My Ex. Part Two: No More

The sting on my cheek was something I would never forget.

I was stunned. I’m not making excuses for his actions; I was hysterical, and that slap brought me down to a somewhat more focused level. I calmed down, and he held me. But I couldn’t put it out of my mind. I still haven’t so many years later.

As much as I wanted to leave then, I knew I couldn’t drive away. We curled up on the couch and I want to say that I drifted off to sleep; the truth is I passed out.

I left in the morning. I went home and bathed. I wasn’t working that day so I just spent the time in my room. C and I talked on the phone later, and we talked about what happened, and it was just as I said. We made plans to hang out again. And our relationship went on for a while longer.

Things didn’t change though. I was more wary; I wouldn’t drink, or if I did I would have very little. I didn’t really believe he would hit me again, but I also wasn’t going to put myself in that place where I might find out if he would or not. Then it finally got to a point where I had had enough. We weren’t going forward. He wasn’t going forward. I was making plans to move on, and I realized I couldn’t do it with him.

I loved him. I loved that he was there for me at such a hard time. I loved those deep eyes. But I wasn’t in love with him. My future didn’t include C, and the guilt weighed down on me hard.

We had a couple mini break-ups. I went back to him, twice, after talking it through with a friend from work who saw how upset I was one day. My friend helped me patch things up with C. We had always been friendly at work, and our friendship grew as my relationship fell apart.

That friend was S. We didn’t work many shifts together, but we got along well when we did. We exchanged numbers and when I was fighting with C, S said to call him if I just needed to talk. Another fight happened with C, and I broke it off with him. This time I meant it. There was no “goodbye”; it was just “no more”.

I was heartbroken. I knew deep down it was the right thing for me, but oh it hurt. I felt like I had used him when I was down, and now that I didn’t need him anymore I was tossing him to the curb. Did he feel that way? I don’t know; I had to shut him out. I never wanted it to end like that. I really wanted things to be different, and I tried, I tried to make him understand, but it wasn’t meant to be.

I was done.

C had a dozen roses delivered to me at work. They were beautiful, and months before it would have made my heart melt, but I couldn’t bear to look at them now. I took them home but gave them to a house-mate. C’s mom, whom I adored, even came to see me. She told me not to give up, she asked me to still come over to visit. I said I would, partly because I believed I wanted to, and partly because I just couldn’t say no to her. I never did visit though. More guilt.

In one heated conversation during that breakup with C, he said to me “You can’t leave me now. I was there for you when you needed me, and now my dad is sick. He might die.” I was stunned. This came out of nowhere. I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if I should believe him.

If it was true, why didn’t he say anything before? Why didn’t he trust me enough to tell me what was going on? Nothing seemed out of place at his home. Why would he keep this from me?

I couldn’t believe him. I turned my back, and I walked away.

This has haunted me ever since. Did I not know him well enough to know if this was true or not? Did he not have enough trust in me to tell me sooner? Either way I knew without a doubt we weren’t meant to be together, but it haunted me that it had to end on such bad terms. The guilt I carried!

That last fight, where I broke it off for the final time, I was devastated. I was alone, and I called S. on the phone. I started to tell him what happened, and he asked if I wanted to go for a drive to talk. I said yes, and he came and picked me up.

He just drove around. I spilled my story out to him. I talked between sobs, until I could talk no more. He was a gentleman, patiently let me carry on, listened quietly, and commented as was warranted. He was the friend that I needed then.

S and I were friends, and our friendship grew closer. Then he broke the ice that I didn’t know was there, and he asked that when I was ready, maybe we could try going out. He took my hand; it was warm and comforting, and it felt so right.

Funny how here it is almost twenty years later and only now can I see the same beginnings happening with S as it had with C. That’s where the similarities end though.

There was no lying or cheating, it just happened. We just fell into place. It happened so soon after the break up with C though, that when he found out he accused me of seeing S when he and I were still together. I don’t know if he ever believed me when I told him that wasn’t how it happened. Especially after the hurt and anger I still harboured from my parents actions, I couldn’t even fathom bringing that pain to him or to anyone else.

That was the end of C and I.

But it wasn’t the end of the guilt.

Whenever I read the paper I would scan the obituaries hoping that I wouldn’t see his dad’s name there. I never did, but I was always afraid that I would.

