Thrash Him With a Dozen Roses

            I was torn between two lovers.  Feeling like a fool.  One lover, inside of me, wanted to lash out against the Paralegal.  The other lover wanted to respond with love and compassion.

            Neither felt appropriate.

            The First Lover wondered what the sense was in keeping any semblance of secrecy to this blog.  Part of the reason it was anonymous was because the Paralegal had gone to rehab.  Now that the rehab storyline appeared to be completely fiction, it didn’t seem to matter.  Why not come out of the closet?  Why not send a link to the Paralegal with a note saying, “I know you like a good story; this one should be a pretty good read.”

            But the First Lover was not completely satisfied with that concept.  Why not send a dozen roses to the office, the card reading, “http://breakingboynews.blogspot.com”?  The women in the office would turn rabid.  They would have to know who sent them, ripping the card from his lying, texting fingers. They’d gather around a computer, unable to pull Internet Explorer up fast enough, only to discover the corporate firewall is preventing them access. They’d swarm from computer to computer, trying to find one allowing them access.  The skirts would chase the pants suits, who would take the lead shoving unsuspecting men out of the way.

            Someone would try pulling it up on their Blackberry.  Another racing for the site on their iPhone. 

            “AT&T, don’t fail me now.”

            Chaos would erupt as a pants suit would be to task breaking into the office of a partner who is gone for the day.  The link would spread like wildfire, as people fired off e-mails to their personal accounts to dive later from home.

            Finally, they would gain access, and the nosey, resourceful pants suit would begin to read it for all the ladies swarmed around.  Their hearts would collectively break as they realize the coworker they adore is not the coworker they thought they knew.

            It was delicious; First Lover savored the thought.

            “It’s just going to cost you eighty dollars, and you wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing that because he would never share that with you,” the Office Ladies said.

            They were right. And the Second Lover realized that he reached out to me. He accepted my friend request, and he had to know that I would discover the truth, yet he still reached out.  He’s wanting to connect, and it’s quite possibly the most he can do.  I should be grateful for that.

            The two lovers inside of me were having a spat that escalated to a full-on argument with screeching back and forth. I made a bag of popcorn as I watched the scene unfold in my head, munching on a kernel at a time, wondering what might happen next.

            But the next morning when I went to restalk the Paralegal, all the Wall posts that had any connection to me were gone.  The message he was missing someone, that he was at the gym for four hours on my birthday, that he was getting a sunburn while he was supposed to be in rehab, they were all gone.

            It was as if he was trying to erase his past mistakes.

            Yoga Girl suggested that I send him a message, saying what I learned from reading his Facebook page.  It sounded like a good plan. I could say what I wanted to say, I could convey the pain he caused. I could demonstrate to him how deeply he hurt me.

            It sounded like First Lover was taking over.

            I had come to discover that if I eat a big bowl of spaghetti with meatballs before I head to clairvoyant class, I’ve filled myself with the gluttonous comfort food that helps ward of the desire for four chocolate martinis after class.  While sitting there, sucking down a noodle, I realized that I actually don’t have to do anything.

            First Lover clearly was in a food coma, allowing Second Lover to take over.

            Let him come to me.  And then, if he does, I can say to him all the things I wanted to say to him.

            I was feeling good about arriving at this point.  I shared it with a friend in my clairvoyant class.  She listened carefully.

            “You want some feedback?”

            “Sure,” I said, excited that maybe she held the key to the universe and was going to unlock some universal knowledge.

            “I keep hearing, ‘you, you, you’ in what you want to say to him. What about you? What do you want? What do you need? Why not something like, ‘I’m in close intimate relationship with people who can be open and honest with me.’ “

            Clearly, First Lover was not in a food coma, Second Lover was.  Chocolate martinis and meatballs are a strategy of first lover.

            As her words resonated through me, Second Lover began to shake off the food coma.  I realized I don’t have to heal the Paralegal. I don’t have to right his wrong. I don’t have to reach out to him.  That’s not my responsibility to clean up the mess he has created or to solve his problems.  And if he’s going to be in my life in any way, he’s going to have to fix the mess.

            For whatever reason he reached out to me. For whatever reason, he is trying to erase his past mistakes. And in that moment, is it right for me to thrash him with a dozen roses?

            I can just keep on keeping on, living my own fabulous life. Posting my own fabulous Wall posts and photos.  He will see the same messages motivating people to say, “I love reading you posts, your life is so interesting.”

            And that’s the me that I want the Paralegal to fall in love with.  If he can step into that space then, great. And if not, that’s his experience.  If for whatever reason he can’t step into the love I have to give, that is his choice, his loss, and its not mine.

            Second Lover was on to First Lover.