Mental Musings from
The Marginatrix
...because sometimes I just need to share my thoughts.
At a certain point, my choice in the matter became irrelevant. This was something I had to do. Until I had exhausted all of my options, I feared I would have no peace. I sat down at my computer and my search commenced.
Facebook? Nothing. Instagram? Nothing. Twitter? Nothing. LinkedIn? A minimal profile with very little information and no picture to confirm I had found the right person. The location seemed about right so I sent a connection request. And waited. And waited. But I'm not a patient person, and within the week, I knew I would need to do something more proactive. I began composing a letter. And back to Google I went. It's surprising the information you can find with minimal searching. I found some obituaries, but thank God, not the one I feared most. I'm not sure why a frisson of fear caused me to gasp at that thought. Perhaps because, to me, he was still the young man I'd worshipped in my youth, the one I'd loved despite logic and any sense of self-preservation, all too willing to sacrifice myself upon the altar of his choosing. Perhaps it was just because that would mean acknowledging that I, too, had aged. Before I knew it I had narrowed down the location to two possible addresses. I also found a phone number but I wasn't that bold. I suppose, in retrospect, that would have been fitting since our relationship had begun with a phone call 36 years ago. Let him be the one to call this time, I thought. Still, my motivation back then was driven by desperation and infatuation. Now, my motivation was driven by concern, and yes, curiosity. The common denominator was a question of “what if?” The smart person prefers not to make decisions in a vacuum. I didn't know how contact might be received so I needed some feedback before taking the risk. And I needed to closely examine what I hoped to achieve. Might it be best to let sleeping dogs lie? If I were being honest, did I still harbor some hope that I might understand where things had gone wrong? And was that wrong? Ultimately, this was something I had to do. In a way that I was unable to put into words, I knew there was something bigger at play; there was an unknown, indefinable, indefatigable force pushing me to do this. A piece of my heart, long forgotten, called to me from where I'd left it, 3,000 miles away, an invisible psychic tether drawing me back to it. I hit print, addressed and stamped the envelope, and handed it to the mail carrier on a Friday afternoon. Wednesday morning my phone rang, and though I didn't know the number, I knew the area code. I let it go to voicemail. Some days later, I reached him by phone and we spoke for almost two hours. He wondered how I'd known he needed a friend now. Had I suspected his life had gone to shit? Had I come to save him? How had I timed this to so perfectly align with his need for connection? Was I married? Was I happy? He told me how sorry he was for the hurt he had caused. And that he’d thought of me often and had regretted it many times over the years, and questioned why he'd done what he'd done. He still didn’t know the answer, but I suspected I did. He'd turned to drugs. Not a surprise, really. He'd wrecked one marriage and was enroute to wrecking the second. I told him, no matter where you go, there you are. I hung up the phone and the first thought I had was, there, but for the grace of God, go I. At one time, I'd considered spending my life with him. I’d imagined I could be his savior. Thankfully, he had prevented any further consideration of that in a way that was both painful, long-lasting, and final. I sighed as I realized I had dodged a bullet. Not for the first time, my guardian angel had saved me from a harm I would not have recognized myself, and redirected me toward something better. Ironic that my guardian angel should work through him to my benefit while allowing him to self-destruct. Perhaps he had been my savior instead. November 20, 2018
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Elizabeth J. Connor
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