One day, about five years later, in one of those papers, I did see C’s name. It was a birth announcement for his first born.

I was elated! By this time S and I were married, and we were starting our own family. I felt relief that C had moved on with his life, and I hoped that he was experiencing all the joy and love that I was in my marriage. I felt a small measure of peace and was able to tuck that chapter of my life farther away into my closet of memories. I still wondered about his mother with her sweet smile; his brother with a charm all his own; and his dad, how was he doing after all this time. That guilt still clung. I hid it away and never brought it up with S again.


Fast-forward to the present day. S is now a co-worker with the brother’s wife, K. It was some time before the connection was made, but I guess S and K had a good laugh at how S had ‘helped’ put me back together with C all those years ago.

This past weekend was their staff Christmas party. I got to meet K, and I was all set to reacquaint with N, her husband and C’s brother, but he couldn’t be there that night. K and I did chat though, and she seems so nice, I’m happy for her and N to have found each other.

Of course I asked about N’s family.

N and C’s parents are alive and well. They returned to France some years ago. K adores their mom just as I did. She has had a harder time with their dad, but that was partly due to irrational behaviour on his part in reaction to medication he was on previously.

That medication had to do with cancer.

So did C tell me the truth when he begged me not to leave him because his dad was sick all those years ago? I’m still not sure. This cancer was much more recent, and his dad has recovered from it. The way K presented it, it sounded like this was his only bout with cancer. She may not know if there was such an illness almost 20 years ago; that was before she and N had met. She told me how his dad was so stubborn and wouldn’t see the doctor until he had huge growths on his neck and his own brother dragged him in for an appointment. I don’t want to say that C lied to try to manipulate me, but I’m inclined to think that if this was a second bout with a life threatening disease, the family would have been more likely to pay attention to the signs and have him in to the doctor much sooner. I don’t know if I’ll ever have an answer to that.

So where is C now? He and his wife have three children. He’s become a Jehovah’s Witness. He works with computers, for the government.

He sounds nothing like the person I dated all those years ago.

He lives not far from me, and his children likely go to the school that is one block from my home. I had no idea he was even still in the city after all these years, and yet here he is, almost in my back yard.

C and his brother N had been close growing up, but have grown apart as the years went by. K’s story of how it came to be was curious, and it saddened me to know that their families have become estranged.

C and I weren’t meant for each other, it’s as clear now as it was back then, once I finally opened my eyes that is.

I will always remember the kindness and caring shown to me though, from C and from his mom, dad and his brother. I wish them all the best. I hope they can find their way back into each other’s hearts.

I hope this story will give me some closure. Maybe I can be freed of the guilt that I have been carrying, perhaps unjustly, all these years.

I also hope, even wish, that someday I run into C, and that we can go have a coffee and just visit. It could be that I need to just say goodbye. Maybe then it can truly be no more.

My Ex. Part One

Introduction: Just recently I had a conversation about an ex-boyfriend, my last one before I started dating the man who would become my husband. I learned where his life has led him and his family. This has had me reliving a lot of memories, and so here I am, just talking to myself, to get this story off my chest so I can learn from it, appreciate some of my history, and move on.

I think I’m finally getting some closure. I didn’t know that I needed it till now.

Before my dh, there was only one other boyfriend of somewhat serious contention. There were others, but boy-friends were all they were. C was the first person that I thought about being with in the future. But that was part of the naivety of young love.

This boyfriend, C, and I were in high school together. He, his brother, and his parents moved to my little hometown from France. They were both tall and dark and good looking each in their own way. They were quiet but they learned fast, made friends, were the subjects of many high school crushes, and they became a part of our community.

C and I started dating near the end of our graduating year. His accent and his voice whispering in my ear would make me melt. His dark eyes were just beautiful. His arms around me made me feel so safe.

Around this time, my home life was falling apart. My parents were separated, and I was starting to learn of the infidelity in their marriage that had been carrying on for a long time. I was lost, scared and angry. So angry. My closest friends weren’t close enough for me to share it all with – I didn’t want to believe they could help me because they came from families who loved each other and whose parents would always be together. That’s what I thought then. Several years later, both of those sets of parents had split too.

