The Year of Crazy?

The following conversation may or may not have occurred. Names have been changed to protect the insane.

From the Diary of Roscoe Cleophus Twilliger, Esq. Side man to the legendary Fuzzhead Jenkins, Bluesman, Writer, and Daddy. Arch Enemy of Flatbush Jones, Yarn Cat Mass Producer.

I was sitting in my office, billing a client or two, listening to Rachel Grayson’s new CD, “The Return of the Chocolate Love Duck”, when my phone rang.

“Cleophus?”

“Pandora? Hey, what’s up? Lil Zeke alright?”

Now usually, when my ex wife calls, I look for a way to get off the phone. It’s been three years. I am no longer angry, or even hurt. I realized, not too long ago, that what she needed, I couldn’t give her. I no longer have a problem with PigBoy, the man she met online while we were married. I divorced her over her relationship with PigBoy, but things were probably coming to an end anyway. Pandora has a nonexistent relationship with the truth, but I have learned that is more out of fear than anything malicious. She just fears that which has burned her. I am, unfortunately, a truthful man, which I have found is a poor quality for a man that wants to be in love.

Oscar Wilde once wrote, “A man can be happy with any woman as long as he does not love her.” Now, although he was married, it is a well known fact Oscar batted for the other team. I can, however, agree with Mr. Wilde on one thing: I am happy, more or less, with Pan now that I am no longer in love with her. I see her deficiencies for what they are and work with her for the sake of raising Lil Zeke, our precocious nine year old. I like Pandora. I would not entertain any relationship with her outside of the one we have, and I still ask for a second opinion when she gives me the time of day. Overall, though, I like Pandora. It was easier to like her a month back, when I was working on my own happiness, but such is life. Misunderstandings happen.

“Yeah,” she sighed heavily, “Lil Zeke is fine.”

Pause.

“What’s wrong, Pandora?”

“Nothing,” she sighed again. “I just miss our life sometimes. We were young, but boy we had a lot of goals.”

I didn’t know where this was going, but I didn’t like the idea of her getting down. Her mood swings were legendary. In fact, they were part of what corroded our marriage.

“I know Pan. I know. You know,” I said brightly, “we accomplished some of them, too. It’s OK, though. Life goes on. I don’t bear you any ill will Pandora.”

"I miss allthe travelling we used to do..."

"Yeah, Argentina was fun."

"I miss the way we interacted as a family."

Sore spot, so I remained quiet. I'd loved another woman since we split, and I had loved her on a level I never loved my ex wife, but every man wants his family.

"And you know what I realized? dating someone is one thing. Living with someone is another. Oooh, Cleophus had his issues, but I could live with Cleophus issues easier than what I am dealing with now. Eight years married to Cleophus, I realize, now: his issues weren't that bad.

“I left before giving it a shot.”

“You left for something you thought was better, Pan. We both were at fault, Hon. I mean, I failed, too.”

“Perhaps I’m just not good at this relationship thing.”

“I don’t know. You found someone who makes you happy. I mean, you all share an address. The kids seem OK with it.”

Another sigh.

“I told him…the other day…whatever he was doing…to stop it. I didn’t want details…but I wanted it to stop. Immediately. Or else there was going to be trouble. He ran and got his computer, as if to prove something to me. Men. You all make the dumbest mistakes. I had no idea what was going on, just the idea something wasn’t right. He got himself caught up with that one. Guess what? Of course you weren’t responding to my emails during the day. You have instant message reports of you talking to some woman while you were telling me you were in a meeting.”

“Oh.”

“Report after report, email after email,” her voice grew strained. “I confronted him.”

“What’d you say?” I was trying to muster up some type of anger, resentment, and some attitude to gloat.

I couldn’t do it.

What is wrong with me?

This woman was once my wife. I faced sure financial ruin when we split. I lost everything. Because she was unhappy. Didn’t want counseling. Didn’t want to talk about WHY we were unable to get along. Never wanted to explain the craziness tat led to us not being able to see eye to eye, things like kicking my family out of our house on Christmas because she disagreed with them on the rules to a parlor game. Left, snuck back in the house and took money she agreed to leave behind for her half of the bills for her last month there. Broke a part a family, forced me into seeing my child half of a week instead of every day. Spent every dime she promised she’d pay me on parties at her new place, a new wardrobe, a new car, as I spun towards foreclosure and bankruptcy. Spent an entire summer being wooed and romanced by some guy she met on the Internet, someone who “understood” her. I knew something was up, but couldn’t prove it until I went on Dick Tracy mode in the end, for once reading my cel phone account bills in their entirety.

Three years ago, I wanted this moment. I waited for it.

Now, I just felt sorry for her. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.

“I explained to him,” she continued, “that I knew what he was doing. First they meet on the Internet. Then they talk on the phone, chat it up, laugh, joke, he invites her to lunch, they start hanging out…Oh, he's home every day. He never goes out. Likes home. But there's lunch at work, there are late meetings, there's his fraternity gatherings...

“How do I know? Because he was married when he got with me. He was home every night. He was a listener, he was a charmer, he had someone at home. He started with the emails and moved to the other stuff...

"And that’s how he got ME.”

I listened silently.

I’d recently watched a situation, my own situation, disintegrate and been accused of things that I knew weren’t true, were trumped up and blown out of proportion to make an audience feel something for a supposed victim. Aside from anger and bewilderment there was a certain caution exercised with that situation as I had to call in favors from folk whom I’d rather not owe a thing.

But I never expected to hear this.

Rachel Grayson belted her way through “My Thumbs Are Yours.”

Fuzzhead Jenkins walked in still looking down. What a year this has been.

“So I told him to stop. And when I called him today and asked if he wanted to talk, he told me, Pandora, my day has been going pretty good, and I want to stay that way. Please let’s not make it to where I only ant to come home to sleep and nothing else.”
I listened.

What a year this has been. It has GOT to get better.

Rachel sang “Noni’s Blues.”

I wondered if we should produce her next time around.