FINALLY AN ANSWER

Some stories I hold deep, deep inside. Maybe I clutch them too closely so I don't ever have to look at them straight in the face; maybe I'm afraid that if I release my grip I'll lose them completely and irrevocably. Or perhaps they are simply too precious to share. No matter what the reason is, the truth is that what I opt not to share is even more telling than whatever it is I choose to say.

But sometimes the story is buried so deep within that I've merely forgotten it's there, no matter how essential and constant it's been in the ongoing plotline of my life. Denial can be a wonderful thing; it can wash away that metallic bite of sorrow that lingers on the tip of the tongue and it can soothe the afterburn and ache of horror and desperation. But it only lasts so long before the fleeting warmth of its comfort segues into the inescapable chill of undesired exposure.

Just a few days ago I was chatting with an old friend of mine, someone I've known for about two decades now. Although we've flitted in and out of each other's lives, he and I will always be connected in some way, just as we've been through all these years. So I don't know what we were talking about this time, but I heard myself utter the words, in halting succession, stalker, assault, cops, jail, and lastly restraining order.

I would have stopped speaking after each word if he hadn't been so insistent on hearing the entire story. Because the whole time I talked I didn't realize I was telling a story about myself, one that I hadn't told in its entirety to anyone. And the whole time I talked he wondered why he didn't know any of this about me before. But I'd forgotten so much already, like how for months I'd jump at the sound of the phone ringing late at night or how for years I wondered if I'd been found again.

So that night I heard myself say to my friend, "I guess that's why I got married the first time, I might have just needed to finally feel safe and secure." And as soon I said this I froze, as if I had slipped and said far too much even if I knew none of what I had just said. But there it was, revealed and laid bare -- after all the many reasons I gleaned from extensive soul searching and all the theories posited by well-meaning friends -- the answer was, as usual, the most obvious one though hardly simple at all.

I remembered the last time I saw the man who used to frighten and anger me so, after whom the debilitating and persistent panic attacks set in, from whom I ran only to run into the arms of a man who ultimately gave me no real or lasting comfort. The last time I saw him he stood outside the door of the store I managed, somehow he had found out where I worked. He handed a cassette to a friendly girl in my staff and asked her to give it to me. I never listened to it, although it remained in a box that moved with me from one home to the next.

I kept it until I moved here about five years ago, where I still live. But before I decided to throw it away, I wondered if I should finally listen, if I should hear what it -- what he -- would say, what I might find out, and what answers it would give me. But when it disappeared forever I still hadn't heard a single word. I just didn't want whatever story he had to tell to ever be part of mine -- for me to hold, to forget, to hide. I didn't want any part of him to forever be part of me, even if he already was.

Comments

[g]

I remember those months and remember how jumpy you were. I remember how I used to worry about you. Glad it is in the past.

[Gigi]

Hi G - I'll never forget how you stayed outside my place that night he found me just to make sure I would be safe. For that alone (and there has been so much more you've done for me before and since) I will always be grateful and love you forever. :)

[g]

Love always to you too G