I’ve been so silent of late and for once it isn’t my coldness sending me into some emotionless void.  I am just still.  I don’t pace, and I don’t prowl or claw the walls with restless anger or rage.  It’s a quiet that I appreciate even as I suspend my mind to write this sentence out:

I was waiting to see if I had cancer.

It’s funny, you see, this concept of something going on without my permission because, I control everything on some level.  I would have said that I control my body with equal ruthlessness, but in all truth, this has made it clear that I do not.  I guide it, help it, with a regimine that determines its shape, but not its potential.

And like anything else, it can turn on you.

The test itself was clear, but the taste of its potential hasn’t left my mouth.  I’ve watched someone die from it.  I’ve seen it destroy everything and finally take what was left of the rubble.  I’ve seen its hand of violence and can’t stomach the idea of seeing it again - especially first hand.

And it’s caused this pause.  I am in reflection.

This is sadly no-where near the much more salicious on-goings of my relationship with N.  Or sex.  Or my slight razor fetish, dominance or any of the other things I speak to you about day to day, or lately week-to-week.

and it isn’t as if I haven’t lived my life.  I think this just gave me pause to remind me, in the midst of whining about jogging, that I am not ready to give it up.

Tonight however, I’m thinking of the man who smiled through it all even as the rest of us were crying.

We sat around a fire which was the only thing keeping the air warm around us. It was one of those odd places in Texas that more closely resembled the Arizona desert air rather than the standard, saturated and thick air. It was a large stone circle that held the fire, surrounded by a larger broken ring of stone benches.

The crowd was diverse, meaning that is extended beyond my usual group, and their normal debate intense conversation. It was casual, relaxing. The woman I was with sat close by, content to rest her head on my shoulder and listen to the soft rises and lulls in the conversation.

A couple, married for 12 years, as I’d later learn, sat close by. The woman was obviously quite drunk and crying in that leaking-eye way that said she was trying to hold it all in. Emotional drunks never clicked with me. I’ve always viewed them like liars, capable of release and honesty when they could blame it on their inability to hold their drink. The man, visibly upset, was speaking with a friend of mine quite loudly that pretty much put their problems up for the debate.

I’ll spare you the details of it, mostly because I was doing my best to ignore the bulk of it. I don’t do spontaneous relationship counseling unless its an emergency and you’re a friend, and rarely even then. My companion was sitting up now, her head turned to the people, as most of them were now, watching and listening to him tell my friend, who was trying to calm him down, how ‘worthless’ she was, how she makes him ’sick.’

The woman in question, who in spite of the excess of alcohol she’d consumed, was obviously quite conscientious of the conversation. She sat there with a sort of whipped dog posture, her head down, her face scrubbing away tears with the arm and hand that held her beer.

Someone who I can assume knew him, came over and intervened and said something along the lines of not ‘putting her business out there.’ I believe the answer was ‘fuck off.’

At this point, I looked over at one from my group, and then over at another friend. My companion (G) scooted off with J’s girl (D) to take the drunk woman off for a group bathroom trip. Other people quietly filtered off, unwilling to be a participant in the conversation, or at very least, witnesses. Aware of the blossoming tension in the air perhaps, or maybe the lessening diversity in gender, the husband quieted, and later walked off to parts unknown.

It was a subtle battle. When the J’s girl and mine returned without the woman, they smiled.

‘She won’t remember a thing in the morning.’ G said.

‘Yep, tossed off her ass.’ D confirmed. ‘but, she will definitely find the divorce attorney’s card and the domestic violence cards we left in her purse.’

‘Carry those around with you everywhere you go?’ J smirked. ‘Or do you have the yellow pages in your panties?’

‘Neither. The female attorney followed us to the bathroom and we ran across the hotline lady while we were in there.’

Clearly, we have something to learn when it comes to subtle.

Now, a question for you. Why did I name this post honor?

I reached my saturation point during a birthday party for a friend. We, meaning some friends of mine, had been invited two weeks ago, and only planned to join the party for maybe an hour, two at most. I was too tired to even bother with it, and resented going, but did so because ‘it was the right thing to do.’

I am fairly skilled at putting on my game face, and can be the life of the party even when everything in my world is rocked to its core. I’ve done so before, and engage actively in the practice, simply to distance myself from my inner monologue. At some point, the facade broke. It wasn’t a burst of impatience or anger, but the slow withering of my shell over the 5 hours we were there.

I would have left earlier, but again, I came with other people who were still enjoying the company. I stayed for them, but my weariness was wrapping itself around me like a heavy blanket. I felt exhausted. When more people arrived, when the crush of bodies grew thicker, I couldn’t stomach it.

I had done my duty. I’d done the right thing and still, I was stuck here. I looked at my friend, prayed he would understand, but somehow, he didn’t see it. I realized I was still smiling. In spite of what I felt, the tidal wave of crushing gray coming around my brain, I still looked like I was having a good time.

I called a service and just when I saw them turning up the drive to the front of the house, I made good my leave, handing them the keys to my car for when they wanted to follow. It always seems when you want to disappear, no one will allow you to do so. When I left, the peace I sought, flooded in.

I understand the addict. I’ve known them personally, helped them professionally, and understand why they give up their independence to a chemical. If I could inject something in my blood to make that sensation of peace overwhelm me, I’d be addicted too.

I’ve spent the day chez moi, delving even further into the murk that makes up my complex and rather off-putting emotional make up. No music today, rather I’ve favored the silence that comes with work and general household toil. I like the peace it offers me, to be in quiet. I am an introvert by nature, although most would not describe me this way after seeing my social mask.

I try to write with it off, because it isn’t truthfully who I am. I am, however, used to playing a role. I am adaptive to almost any role. It is what makes me successful. It is what engenders trust in me as a whole - knowing that the curve ball won’t cause me to miss the home run.

People fall in love with him. My mask. He is what you want or need him to be. He is the quarterback, the all-star, the CEO, the lover, the confidant and the best friend rolled neatly into one person. He is me and yet not me. He, never questions his choices. I do. He never , ever, fails. I, regrettably, do. And he never gets hurt. I do.

This isn’t coming on the heels of a loss. This introspection isn’t caused by anything other than
my greedy, and yes, sometimes egocentric nature. In times like this, I value the people in my life. I could name them here, but would undoubtedly leave someone absent from the list.

When I am raw, my mask retired, they are what keep me sane. They offer, but don’t condemn. They take, yes, but always give back. If you are that person, thank you for the shelter. It’s the only thing that saves me from myself.

…oh and for the record, I love writing. If I didn’t get it out of my head, my brain would explode or melt down from everything striking together…