We were T-boned on Thursday. I can’t say that I didn’t expect something like this to happen, (partially in thanks to the majestic city of Chaska’s -awesome- plowing,) but as I drove home feeling the pain in my back and my checkbook I looked in the rearview mirror. Ava was singing a song about someone fixing the car, and pancakes. I figured this was probably a good sign that although the collision was going to cost us more than just the repairs, that life has a funny way of reminding us that if we’re still singing, we’re fine.
I wish many times that I had different phrases to use as the ones going through my head are almost always more crass than I’d like to portray or over-stated, which I try to shy away from- but this is going to begin the period of my life, I’ll call, “Don’t wait in limbo if you have somewhere else to be.” (I think that’s an accurate example that doesn’t include pots, or shitting.)
I saw B. last night. We talked for a while and he helped me take my tree down. Since the accident my back has been pulling at inoppertune times, and I’ve been getting a sharp ache whenever I lift. I realize I need to go in- but the house crap needed to come first, and he was a gem to help out. We sat on the couch last night discussing life, and the rarities that people actually work for what they want, and he mentioned he had talked to his coworker/boss about how he wishes there was a ‘checkbox’ for ‘single moms like me- the good ones’ who ‘actually tried to do it the right way.’ I was somewhat honored, somewhat humbled and excited that someone caught on that although free daycare/food/housing/money/healthcare, etc. would be amazing? There were other ways to accomplish what you wanted. I went to bed feeling powerful, and happy. But this is what he’s always done, isn’t it? He’s like my toddler- building tall, towers, only to take his bare hands and knock them to the ground. I should have known.
This morning when I asked him if he could help take out the box that resided in my foyer, he said, “OH KATIE!” and sighed. I started getting ready as I was having brunch at my house in about an hour, and he stated, “You try so hard to be different than other single moms but you are just the same.” So, hours after the compliement of how I was doing everything right and the 100k crowd wishes they could check off boxes to help me, becasue they didn’t want to help ‘the other single moms- the welfare queens or those that didn’t appreciate, or work for anything,’ It all came down to it.. something I heartfully believe in. We’re all the same to people that refuse to understand. It’was like churches- they love to pray for single parents, but what are they actually doing?
Bre had done a lot for me in the transition, and he was one of my favorite people to call at 11pm for hour long conversations about men or youtube or the difference between just about anything. But just like an animal who’s been wounded is more cautious, so was I with him. Because I know him. Out come the fangs. Out comes the the remarks. We are all the same, aren’t we? Single mothers- on a mission- to milk everyone around us- whether it’s society, or their ‘best friend’ to ask him to help carry a box.
. . . . . .
I had no words, then. I just had tears. I ran upstairs and shut the door, promising myself a warm shower might wash off his idiotic remarks, but when I got out of the shower? I was madder. I hadn’t asked anyone to hit me with their car- these things happen. I really also, hadn’t asked to be treated like a disobedient six-year-old, or to go to bed feeling like I was the anomolie for once. So? I did it. It wasn’t because he dug through my garbage can or hacked into my email numerous times, (way to be a -friend- dude,) it was because the gilded finish of who he wanted to portray himself as, has totally worn off to only expose layers and layers of absolute grime- which surprisingly, is what I knew was there all along. So? Nothing he does surprises me anymore.
I was mad when he hacked into my email, and read through everything. I still talked to him because I’m an self-preservation failure and although I thought he was a psychotic, pompous, asshole? I cared about him. When he did it again? I threw him a life-jacket- because I deep down, I didn’t care about myself as much as him. When he dug through my garbage or things? I told myself that he was lost, and we talked and he then emailed me a raging list of rules and regulations for friendship. And I’m a failure because I cared more about him than being restricted. Hearing that I was just another worker of some system, (the system of asking your friends to help you when your car sits totalled in the driveway, and you’re trying to keep telling yourself- your kid was singing.. it’s alright,) well? Maybe that’s worse. I don’t know. Sometimes- there are no words. I kept focusing on other people, and he grew angry he couldn’t see me as much.
He’s one of the last to go- and I picture him at the side of a curb somewhere, waiting for someone else to pick him up- painting himself back to gold in the process. Fool’s gold- is all some people are. Luckily for me- As much as I’m a self-preservation failure.. I seem to have found a niche for finding that moment when I realize- there’s no beauty in struggling. I have enough to worry about. Sadly, I’ll lose small piece of a whole person that I care about and still, (strangely,) respect.
Breon Nagy? You suck.