It was at a party, one of the very few in high school that I really let my guard down. I got drunk – way too drunk. Somewhere in the mist of vodka and orange juice, C and I started talking, and he told me he had liked me for a long time. He was a shy guy, not a lot of confidence I can see now, and I was the same in that regard. The alcohol took care of that stumbling block. We clicked and started dating within the week.

There were so many ways that we were alike and yet so different too. But at the time he was what I needed. I was the center of his attention; no matter what crap was going on at home, he was there for me. I became reliant on him in ways I didn’t realize. Through the stress of final exams, the constant questioning of well meaning people about how my family was, and where was I going to go to University, he was my calming rock. The more time I spent with him, the less I had to be in the fog at home.

Somewhere in that time I decided I wasn’t going to University the following fall. The decision had nothing to do with him; I knew that, though I don’t think my parents did. It was all about my family. I had taken a huge burden on my shoulders, and I was in no way ready to move so far away for schooling that would need my full attention. Once I made that decision I knew it was right for me. Were my parents ever disappointed. They said they understood, but it always felt like things were left unsaid about it.

I chose to move to another city, only 6 hours away from home, where I was comfortable enough to start out on my own. I didn’t know it at the time, but news came out shortly after that C and his family were also moving to the same city. I was thrilled.

I paid room and board to stay with a family I knew from years past. I got a job, and I started looking into courses at the local college, though I wasn’t ready to go there yet. I did some volunteer work, and I just learned to be that much more independent. It was a freeing time.

But it also seemed the more independent I became; the more I continued to rely on C. I didn’t make other friends. I had always been a home-body, so it wasn’t apparent to me at the time how C and I never really went anywhere. We didn’t go to the movies. We didn’t go out for meals. We just hung out together at his place which was fine with me, because where I was paying room and board I didn’t feel that it was appropriate to be having friends over in general. Not that they wouldn’t be welcome, it’s just how it was.

C hadn’t got his drivers licence because back in our little town you could just walk everywhere. I was proud to have a car, rust spots and all, so I didn’t think twice about driving him down to the video store to rent something to watch at his place. When Christmas was coming I asked him what he might like, and I listened, and got him just about everything on that list. I doted on him. I went to work, then I went to his place, then I went home to sleep. That was it.

Things started to crumble.

I was starting to save up some money, I was feeling better having distanced myself from the family chaos, and I was starting to look ahead to the next year. When I declined university the first year, I looked at it as a year or two off, and that I would take that step sooner then later. I would talk to C about this, and I would talk to him about what he was going to do in his future.

The thing is, since graduating and moving from our little town, he’d done nothing more. He didn’t make any plans, other then what movie we might rent next. He wasn’t working, he wasn’t going to get his driver’s license, he wasn’t moving out of his parents place. He wasn’t going anywhere.

The arguments started when I would want to go out… for anything. A walk, a movie, fast food joint, I didn’t really care; I just needed to get out. I wanted to be out with him, but he wouldn’t budge. He was all so very nice and calm about it, I never felt like I was being controlled; I could go out on my own anytime, but that wasn’t the point. I wanted him to come out too, but he wouldn’t. I was wrapped around his finger and I gave in every time.

I don’t even remember what movies we rented. I just remember being in his living room on the couch with him, night after night. Okay, we weren’t always ‘watching’ the movie. But that’s not the story I’m willing to tell.

I’ve never been much of a drinker, but one night we had some liquor, and, well, I had too much. This time while giving me the confidence boost to talk more assertively, it also proved to be the start of our breaking up.

I started in on how we never went anywhere or did anything. What I couldn’t articulate was how unhappy I was becoming. Oh, I still loved being wrapped up in his arms, but it wasn’t enough anymore. My complaining and whining grew with each sip, and I got to the point of becoming hysterical, and this I take full responsibility for. Then, all of a sudden, it was like something out of some movie we had watched. I was losing it, and he slapped me. On the cheek; it was just once.

...to be continued...

Historic Moment

Last weekend I was visiting my home town with my 10 year old. We had some time to spare so we drove around and I pointed out many places where I used to play, or shared what used to be there, and so on. After a bit I asked him if he was getting bored or hearing me say "I remember this..." or " We used to...".

In his sweet innocent voice he replied "Oh no Mom, I like history"

Ouch! Talk about going from feeling good to feeling old in no time flat. I'm too young to be history!