I’m not totally okay. It’s difficult to understand or explain. My behaviour probably seems frivolous, as if it’s no big deal that I’m a hot mess, and that I’m still hosting such an unsavory patron in my hot messy life. Well it is… and yet I am. It’s one fascinatingly flawed day at a time. I guess that’s okay.
I met Biff at Burning Man in the summer of 2003. Two weeks after returning home to Toronto from that vacation I flew back to Reno to spend the weekend with him, and within a month of meeting him he was living with me in Canada. My family did not take kindly to him and that was hard, understandable but hard. I kinda didn’t care about that. I latched on and less than a year later we left for California. I have rarely looked back.
He was so different from anything I had experienced and it felt like freedom. He said and did whatever he felt like. He kinda didn’t care about anything. He had fun, he grabbed adventure by the balls, he truly lived in the moment. He seemed real. He literally had nothing to lose and strangely that was highly appealing to me. It makes me laugh today, and cringe a little, that somehow this was an attractive and pleasing conquest. It’s a sharp deep inhale now, but it was a breath of fresh air then. He could see me and he was going to get me the fuck out of there and take me to a place where other people could see me too.
He had me on a pedestal and I liked it. I have always hated any attention on me but when it came from him in the beginning, well, it stirred things in me. The possibilities were intoxicating. I thought I was in control, which of course is hysterical, but back then he listened when I spoke and it brought out a lion in me. When he did something that I didn’t like I told him straight up. I got a lot of practice doing that. All of my anger finally had a place to land, and eventually when he felt he had become embedded, so did his. I knew that was fucked up but I was addicted. He stopped hearing me. We wrestled back and forth, quite literally. I saw that the road ahead was riddled with trash, but the destination was a clear picture in my mind, and I was willing to suffer the potholes for the palm trees. I had no idea how many times I’d be sideswiped on the journey and I resolved not to count or care. It was blind faith that kept me there.
He hurt me, we know this by now. He cheated from the beginning, usually attempting to hide it but not always. There were harsh words, physical altercations, side of the road abandonments. An umbrella of disappointment. I hurt him too. Sometimes it was reactionary, sometimes out of fear, and sometimes it was for the same reasons that he hurt me. Just because I could. We married after 5 years of hurting each other. I freaked out in the lobby of the hotel on the night before our wedding. I cried, I screamed, I paced, I freaking lost it. My mum sat calmly in a chair and watched me. She said I didn’t have to go through with it. She had no idea about any of it.
Our marriage has obviously elevated each of our train wrecks to jetliner crash status. I, myself, am wondering why we are still in it. Yesterday I stood in the window and I asked for God’s help. I know why I got in it. I don’t know why I haven’t been able to truly stop though. No one here saw me like I had hoped they would. He stopped seeing me too. I was the trout, he was the fishing bob. That’s pretty much our story. The hook and the line just keep yanking us both back and forth, and I’m kinda okay with that for now. We’re like a paint by numbers, poring over the kitchen table with childlike anticipation of the final masterpiece. I’m starting to see that take shape. This morning the pain was dreadful. This evening the pain is exquisite. The only things that have changed from day to night is that I went to a meeting and listened to other people talk about their pain today, and I started writing it down.
A few days ago it was the Fourth of July. This is a small, quaint town with a parade that goes down Main Street. I watched the parade and drank glasses of beer with my bestie. When I left one bar to move to another I knew that I would probably run into Biff there. When I pushed open the door I saw him at the pool table with the girl from the Sammy Hagar concert. I hugged and kissed hello with friends that I haven’t seen in forever, since I’ve been avoiding him. Biff had a sheepish way about him when he saw me and spoke quietly to the girl. I walked past them towards the ladies room and realized that it did not bother me. I wasn’t bugged at all about seeing them there together. That’s new. On my way back from the restroom Biff threw his hands up in mock surprise and made a motion for me to go over and say hi. So I did. And I hugged him and it was easy. I offered the girl my hand to shake and Biff introduced her. I introduced myself. As Corrie. That’s all. Not Biff’s wife. Just Corrie.
I said that I’d like to buy them both a cocktail. They looked hesitantly at each other but nodded in agreement. I stood at the bar to order the drinks and my friend whispered for me to stop being so nice to the girl. The bartender shook her head and told me that she doesn’t know how I deal with his shit as she refilled their glasses and gave them back to me. I just shrugged. I’m a badass babe. Once I handed the drinks off I relaxed into conversation and genuinely felt happy, and then they soon left and it was over. I’m familiar with Biff’s artillery, so I’ll graciously accept betrayal and retreat over assault and conquer. After they leave I allow myself a deep breath and let my guard down a little more. I admit to myself that it wasn’t as easy as I made it look but this is moving on gracefully, with respect and dignity. This is who I really am. And this is the way that I would prefer to do it, sharing the space like a formidable lioness. I know that this girl is doing me a solid. I know that because she comes from a long line of girls who were trying to do me a favor. I sent them all packing, even after I swore that I had learned my lesson. Even after I promised myself and God that I would not do it again if another girl came along with an opportunity to save me, I still did it again anyway. And I got what I deserved, I got all of my husband’s attention. This time I know that I am still in danger of making a prideful mistake. So I give this girl a wide berth. I give myself a way out.
It doesn’t matter what lies he tells her about me, or about himself. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of either of us. It doesn’t matter if I still love him, or if it’s hard to let go. It just doesn’t matter, and that is how I deal with the shit. The bartender has seen Biff there with many different girls and doesn’t appreciate his douche-y-ness. My friend always has my back and doesn’t want me to get hurt again. But I know the whole story. The pain of it is masterful and exquisite. Biff and I are merely brushstrokes on the canvas. It’s been a long creative process and the piece just isn’t finished yet. It’s daunting, but there’s courage, and that is okay.
Nighty night Bluebird 