While I Slept, He Died

A little sick to my stomach, a little sad, a little -too little- time spent remembering whatever I could. I dated him years ago. Probably about 5 or so. Maybe 4. I haven't seen him for at least two. I knew he was in trouble. I didn't know how bad things had gotten.

I guess he was trying to get help.

I guess he was trying to go clear.

That's what I'm told.

I'm also told the coroner determined his time of death at about 4am on Saturday morning. So... while I was sleeping, he was dying.

It breaks my heart. He was so young. I really robbed the cradle on that one but he was fun and funny and sexy as hell. Like his older brother when we were much younger and intimate. God, so young. Younger than my sister even.

I remembered on my way to the bank this afternoon that he would sleep in my bed after I would go to work and while I was out on errands I would stop home (supposedly briefly) and we would do what the truly young do when you swear you won't take very long to do it. I remember when he took me out for a really nice dinner one night, someplace where they charged you separately for the salads and what a good time we had. I remember listening to him DJ once or maybe twice at a local bar. I remember the half tattoo he gave my ex-fiancé before my ex-fiancé figured out I was shagging him. (Ah, sweet revenge. That's for the half computer you left me, I thought at the time.) I remember his scar. I remember his lips and his voice.

It's messing with my head that someone I slept with is dead. I can hardly believe it. I'm as much too young for that as he was too young to die. It's just such a damned waste.

And the worst? I haven't really let myself cry. I cried a little. I think, though, just to show myself that I could. But it didn't feel very real.

Blog-Slap

So apparently there are some people reading my blog that I don't talk to on a regular basis or are RPers... 2 of them to be exact. One being my aforementioned ex-boyfriend, the other, a close friend of his. I am suddenly very glad I don't allow anonymous comments.

Remember how I mentioned that I told my ex that I still wanted to be friends? Well, in the final, dwindling days of February I contacted him to wish him a happy birthday and invite him out for a birthday drink on me. To that end, (I totally forgot about the birthday drink when we got there... ooops) I got together with him last night. We were having a fine time, if slightly scrambling for things to talk about. I believe it was when he hit his 3rd or 4th beer that he brought to light why he came to meet up with me. He had a bit of an agenda.

Now, there are opposing opinions as to whether I've actually done something wrong in this situation. He was quite upset with me over some of the details contained in the "File Under" post. He was very hurt and said that he would never post such personal stuff about me online. I didn't think it was that bad, neither did my friend. My mother, however, thinks I've definately tresspassed against him and that I should redact the details in the first couple of paragraphs. That people have forgotten how to be nice with the supposition of anonymity as their shield. But I know, quite well already, that there is no anonymity on the net.

Did I feel bad? Yes, and I still do. I wanted to crawl under my bar stool or creep on my belly out of the bar and into the chill, wet night to find some rock appropriate to my amphibious status. I didn't intend for him to read that. It honestly never even crossed my mind that he would. Which was both stupid and ignorant of me. I know him, I know how he rolls on the interwebs, I should have known better than to think he wouldn't find it.

Now, I'm posing a few questions to my readers - One, do you think I did something wrong? Or is it, as I said later that night when I'd had too much wine and I got a little angry, a situation where if you go looking for it you kind of deserve whatever you find? Two, am I furthering the offense by posting this? And lastly, should I delete the offending details out of kindness and consideration of his feelings?

I'm honestly left wondering. Is it a terrible fault in the blog-o-verse that we post things that contain details about other people? Should we only post about things that have only to do with ourselves? Is that how other people do and I just didn't know it? Did Rachel Kramer Bussel set a bad example for me and I blindly followed it when she posted exhaustively about her feelings about her last relationship? (okay, that's just really an opportunity for some link love and vain attempt at passing the buck, probably) But truly, is this a huge flaw? Did I have the right?

I don't know what I think now. I felt so sure last night but now... dammit Mom, makin' think about my actions and stuff.

