Scroll down and Read Part I first or this won't make sense.
So, let me “finish” my girlfriend story.
When Kevin died, Caroline and I weren’t speaking, hadn’t in fact
for about three years. We had gotten
into something by email and when she went into a rage she could be so
destructive and abusive, I let her go.
Kevin wanted to get us back together and after all that time and hardly
even remembering what we had argued about, we were in tentative talks to maybe
do that. Then he died. I didn’t know it, of course, and we were in
Gainesville that summer that we rented a little house near the campus for six
weeks. I don’t answer calls from
unidentified numbers and I had gotten one from an unknown number, and then I
got a call from someone asking me to call Caroline, which I wasn’t too keen to
do without talking to Kevin first.
Somehow I ended up hearing from her neighbor I think that he had been
killed, and I was so stunned and bereft that I wailed and cried and felt sorry
for myself and then realized that she must be lost completely. She was estranged from her oldest son (for
all those reasons that we weren’t speaking), and Kevin wasn’t just her beloved
son, he was her lifeline. He lived about
a half hour away and visited her weekly, picked up her medication for her,
smoked a little pot with her, and talked with her in a way few people would
believe. They were so honest with each
other!
So, I went to the funeral.
She actually sent me the ticket and paid for my hotel room and bought me
a tire when I blew mine out on the highway.
She could be so generous and loving and effusively lavish with praise as
well. No one in the world could tell you
how wonderful and special you were better than she, and no one could cut you
off at the knees and find your most vulnerable spot and exploit it like she
could. I would believe her assessment: I
was wonderful and talented and brilliant and funny, and I also took to heart when she told me I was narcissistic
and insensitive, that she hated me and never wanted me in her life and to drop
dead. It was horrendous, her wrath. Eventually, not only forgiving me (for what,
I’m not sure, never was sure but decided to let it go for Kevin’s sake) she
involved me in her life – she had no one else, remember? I was a co-signer on her bank account and it
was substantial because of Kevin’s life insurance monies, she consulted me on
everything and finally came to south Florida and stayed in a nearby motel for
two weeks before deciding to move to south Florida in spite of the fact that
she had a son in Atlanta who had encouraged her to move near him, which made a
lot more sense to me. I didn’t want to
be responsible for her and most of all, I didn’t want what I would get if she
decided she was angry with me again, which of course happened in fairly short
order. And I was just so done. She had told me to drop dead one time too
many and I told her if she ended up in the hospital she could call me, but
nothing short of absolute emergency. And
she angrily agreed and assured me she had “friends.” People I could see would take advantage of
her. For all her brilliance, (genius
I.Q.) she was so naïve about people. If
they told her they liked her, well they must, right? God.
So time passed; I wrote my novels she had so strongly
encouraged me to write and I even thought about taking them to her and leaving
them on her door stoop but never did.
Then she called one day; I saw on my cell phone that it was her number
and I just couldn’t bring myself to answer it and she left no message. I got home and she had called the house, too
and left no message. A few months later
Chris called me to tell me she had moved back to South Carolina – Greenville,
where Kevin had lived – and that she had committed suicide. Something about smothering. I imagine a plastic bag but I can’t figure
out what she did with her hands to keep them from trying to save herself. She had always threatened suicide and even
made a few attempts (at least that what she told me). Finally, she had succeeded. Her landlord found her and called Chris and
he called me. I will always regret my
spinelessness at not picking up the damn phone.
Maybe she was saying she was leaving to go back to where she had been
close to Kevin, maybe she was telling me she forgave me, maybe she was going to
tell me to come get whatever I wanted of hers, maybe she was calling to tell me
to go to hell, but I could have survived that, couldn’t I?
Now I’ll never know what she was calling about. Her silence is deafening. In my whole life I have had wonderful
friends, stable, some not so stable, sweet, concerned, encouraging
friends. But I never had a friend like
her. She just didn’t let me get away
with anything. Not a single, tiny rationalization. No chance to deceive myself with self-talk as
long as she was around. No lame excuses.
We wrote long, long letters to each other as well as even using a tape recorder
to “talk” letters that she had in a box that all went wherever her stuff, an
entire apartment full of it, went because she “hired” some neighbors to bring
it to her and of course they didn’t. Just
didn’t – everything she owned except what she must have been able to get into
her car. I don’t even know what happened
to her cat, Missy. She must have sat in
that apartment in South Carolina feeling so lost and betrayed and alone. She needed very strong medication for a
severe back injury – narcotic strong – and apparently she couldn’t get it because
she needed to get a new doctor, etc. etc.
Bureaucracy.
I ducked out. I was a coward. Just because I didn’t want her to hurt me
again – as only she could do. When
someone you believe loves you and they turn on you and say horrible, hurtful
things – things designed to hit in all your soft places, it’s hard to turn the
other cheek and consider the source – she really was ill; I know that. Probably Borderline Personality
Disorder. I had a few of them as clients
when I was in practice and they were impossible. They either loved you – you were the best –
or they couldn’t believe you were supposed to be their therapist, you were so
vile. That was her to a tee. So, I know.
I know. But still. Come on, what would it have cost me to answer
the fucking phone? Apparently whatever
it was, I wasn’t willing to pay it.
Several people have encouraged me to let myself off the hook – you took
enough, you had no reason to believe it wouldn’t have been more of the same,
blah blah blah. They are all well-meaning,
I know. They love me, after all. But she would tell me the truth – I was a
coward. And she would be right. I regret most the things I didn’t do over the
things I actually did. And that goes to
the top of the list. I ignored her call,
and I don’t get another chance. She died
horribly, my friend. I don’t believe in
God or in heaven. She did – she was sure
she would see Kevin again. I hope she
was right.
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