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Is that it?

by Kristin Collins

Last week, Joshua arranged a special phone call to China.  He emailed me the night before to make sure that I would be home, and broke the news that he had been “hanging out” with someone.  Actually he said, a second girl had also been fond of him, but he was going to take the time today to call her and break the news that he didn’t like her. “Be gentle”, I encouraged.  My creepily logical side comforted each of us, and we got off the phone. Faced with more traumatic events then a break up, I’ve conditioned myself to spill open my rational side soaking my emotional parts in a calm stupor. The next day, I called to yell, logical Kristin still gushing, this time laced with moments of rage.  I’ve never felt this way before.  I’ve been trying to figure out how to separate myself from him, even hoping to make a trip to America to settle the belongings that he has generously been managing for the last year.  I understand his position. Touching and sharing with another person feels really good.  However, the inflated version of Joshua, drunk with success, is just so shocking to me. I never expected our relationship, our beautifully unconventional relationship, to end with such tragic blah-dom. I can’t even describe it to my friends without them shrugging it off.   This shit actually does happen. It’s so average, understandable, and completely lame. I feel lucky that I’ve taken another step in knowing my life a little more clearly, however, I feel so betrayed that the love that we shared did not command a more delicious ending. His cavalier confession annoys the shit out of me, and although I really accept that he has decided to start dating other people, it’s impossible for me to understand why on earth he would share such poignant news with such crass bravado. Perhaps it all really doesn’t matter after all, and the excitement that my emotional side hopes to stir is just a waste of thought, time, and energy.
So, my life is changing again.  I guess there is a 6 month threshold since it seems every half year something magical happens and the bound lotus in my chest unfolds some more.  Since Joshua and I lived together, he has been residing among all of the odds and ends that I didn't square away before I left
America.  From the fluffy pink prom dress that he bought for me one night a few years ago at a vintage shop on 9th street after closing time, to my brand new car which sits to rot in New Jersey at his parents house, and our beautiful little doggie...I left many loose ends when I sped away to China.  Believing that I wouldn't be gone for more then a year, it seemed fair at the time.  In my (our) imagination, we'd reunite after a year, and things would fall right back into place.  Luckily for the two of us, things fell as they should.  Where we left off in March 2005 wasn't a place that dreams were made of.  Our relationship actually grew much stronger while we were 8500 miles apart, and the resulting infrequency of our contact made visits and conversations buttery sweet.   Knowing the connection that we shared, I can't help but analyze whether or not our paths were meant to collide or if we were just supposed to shoulder check each other on our way somewhere else. 

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"Kristin, I don't know whether to shake you or hug you (maybe both). The bad news is that even after you find the love of your life (and you will), the scars of those decades-old betrayals open up at the weirdest times, and the wound still hurts. After 60 years on Planet Earth, it still happens to me, and I feel angry, like a dope, and unloved. Someday I'll tell you about my best friend Mary Ann Kelly and my faux beaux John Ryan. Turns out they were singing "She's got a Ticket to Ride" the day I went home for Christmas vacation and laughed about it to my other friends. The reason I want to shake you is that I worry you'll think this betrayal is a reflection on you. It's not. I only know you through your writing, which is totally "Kristin." It is filled with inimitable touches of humor, wonder, and self-deprecation. You are a treasure. I can see you from a world away just rolling your eyes at the word "treasure." But -- like it or not -- you are. When you are back in the states, Tom, Russell, and Michael will bring you to Virginia so I can cook a fabulous dinner since I know you appreciate interesting food. Alas, I'm a pretty boring cook. Now to make you feel a little bit better. I just had my 35-year-old camelback sofa recovered. It was delivered last week, and I cannot afford to re-do it. I think it was your Shanghai influence. I read everything you write. (So really, it'a all your fault.) Anyway, the fabric that reminded me of the 18th century and General Lafayette sipping port with General Washington in Alexandria, Virginia, while Martha sat embroidering behind the firescreen so the wax carefully placed in her pock marks wouldn't melt is in reality a 1950s lunatic look. The background is shiny gold (not beige as I thought) with shocking pink lions (not subtle rose -- as I thought) facing each other with big hairy paws raised in combat. They are surrounded by hideous laurel leaves. LAUREL LEAVES! Who thinks this fabric design up? The fabric was shipped air-express from Italy. I just need a clear plastic slipcover to make it perfect. Art and Bethie suggested that separately, and I thought it. So, I feel terrible that you have this pain, glad that you have your friend to vent your rage. I always tell my kids it will all turn out right in the end because it's what my dad told me, and he was right. Don't feel obliged to accept this comment, just know that I really do care. Oh, and when you move back to NYC, I have the perfect sofa for your loft. I'll be switching to a very "quiet" navy blue silk damask. P.S. It's true about the wax in the pockmarks (but maybe Martha didn't have them). P.P.S. I hope you feel better. I care."

by Beth Kane