File Under: Well, That Was Weird

On NYE morning I broke up with someone. It was painful, but necessary. I hated doing it, but my superstitious self couldn't get on board with the idea of giving him my NY's kiss. I had avoided him all throughout the holidays because I couldn't bear doing it so close to Christmas. I had planned to, about two weeks before, but that Friday night while I was out having a good time and he was sitting at a nearby bar waiting for me (I never called, just to add insult to injury) he got his new (to him) car sideswiped. And then he got sick - really sick. And well, I just couldn't turn his life into a country song.

The following week we'd had a mutual friend in town. I couldn't do it then either. I knew that we'd end up seeing each other under the recently-parted circumstances and I didn't want to make my friend's first visit home in a year awkward. Nor did I want him to have to explain to our friend the awkwardness. Then it was Christmas and it seemed heartless. So, I waited it out.

I know there's never any good time to break up with someone. That no matter when you do it, it sucks. For both parties. It hurt me to hurt him, immensely. I don't know if he believes that, but I guess it doesn't really matter. When the dam finally broke I was relieved by his reaction. I've had all manner of undignified breakups. My first long-term boyfriend (status achieved by on-again, off-again-ness not continuity) threatened suicide the night that I ended our relationship. He had been staying at my house because his apartment had had a fire a few weeks ago. He told me was going to sleep in an alley. Then he came back, over and over - this time for a pillow, this time for his bass, this time for his sleeping bag. When I woke up the next morning I found the ruins of a night spent on my side porch. There was a soggy sleeping bag, a six pack of Mickey's (I should know better than to date people who drink Mickey's, but I was young), and an endless amount of cigarette butts. My neighbor told me that he spent all night out there, playing his bass. It took me months to throw away that stuff.

This guy faded more quietly. He told me he loved me, that we ought to stay together even though we knew in the long run we'd never succeed as a couple. We had different goals and, in my mind, we were simply marking time together. We fought like cats and dogs over what to have for dinner - can you imagine buying a house? Ultimately though I cared for him. I respected him. Enjoyed his company. But those things are never enough when you know that your weaknesses are his weaknesses - those relationships are simply doomed.

Anyway, we'd talked a bit over email. Nothing big and nothing recent when, upon waking up from a brief nap I got a phone call from him. He had a few books of mine and knew that I had a few books of his. He suggested an exchange. He was on my side of town and if I wasn't otherwise occupied he'd stop by. I said sure.

As I walked into the lobby of my building I saw him there, leaning against the mailboxes. When we were together he never came to the front door. When he came to my building he came with all manner of acoutrements. A case of Negro Modelo, an army bag filled with clothes and toiletries, another messenger bag with books and movies and travel Scrabble. He'd park his car in the non-spot near the back door and unload. Because when he came to my house, he came to stay for the weekend. Damned close to a year together and I generally only saw him on the weekends. It was like a long-distance relationship, except he only lived across town. So I thought of that when I saw him, leaning there. We walked up the stairs to my apartment silently. When we got to my floor, unable not to speak (imagine that), I asked him how he was - we exchanged simple pleasantries... like neighbors. We walked into my apartment and I offered to take his coat. He said he wasn't planning on staying. I said, "Oh, uhm, okay." I walked over to my dining room table and grabbed his (uncracked) vegetarian cookbooks - he handed me A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius and Evolution Man. He turned to leave directly. Surprised, I protested, "Hey, no how are you doing what are you up to?" He looked uncomfortable but fed my question back to me. "How are you doing, what are you up to?" I told him about the job and school. He seemed impressed. "Wow, usually when people totally turn their life around they don't do it so quickly." I could tell he didn't want to be here. So I asked him, "What about you? What have you been doing?" He smiled weakly, "Oh you know, same old same old."

With that he practically turned on his heel and bruskly walked out. "Gimme a call sometime." he called out over his shoulder. It was strange. The whole thing took maybe 10 minutes - maybe even less. But I was left standing there in my living room, looking around, wondering what had just happened. It was good to see him. But I guess he's still not ready to see me. I told him when we broke up that he was one of those people I didn't want to lose. You always want to keep intelligent, kind, good-hearted people in your life. Maybe next month, huh?