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"I love you, Alex."
"I love you, too, baby." Pause. "Listen, I've
gotta go. I'll see ya later."
Slam.
Over and over it went for a month and a half. After six weeks of
a slamming door and an absent, but very "loving" boyfriend, I'd had enough.
He slammed the door one Sunday afternoon,
citing church as the reason for his quick departure, but I knew Alex better than that. He hadn't been to church in years.
At
that point, I hadn't either, but it was certainly starting to sound like a good idea, so I hopped in my car, high-tailed it
to the nearest Unitarian chapel, and plopped my butt in the last pew on the left side.
I don't know exactly how long
I sat there, but by the time I left, the sun had gone down and I'd had communion three times over. I was full of crackers,
grape juice, and gumption. Alex's voice was playing in my head like a broken record, and I was fully prepared to pull the
plug.
When I pulled my beat-up Miata into the driveway, he wasn't back yet. I trudged up the stairs and started loading
my necessities into two huge suitcases. I wasn't sure if I was really moving out, but I knew I had to get away from him for
awhile. I loved him, yes, but not enough to deal with his refusal to acknowledge reality.
I loved him, yes, but he
didn't love me, and I was fucking sick of thinking that a couple of lies and a lot of slamming doors were enough to keep our
relationship going.
I was halfway into the second suitcase when the front door slammed. I'd just begun shoving my picture
frames into folded towels when I heard his feet on the stairs.
Alex never took the steps one at a time. He had to jump
two of them, had to crash down on the landing at the top with the force of an elephant. The man wasn't always so good with
real sentiment, but he sure as hell knew how to make an entrance.
I was intently studying a picture of the two of us
like some besotted romantic comedy heroine when the bedroom door flew open.
"Chris? What the hell is going on?"
"I'm
leaving."
"Why?"
I didn't want to look, but my eyes found his anyway, and the expression on his face about broke
my heart.
"I need a vacation."
He heaved a sigh and moved towards the bed, hands on his hips. "Why didn't you
say so? Give me a few hours and we'll make plans. I'll take us somewhere nice and warm where we can just lounge around in
the sun and drink margaritas."
Too little, too late. "Alex, you're not listening to me."
"What?"
"We
don't need a vacation, honey. I do."
There was that heart-wrenching look again. "Why?"
"Because
I can't do this anymore."
Oh, it was so damned dramatic. There was so much finality to my voice that I cringed. I didn't
have the courage to find out what his reaction was, but the tone in his voice said enough.
"Can't do what, Chris?"
"This
thing of ours. This dance. This back-and-forth with stupid words that you don't really mean. This disappearing act that you
seem real fixed on perfecting. I just...I can't do it, Alex. If you love me so much, then where the hell are you half the
time, huh? What do the words mean if you're never around?"
He sucked in a breath, and I could see him calculating the
nearest cookie-cutter I've-never-been-a-bad-boyfriend-so-don't-put-this-on-me route. When the words came tumbling forth, I
could almost see the script in front of me.
"I have to work, Chris."
"Do you, really? Is that why you're never
around? How was church this morning, Alex?"
He blinked. "Fine."
"Don't lie to me."
"What? You want a
recap of the sermon?"
My eyes were like ice, I'm sure. "Catholic churches don't have sermons."
He sighed, and
I cheered inside. Don't fuck with the religious studies major.
"Chris, don't do this."
"Give me one
good reason, Alex! ONE reason I shouldn't pack my bags and give you some time to think about the road you seem to be headed
down. 'Cause, honey, I know this is uncharted territory for you, but I can't help you with directions if you don't know where
the hell you want to end up."
His brow furrowed. "I want to end up with you."
My heart cried, but my brain was
screaming. LINE.
"I want to build a future with you, Chris." LINE.
"I thought we had something
special." LINE.
"Yeah, so did I." I managed to sputter. "I forgot that you weren't capable of the emotions
that make a relationship special."
"What are you talking about, baby? You know how much you mean to me." LINE.
"I
don't know what I'd do without you." LINE.
"You're the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning."
LINE.
"Am I, AJ? Am I really?"
Upon hearing his stage name, his eyebrows shot up. "What?"
"Your
first thought, AJ."
"Chris, what are you...why..."
I could see the calculator malfunctioning. The problem with
Alex is that he's never had anyone call him on his shit before.
Far be it from me to make him feel more comfortable.
"That's
your stage name, right? AJ. The name you use when you're playing a part. And that's what you're doing, right? Playing a part.
Well, I'm done playing."
I zipped up the second suitcase and yanked it off the bed, smiling crookedly when it made
a bang against the carpet. It sounded sickeningly like Alex's landings at the top of the stairs.
When I looked up,
all traces of professionalism had vanished from his face.
"Chris...Chris, please don't do this."
It
was the voice of a tired, defeated old man and it killed me.
"I love you."
I wanted to believe him. I did. But
I didn't want to be on the receiving end of any more slamming doors, so I left.
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