A Peace of My Heart

Peace is a weird thing.  It is something we often ask for, pray for, and yet when it comes...it settles in like a slow sunset.  Nothing too specific, just a realization that what was once embattled is now settled.  Only, I don't recall asking for peace.  Maybe I did, I have had a lot going on lately, but it doesn't really sound like me to wish for something like that.  I prefer more tangible wishes, like lottery winnings.  Peace, however, is exactly what I got.

I used to be married.  Long ago and far away (5 years and one county over), I was someone's wife.  I bought groceries for two. I washed Fruit of the Loom underwear. I consulted someone before making major purchases.  My life was hitched to someone else's.  It didn't work out.  To say that is an understatement, given the roiling drama surrounding the "didn't work out"; but after 5 years, the gaping hole left has pretty much sealed shut.  Since we shared nothing more than a name and a mortgage, our dissolution was fairly quick.  I hated that man, though.  Hated him with every fiber of my being for the betrayal and the ruin.  Then, I didn't.  I can't say when it happened, kind of like you can't say when exactly the sun set.  I can't whip out my calendar and say, "Oh yes, on March 24, 2008 I stopped hating my ex-husband".  It was more like one day I thought about him and declared, "Wow. I don't hate him anymore."  Not that I wanted to call him up and reconcile, I had just reached the point of not harboring that bitterness any longer. 

Then, Eric Clapton came to Memphis.  I love Eric Clapton and had already purchased my ticket when I had a startling thought.  What if my Eric Clapton loving husband happened to purchase a ticket as well?  What if I ran into him.  Would I just keep walking?  Would I smile, knowingly, "haha, I know that you have horrendous morning breath"?  Would I *gasp* speak to him?  And how would he react?  It was weird to think that I had no idea how he would react, even though he was the center of my universe for over eight years.  I have let panicked realizations like this keep me out of things that I wanted to do for most of my life.  Staying away from fun, for fear of running into someone who ruined my life.  Not anymore.  This wasn't the episode that changed that, once again, I can't say when I just didn't give a shit.  So, I went to see Eric Clapton...not my ex-husband.  And, it went off without a hitch.  No run ins.  Afterwards, I thought about how I would feel if I had run into him and he was with someone.  I honestly could not get worked up about it.  Whatever.  Good.  I really didn't care. 

All the non-chalance in the world could not have prepared me for what was to come.

One night, after visiting my dad in the hospital, I got into my car to make the long trip home.  I turned my phone back on and was greeted with an email notification.  I nearly dropped the phone when I saw the sender.  You guessed it...the ex-husband.  "Is your dad in St Francis Hospital?" it read.  The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up and I immediately looked in the rearview mirror to check my lipstick.  Why, I have no clue, it wasn't like he was sitting in the backseat of my car.  Habit, I guess.  I replied, "yes.".  This set off a series of back and forth cautious email exchanges that culminated in a visit to my dad's room.  Of all the concerts and near misses over the last five years, my ex-husband was responsible for doing my dad's chest x-ray.  How disappointingly mundane. 

I never saw him.  I was conveniently tied up the day he ventured forth into the viper pit.  I can't imagine going to see anyone in his family, even now.  How he was able to suck it up and walk in the room that held two people (my mom and dad) that, he should have assumed, would accept his head on a silver platter; I will never know.  This is the same man who couldn't even bring himself to call Directv to get our satellite turned back on after non payment.  He visited with my parents for a little while and that was it.  No one was injured.  Earlier that day, I had received the mother of all mea culpas....the Facebook friend request.  I thought long and hard about the request.  I remembered the screaming, the accusations, the betrayal, the threats and the frustrations.  I carefully composed my reply:

"Yeah, so...no.  Here's the deal:  you told me that I had a black soul.  You told me this two months after we purchased our dream home, sitting in our not yet unpacked kitchen.  You left me to deal with the $1100 a month house payment.  You took some skank to all the fine dining establishments in Memphis while I second guessed a $10 pizza for dinner.  You could not even be bothered to show up for our divorce court proceeding.  You strung me along for years and years and then once we got married, you then decided you hated me??  But, instead of just telling me that you hated me, you went out and got yourself a skanky girlfriend and racked up as much mutual debt as you possibly could, and proceeded to treat me like dirt for the last year of our marriage.  Who buys a 200k house with someone they hate???  Well, I sold that house, I cloroxed my soul, I fecked up your myspace account, and gave away your cats.  That box full of your stupid pictures and momentos that I left on your doorstep last year...was actually headed for the dump.  But, my black soul convinced me to just give it back.  I have hated you for the ruin you caused me, but now I just feel nothing.  Therefore, I am denying this friend request; as I don't friend strangers on Facebook, and you, my dear, are nothing more than a stranger to me."

Something kept me from hitting the send button. 

The evenings out on our deck, a small slice of paradise in the gritty Berclair neighborhood we resided in.  The way we could finish each other's sentences.  The fine cuisine I was treated to, in our tiny little kitchen, prepared by him.  The nicknames we gave the cats and weird little stories we made up about them, to each other's delight.  The painting of our living room, fire engine red; and how we both loved it.  The Sunday paper and quiet coffee slurping moments.  The late night movie marathons.  The amateur home improvement projects.  The dramatic reconciliations that usually came about at 3am on someone's doorstep.  The fleeting sense of peace when all was right. 

The adreneline that was at critical levels a few minutes before had settled down and I felt calm.  I saw the opportunity.  To go forward in peace, or dredge up the roiling (how I love that word) bitterness.  And it was with a calm and peaceful heart that I hit the "confirm" button. 

But, let it be known, if that asshat calls me up to invite me to dinner....someone's feelings are going to get hurt, and it won't be mine.