Short Stories and Nightmares

As Mr. Match and I start to talk again about what each of us wants and how to achieve our individual goals while treating each other with respect, I am doing a lot of self-examination to try to figure out what sent me careening off the mountaintop a week ago.

This self-examination takes me back to the period from 1988 through 1990. And another story for you. I'm not sure how much humor I can find in this story, but I'll try.
~
When I met and started dating John, he told me he had been having an affair with a woman who was married but determined not to break up her marriage because of her learning-disabled five-year-old son. He loved the woman, but was convinced they would never be together, and was tired of waiting. He wanted a life; he met me; he wanted a life with me.

We moved in together and began our lovely life. But this woman, EW, never went away. They would see each other every Monday night at chorus rehearsal. We would do things socially with EW and her husband. I would occasionally babysit the child when EW and her husband had social engagements and couldn't find a sitter.

Then EW had a conference to attend in Virginia Beach and asked John to go with her. I sat by, thinking he would get it out of his system, get her out of his system. But he didn't. She didn't really want him for herself, but she darned sure didn't want me to have him. She made promises to him, she enticed him. I would go on business trips and his routine would suddenly change. I'd call to say 'good morning' at a time when I knew he would be getting up and getting ready for work and he wouldn't be home. He would be late coming home from the Pentagon, and I would later find a parking ticket for illegal parking on P Street in front of her house at that time. The final stroke was around Valentine's Day of 1990. I was reviewing the credit card bill to pay, and found a large purchase at a leather goods store - a purchase I knew was not for him and not a gift for his children.

I'll remember the moment until the day I die. He was sitting at the end of the dining table. I walked up to him with the credit card bill in hand. I asked - not at all confrontationally - "What is this purchase?" He said it was a handbag for EW. He paused, then continued, "I cannot deny my love for her. I want to be with her."

I was thirty-nine years old. I had, at his suggestion and with his encouragement, left a secure position with a secure salary and eight years' tenure at IBM to be able to take some classes in law school that were only offered during the day. I had, one month earlier, gotten custody of 14yo Tyler — a very bright, musically gifted young man whom I absolutely could not place in D.C. public schools. I had a small part-time job as an editor for a legal publisher. I was almost completely financially dependent on John. And I loved him deeply and unconditionally, despite the nonsense with EW.

In that moment, with that sentence, my life fell apart.
~
When Mr. Match and I were talking on Thursday night, we were sharing our views and trying to understand each other's position. He asked why I'm threatened when he goes out with someone else. And to my astonishment, I heard myself say, "I'm afraid you'll find someone else who you like better than me. I want to be good enough."

With those words, I realized it's the bag marked "Little Adoptee" that is determing my thoughts and actions right now.

John and I used to love the movie, "Babe". It was the last movie we watched together before his death. At one point the farmer says to Babe, "That'll do, Pig. That'll do." It was the highest praise he could or needed to offer.

And that's all I want, all I need. I need someone for whom I'm good enough, for whom my presence in his life is sufficient. "That'll do."