Owatta Nass Iyam

Tuesday night, X came to collect Bubba. He has been acting very strange lately – nice, but in a forced way – so when I brought the discussion to finances, he asked about the money I made at my mother’s garage sale. I looked at him questioningly. He asked again about the money, this time mentioning an amount – one that I had only mentioned here, in this blog. The realization dawned on me like a crash when I realized he had discovered and had been reading my words here. In my eyes, I have always treated X with kindness and respect for the most part when I speak of him here and I certainly haven’t used it as a forum to trash him. Nevertheless, it has hurt his feelings.

He sat down on my loveseat, the lone piece of furniture left in my living room, and began to talk about the things I had written that had upset him. What seemed to have the most effect on him was that he was barely mentioned, and rather a sideline in my life, “the ex-husband,” and nothing more. It confused me that he was upset that I talked about him as the X. I think that he is more interested in his role in my life as friend, and it hurt him that I have defined our relationship as one of exes. I struggled to understand what he wanted from me, and he was unable to express it.

It is plainly obvious who of us emerged from this split the better person – perhaps we just look at divorce differently. I have seen his mother once since he moved out, and not at all since her debilitating car crash. I have seen his sister twice; the second time she was all weirded out because I was with Mr. Slick and she had no idea I was seeing anyone (don’t know why it was a big deal – X is with his second girlfriend). And that is it. I haven’t been to there house; I never call. I just split with X and his family and friends at all. Since the night Mr. Slick and I connected at the party, I have not seen any of the people that were there. I didn’t return phone calls, and I didn’t make any. It was just the way I had to do it – especially since I was with Mr. Slick.

X on the other hand has helped my aunt numerous times with moving things, plumbing chores and yard stuff. He helped my cousin get a job. He calls my mom often, if only to tell her to back off me, and also calls my sister, because he knows she is going through a tough time – what with being a rebellious teenage girl and all. He calls me just to say hi and see how I am doing. And he does nice things, like bring me McDonald’s, medicine, and a friendly ear when I am sick.

We both have dealt with things differently. I withdrew. He did not. It has never been my intention to hurt any one’s feelings, but this is just the way that I have to do this.

Bubba has a habit of telling stories, but knowing that you haven’t seen a person in a while, she will say, “Mommy, me and Carrie…you member Carrie, Mommy?” And depending on your answer, she will either tell whom the person is or move on with her story.

X called me again to chastise me for not calling his mother, and said, “Your daughter made her cry this morning. Do you know what she said?”

“How could I?” I asked snidely.

“She said, ‘member my mommy, Granny?’ and my mom said, ‘Of course I remember your mommy. Does your mommy remember me?’ and the Bubba said, ‘No, she doesn’t. My mommy doesn’t member you at all.’ So my mom cried and cried about that. Today is her birthday, Roxy. You really should call her.” X’s voice was full of sadness and disappointment.

I couldn’t help the smile that came to my face at how cute Bubba must have been when she said that. I can’t imagine that Granny would believe Bubba’s statement, but I am sure she feels that way since I haven’t called. X said that she tried so hard to make me like her, but nothing she did worked. I suppose that is one of the most terrible things about me. If you do things a way that I can’t abide, then I can’t abide you. I am right. You are wrong. I am good. You are bad. Don’t do things my way, and I will show you the door.
She with her littered living room, her salads that aren’t salads, and the way she always insisted on trying to feed my daughter sweets when I have a strict sweet rule are just a few of the things that got to me. It was a struggle for power. I wanted to be my daughter’s mom, and she wanted to undermine my rules. Sure I feel bad that she is in a wheelchair, but I don’t know what to say to her. So today is her birthday. If I call her, what do I say? Would calling her make things better?

I told X that I would think about it, calling her, but I know that I won’t. It will be an e-mail or nothing. I can control what is said with an e-mail. I don’t have to try to explain not calling. I don’t have to mention it. I can write, “Happy birthday, sorry you got in a car crash” and be done with it.

Hey, back off – I didn’t put narcissistic in the title for nothing, folks.