Finally, I’m here. A week is way too long to go without posting. Where to begin…
I did end up snitching off that little bitch swim teacher to the owner. He pulled her away from the younger kids and put her with level six swimmers. The owner said he spoke to all of the instructors about the impact their words have, etc.
Personally, I just wanted to smack that mouthy little bitch in the mouth. (street-Auburn Pisces is in the building).
Auburn Aries passed her swim test advancing to level three on Monday night!!! She tested in perfect form. It was hard to sit in the bleachers and not watch her every move. She looks to me for approval constantly and as such I think it diminishes her own strength.
Fairy Godmother joined me so that we could engage in intense, meaningful conversation while facing each other. We needed to appear way too busy to pay attention. Mostly we talked about how I would like to start whoring around with all kinds of women just because. Everybody else is getting laid, why shouldn’t I be?! She pointed out that would never work because my standards are too high. Morals...geez.
Aries was VERY excited when she passed her test. Her smile lit up the building and her eyes danced with excitement. Once they got the testing out of the way, she immediately started on level three training. She has to push away from the wall, kicking her feet propelling her 15 feet away from the wall toward her teacher. She didn’t seem to have a problem with this at all. I was so happy for her I couldn’t help but get teary-eyed.
Suddenly she looked like a little swimmer. And acting like it.
The husband that never was:
Sixteen years ago I met a man. A Harley-owning biker, a motorcycle club president (heretofore referred to as Harley), who caught my attention like no other man had. I had been in the Northwest one month, fresh off the beaches of San Diego.
We were selecting music on a jukebox in a tavern and started talking to one another. He was so beautiful (and still is). He invited me to Sturgis which I immediately accepted. Then he told me he had been seeing someone for a while. I back-peddled and ultimately thought it best if I didn’t go.
Harley and I launched a friendship that would be unlike any I had ever had with a man. Having had a history of dating bikers, I felt right at home. He was my family and I was his.
Harley and I ended up working for the same mechanical contractor in southwest Washington. We saw each other every day. We would talk for what felt like hours on end – though it never probably exceeded an hour at a time.
Each of us wanted the other but knew it couldn’t happen. Not then anyway.
Harley and I joked of how we blew it by me not going to Sturgis with him. We spoke of how different our lives would have been if I had just gone. We spoke of our love for each other. We looked out for each other. He was the man of my dreams. Loving him was simple and pure and uncomplicated. I loved the way he kissed me good-bye every time he left.
Harley used to come by my house(s) in Portland. We made love. He taught me to build a fire in my wood stove. He helped me with “guy” things around the house when I needed it. The rules didn’t apply when it came to Harley. He was my secret. My love. I spoke to no one about what he and I shared.
We talked about the “what ifs.” What if he got divorced? (I ended up marrying Aries’ Dad amidst all of this and as such,) What if I got divorced? Would we be together? Could we do it? He loved that I was a “good woman” and looked out for him. I loved that I always felt protected by he and his strong-armed band of bikers. Bikers are the tightest family there is.
16 years passed. We always had each other.
I called Harley yesterday to wish him a belated birthday. He’s been working a job in Idaho and I haven’t been able to see him in the last year. After the usual flirtatious initial conversation, he said it…
“I’m getting a divorce.”
My ears rang. My body was instantly covered with goose bumps. My heart skipped a beat and then I could feel it beating in my throat as though I had run a marathon. “Are you kidding me?” I blurted. I couldn’t believe it. I was thrilled. It didn’t matter that in the last seven years, I’ve identified as a lesbian. The rules didn’t apply to Harley.
My mind raced with images of us taking off on road trips on his Harley; of us laying on a blanket under a shade tree talking for hours and just being together; being together with no time constraints. And then he said the next mind blowing thing.
“Yeah, I met an Idaho girl and realized I didn’t have to stay married and be miserable anymore.” He tried to talk to me about the difficulties he’s having with his wife over the divorce but I couldn’t engage.
My heart hit the floor. The tingle I felt initially now turned into a stinging sensation under my skin.
“You’ve met someone? What do you mean?”
I couldn’t talk to him anymore. I needed to hang up and told him so. He was trying to salvage the conversation. “It’s always been about timing with you and I hasn’t it?” Timing. Yeah, fuck timing. I’ve been single since last summer. I’ve spoken to him since then. He never said anything about this.
He said he told his wife in November that they were through. The best friend in me felt hurt. Why didn’t he call and talk to me about this if he was hurting. This is life altering stuff he's going through. They've been together like, 17 years. The “girlfriend” in me was crushed. You’ve met someone? What about me? 16 years of love and admiration and nothing? Just like that, we’re not going to get our chance?
I started to cry.
There was a large part of my heart that belonged to him all those years. It was the part that was protected and made of steel. No one could penetrate it. I knew that part of my heart would never be hurt by him. Not ever. I trusted him implicitly.
He asked me what was wrong and I decline to share. Again he asked and finally with tears streaming down my face and my voice cracking I shared my feelings with him. His response was to tell me that “nothing is for certain” and that if he “ends up in a ditch over the whole thing, he’ll call me.”
What the fuck does that mean?
I quickly said good-bye and hung up the phone, shocked. From the point he told me he’d met someone else, all I could hear was Daddy D’s voice. They were Harley’s words but it became increasingly difficult to decipher the hurt. It all felt the same. My wounded heart hasn't quite healed from her hurting me and now he's doing it, too.
I drove to work unable to get my emotions under control. Twice in less than a year I’ve experienced lost love. Twice in less than a year it was by two people who I thought would never hurt me.
I was friends with Daddy D five years before we became a couple, and she walked away from our relationship without even the courtesy of a conversation about what went wrong or what we’d have to work on or even an apology. It was like I never even mattered to her.
I’ve been friends with Harley over a decade and a half and he walked away from what might have been; walked away without so much as a conversation. It was like none of it mattered to him, either.
I spent yesterday devastated. I wondered why I was so unlucky in love. I was numb. I had a good conversation with one of my best friends who lives in SW Washington and she did everything she could to help me find some peace. She knows him as well. She has no idea how much she helps me. I awoke this morning knowing that I can’t spend time contemplating this. It is what it is and I can't control it.
I deserve better and I will wait until “better” comes my way.
Saturday I will turn 42 years old. 42. Sounds better than 41. I intend to spend my day with friends that I love. We will laugh and horse around and just hang out. It will be perfect.
Hot Toddy and I tried to figure out a way to get sweet Pua up here for my birthday. But those damn airlines won’t give you the killer deal unless you have a 14 day advance. Dirty Bastards.
I’m pretty excited about my birthday this year for some reason. It’s been a rough year. I’m thinking that it’s my turn now and turning 42 ought to be a good way to get started.
Sorry about the long post. Had to word-vomit so I could move on.