic marriage and always being afraid and always being bitter and always being alone and always being tired and always being abandoned and waiting (but never ready) to be abandoned again.  I just want to indulge the fantasy of love again.  

I see people with happy 2nd marriages and am envious... I want to believe that could and would (and will???) happen for me.  But I confess, I am frightened that no one will love me and that I will be alone.  But is that a good reason to stay with Mr. M?  and is it even true?

Santa, Disillusionment, and 2XL

Do you remember 2XL?  

Ah... I wanted this robot soooooo bad!

His little voice, his little manic laugh,

I just KNEW he and I would be the best of friends.

It was the Christmas I was about to be 12... so I did what any other love-struck tween would do, I asked Santa for him.  Yes, I still believed in Santa.  I'd had a close call 2-3 years before when someone told me there was no such thing as Santa.  I was shocked, heart-broken, devastated.  I ran to my mother to demand the truth "So-and-so said there is no Santa!".  My mother was un-phased "That's too bad for her... I guess she won't get any gifts from Santa for Christmas."   This put my mind at rest; my mother didn't panic and look guilty AND there was justice... non-believers would get no gifts.  I happily went back into my trance-like state of unquestioning, devoted belief.

So, here I am, about to be 12 - already a woman (my period having just started for the very first time a mere 2 weeks before), asking Santa for 2XL.

On Christmas Eve, I was giddy with excitement.  I was having trouble sleeping - due to the anticipation.  I am not sure what it was I needed to tell my Mom, but something got me out of bed.  I crept down the hall toward their room.  Their door was shut.  It was NEVER shut (unless they were having sex... although I am not sure I knew this yet).   Because this was unusual, I didn't want to knock and bother them or wake them up, so I peeked through the crack between the double doors.

Now, HOLD YOUR HORSES... I KNOW what you're thinking "Nice try little girl!  We're not stupid!  We know why little kiddies would peek on Christmas Eve and it has nothing to do with polite courtesy!"  

I appreciate your low-minded cynicism and understand that with your dark heart, you probably won't believe me, but here is something weird about me:  

I am not now, nor have I ever been, a peeker.  

I HATE knowing what I am getting.  I am SAD if people are bad hiders or bad secret-keepers or liars... I do not WANT to know what I am getting.  I never (not even once) looked for my Mom's secret hiding places to see what I might be getting.  I did not go through drawers or rummage through closets or sneak up to the attic.  In fact, I was afraid to even go INTO closets for fear I might accidentally stumble upon a hidden gift.

[Lest I seem to noble and pure, let me confess that I had plenty of other things I didn't mind looking for and sneaking around for: I found my Mom's old, teen diary and  read about her first kiss... EW!.  I found porn magazines in my parents' closet when I was probably around 10 and I brought it out to show the babysitter.]

So I peeked through the door and RIGHT BEFORE MY EYES I saw my new friend, 2XL !!!!  

He looked like he was about to get wrapped (for me!).  

Although I was sad to know in advance, I was still deliriously happy...  I couldn't WAIT for the morning when I would rip open the wrapping and get my BEST GIFT EVER!!!  (I knew he was about to get wrapped because all gifts from my parents were always wrapped whereas all gifts from Santa were never wrapped... Santa set them up and displayed them... as if he had taken the time to actually stop and PLAY with them a moment before moving on to the neighbors house and then the next continent).  I did not knock on the door.  I turned on my heel and crept back to bed, tense with anticipation.

The next morning exactly at 7:00 (we probably got up at 5:00, but we weren't allowed out of room until 7:00 and we were not allowed to wake up our parents until 7:00) we woke up Mom & Dad.  We bounced and tumbled down the hall and into the living room.  It looked like Toys R Us had exploded under the sparkling Christmas Tree!  

And then I saw it.

My stomach dropped.

My breath caught.

My world began to spin.

2XL.

Unwrapped.

Displayed.

From Santa.

I could hardly enjoy him.

I went through the day like a zombie.

My mom had 2XL.

Santa gave me 2XL.

There was no Santa.

I had been so naive.

My parents had lied to me.

That was the day I stopped believing in Santa Claus.