the artist and i have been on a few dates. enough to know we like each other. enough that i feel like it might be time to exit man-slut mode and own up to my actions to her.
dinner at a fashionable german restaurant. celebrate our commen heritage.
it’s loud, not intimate. so i picked that part wrong. i let us get a little tipsy on kolsh beer.
“so i’ve seen a few people while we’ve been dating, just so you know.”
“oh.” – voice isn’t so strong.
“yeah, um, well i wasn’t sure how we were doing, and i met an ex while i was in new york.”
“i see.” – voice is shaky now. i’ve made a mistake.
“also, i kissed a boy, but it’s not something that should be a concern.”
“…”
“…”
“i broke everyone off for you, haven’t seen anyone else, and it’s not like i didn’t have a choice. and you didn’t tell me you were gay.”
“i didn’t ask you to do that, and, um, i’m not gay… we just kissed.”
“well did it happen before, then yeah, you’re fucking gay.”
the rest goes roughly the same. exhausting. she’s emotional, holding back her outbursts as much as she can, but they visibly move through her, under her skin.
ugly words come out quietly. “whore”. “slut”. “queer”.
i feel bad about only two of them. one makes me angry.
i do feel bad, i try to explain to her. slutting around happened, seven years of “monogamy” undone unleashes a lot of sensual nonsense. she’s not having it.
in short, she walks out. leaving me there, with a bill, with my actions, my history.
i can’t blame her for being angry, i’ll forgive her epithets regarding my boy-kiss as a result of anger induced nonsense..
but that said, my greatest hypocrisy is probably my impatience for her anger — just as i feel my own anger welling up as well. i’m not sure what goal it solves. it seems like such a vestigial remnant of our primitive pasts yet it, and fear of it, drive our actions to the point of distraction.
it feels like anger is basically the opposite of empathy. and while i was wrong – at least in most people’s eyes – empathy might have been in order, too, or at least just disappointment that i didn’t meet her unspoken expectations. at least understand why i upset you.
so when i see her walk out the door without bothering to try to understand, my respect for her wanes. i’m already moving on.
