Solid ground

I admit, I’ve been letting this one stew. I thought I’d buried them, these questions I concluded would never be answered — like why Gar never told me about the others. I thought it no longer mattered, thought I was over it — over him. Then, 3 months ago, he offered an explanation.

I stilled the impulse to respond, tried to focus more immediately on how to feel, how to think. I forced myself not to switch off as I read what he wrote — once, then again, three times. He said he didn’t know how. And I know it was a lot to ask…

But the control slipped. The radar widened too quickly, the cascading accusations in my head left no room to breathe.

So maybe it was all too much to ask — too much for you to be honest, too much for you not to be flippant, too much for you to be sorry, even now. Or maybe it’s all just a pathetic excuse. So you didn’t know how. And you just left it at that? What about me?

But I already knew the answer. He said he didn’t think it would have made any difference. Figured it wouldn’t have mattered.

I told him that it did. I told him that it fucking hurt. And I told him that I deserved better than that.

* * *

I was in the shower when the cracks gave way. When I felt my throat cramp up and my insides wrench. I didn’t fight back; not this time. No-one to see me, no-one to stop me; no panicked offer of consolation. Just me, no longer hiding from what hurt, knowing now what it was.

Not mattering.

* * *

We kept it behind us. Rebuilt on the ground under our feet. He didn’t want to leave without making amends – the email had been his first effort. And I realized I wasn’t ready to let go. Not yet. But we had so little time left…

* * *

I re-read his email a few weeks later. No longer haunted by the vicious crisis of trust, I realized I’d looked past half of what he’d written, had not even recognized the assurance he offered. Nor had he been nearly as flippant as I’d imagined. The open relationship had thrown him –- mentally, he hadn’t been able to move past the physical aspects. But he didn’t blame me for it: “I couldn’t hack what you wanted. I know that you could argue till the fat lady sings as to why it shouldn’t need to be difficult, but it was for me. Just because.” At the end of it all, he said: “I regret now not having told you this a long time ago.”

And so, a few weeks late, I thanked him for his email, admitted I had been snappy in reply. I steeled myself for the dismissal, the hasty assurance that there was no need to mention it. But he caught me in the next breath: “I’m really sorry.” And all the preparation in my head was useless. Couldn’t thank him, couldn’t tell him how much it meant to me to hear him say it. I just sat there, my mind a blank.

He pulled us to safety with another joke. Something about head butts being a traditional Australian expression of regret.