Finding Home

            I was catching up on Glee. I have to admit, I hadn’t watched it all summer. Not a single episode. For some reason, it was just too painfully lonely to get through an entire episode, so I didn’t even try.

            In the middle of the episode, “Home,” Will Schuester and his high school squeeze April Rhodes launch into a melody of Burt Bacharach’s “One Less Bell to Answer.”

            One less bell to answer

            One less egg to fry

            One less man to pick up after

            I should be happy

            But all I do is cry

            I completely lost it, descending into the downward spiral of a snot-inducing ugly cry.

           

            Cry, cry, no more laughter, I should be happy

            Oh, why did he go, I only know that

            Since he left my life’s so empty

            Wallowing in a pit of a snot hole, I realized why this show is so challenging to watch alone: its humor, the sophisticated writing, it’s over-the-top campy flair are all qualities the Lawyer and I enjoy in a good show, and I’d like nothing more than to be sitting with him, watching and sharing. The music used, is, after all mostly from our childhood. It’s celebrated with teenage characters that sing with heart-felt passion the sentiments of a song that was a hit long before they were supposedly born, giving a new ironic twist to these numbers. I love it. We love it. It’s part of the show’s appeal.

            But I’m not wrapped up with the Lawyer. He’s wrapped up with a Flight Attendant who comes from a different generation. A Flight Attendant who doesn’t even understand that Cindy Lauper used to be straight, George Michael wasn’t always a sex addict, and Madonna – well, she invented the formula Britney Spears is now using to propel her career forward.

            That’s what makes me so sad when I watch the show. The Lawyer and I could be sharing pop culture on such deep and meaningful levels. Could be.

            Though I try to forget it just can’t be done

            Each time the doorbell rings I still run

            I don’t know how in the world

            To stop thinking of him

            ‘Cause I still love him so

            I end each day the way I start out

            Crying my heart out

            Laying there in a puddle of tears, no egg to fry, I realized that’s what was so comforting about the Lawyer. He was my home. It’s why the Paralegal rose to such an elevated position in my world. And the few times I’ve been wrapped up in the arms of the Marine all night, spooning. Each of these men, in some way, they were my home.

            They grounded me. They filled me up. They made me feel like we’re all going to be all right.

            And I miss that.

            Terribly.

            I grabbed my iPhone, and despite having deleted the Paralegal from my phone, I managed to fire off a text message.

            “I felt at home with you. I miss that.”

            An hour and half later, my phone chimed. It was the first time I’d received a text from him since he texted telling me he was headed to rehab.

            “I felt the same also. It sorta came from nowhere.”

            My heart sank. If he feels the same, if the feelings are mutual, then why is he not here? Why?

            (One less bell to answer) Why did he leave me

            (Why, why, why did he leave)

            (One less bell to answer) Now I’ve got one less egg to fry

            One less egg to fry

            (Why, why, why did he leave) And all I do is cry

            (One less bell to answer) Because a man told me goodbye

            (Why, why, why did he leave)

            (One less bell to answer) Somebody tell me please

            Where did he go, why did he go

            (Why, why why did he leave) tell me how could he leave me

            I threw the phone across the room. Recognizing my own ridiculous nature, I realized that while the Paralegal can help me to find my home, my center, my groundedness, I can’t depend on him solely. Or the Lawyer. Or the Marine. That place of home must come from me. From within me. Glee is just a silly show, and it will always be there. New shows will come, and with them, new men will enter my life. And at this moment in time, I’m watching Glee alone. But in that, I am home.

            I am home.

            As much as I wanted to know why, and as much as I wanted to know the answers, I knew in my heart that pummeling the Paralegal with questions would accomplish nothing. And why must I know? He just said he felt the same. He just admitted it came from nowhere. Why must I know, when it just is?

            I typed a reply and hit send.

            “I know.”

            I had found my home.