So, the biggest and best of the fights between me and Katie have occured. I don’t want to type out “my side of the story”, just … the story.
Yesterday was a pretty good day with Katie. We had lunch, we spent some time together, and then at the end there was a situation that I was uncomfortable with, but I didn’t protest, so I’m just as much at fault for what happened. That situation doesn’t directly pertain to this story. These pleasant times are what recently have given me the assurance that Katie and I can be great friends and spend a wonderful summer together. I’m afraid that today’s events have fairly well dashed those hopes. And I believe that would be mutual for the two of us.
Katie started our time together in a bad mood. She couldn’t find her keys, she couldn’t drive her car, some of her work stuff was in the car that she can’t get into, her dad won’t return her calls looking for the spare key… She seemed to lighten up once I got there and gave her a reassuring hug. I put on some Dave Matthews, which seemed to help too. We went to the post office, and then a quick stop at her mom’s house and then back to my house to pick up my bike, which I took to Southside to get the flat repaired.
Then, Katie starts to demand to know what “I’ve been saying about her in the last fourty eight hours,” This is sort of a general question, so I’m not certain on how to approach it. I settle on the conversation I had with my mom about a pleasant lunch yesterday. Wasn’t even a conversation really, more of a statement. She keeps digging, “What bad things have you said about me?”
Here is the moment of truth for any guy around a girl. Do you do the right thing and be honost? or do you do the wrong thing and prop up your relationship with pleasant lies? I’ve really tried to stay as honost as possible with Katie. I won’t say that I havn’t skipped over saying some things that were a bit harsh, but for the most part, I believe I’ve done a pretty good job at keeping everything honost.
That trend continued today.
What I told Katie was something I thought was a sort of funny thing. It did have a negative tang to the flavor of it, but I guess, to her, it was more potent than a “tang”. She started crying. I drove on in silence. Near the end of downtown she told me I was an a!@#$%e. She told me again. Deciding that I didn’t want to deal with this treatment, I did a fourlane U-turn. Quite exhilarating, and quite dramatic. I think it caught Katie off guard. It caught myself a bit off guard too.
Once it became obvious of what I was doing, she let loose. A couple more times with the “a!@#$%e” routine. This isn’t the first spat we’ve had. This isn’t the first spat we’ve had this month. This isn’t the first spat we’ve had since she’s been home. They occur with a regularity. Such a regularity that I’ve really stopped putting up a fight. Putting forth effort doesn’t seem to do any good, so I stopped. Call me henpecked, but any effort in these fights is wasted effort. I agreed with her. That’s right. I am an a!@#$%e.
Guys, let me tell you something. If your going out of your way to convince a girl that your not a “a!@#$%e”, don’t agree with her. That makes you more of one in her eyes. She repeated it like a mantra. I demanded to know why she does a laundry list of nutty things, and I mention one of them to someone, she flips out. She didn’t answer. She told me she hated me.
Months back, I remember her telling me that she could “never hate me”. Ah, the permanent generalities of the unrealistic heart. To the best of my recollection, I’ve never said to anyone “I think we’ll be together forever,” or “I’ll never turn my back on you,” or anything along those lines, except I told Katie that I’ll always have love for her. And I hold myself to that. I also have the realization that I don’t have to see Katie, or be around Katie, or talk to Katie, to do so.
I told her I was sorry to hear that she hated me.
On Underwood, going about 35mph, she hits me in the face. I let it go. She’s the second girl to have ever hit me like that. The first was an Argentine girl, about fourteen lifetimes ago, over something that I didn’t understand at all… I don’t speak Spanish, she doesn’t speak English, long story short, huh?
She hits me in the face again, just as I’m about to turn onto Market. I slam on the brakes. The car behind me isn’t too happy about that. I grab Katie by the shirt and shake her. Hard. I tell her to stop touching me. I shake her again. I hit the hazard flashers. I wave the car behind me past, who ignores the wave. I look at Katie again. With sunglasses the ferocity of a enforcing look is often lost, if it’s backed with emotional domination instead of a physical domination, like a cop would have. She looked right in my face and told me again that she hated me.
Pushing the hazard flasher lights again, I turned on to Market. I stopped in front of her dad’s. She get’s out. She tells me she needs her clothes, which she left at my house. I tell her that I’ll get them to her. Truth be told, I may very well be an “a!@#$%^e”, but I’m not inconsiderate. She needs them for work.
She tells me, “Rot in hell, you stupid piece of s!@#,”
I call after her, “Ok, sounds good!”
Yeah. That was childish.
I drove to Southside alone. I ran things through my mind. So many options, so many actions, so easy to be inactive.
On my way back from Southside I had an idea, a primitive idea of a course of action. Inaction didn’t seem appropriate. I’d go to Katie’s mom’s house and talk to Katie’s mom. Why? Who knows. I’d figure that out as I went. The only thing I know I’d say first is tell her mom that I cared for her daughter, and although things might be so bad right now, going both ways, that there will be no peace between us, I wanted to say something… something… I don’t know what.
I stopped at my house to get Katie’s things. I’d at least return them to her mom, if nothing else. They were gone. Chrystal was in the shower, so I couldn’t ask her about that.
On the way to Katie’s mom’s house, every black car was Katie’s, then ever dark coloured car, then ever car that had a shiny grill. None were. Katie’s mom’s drive had no cars in it. I knocked anyway. No reply.
Back home, I asked Chrystal if she was in the shower when Katie was here. She said no, she gave me the run down on the situation about Katie and her mom coming in to get her things. Now, here I sit.
I don’t feel worked up. Or overly upset about what’s transpired. It’s not because I’m indifferent. It’s not because I don’t care. It’s because these fights have occurred with such regularity that getting worked up doesn’t do me any good. I’m not crying. I’m not angry. I’m not even disappointed.
Or maybe she’s just right. Maybe I am that “a!@#$%^”.
Chrystal was locked out of the house a few days ago, and tried to get me to come to the door to let her in at 2am. I thought she was Katie, so I ignored her. The reason why? Katie had been waiting in the parking lot at Red Lobster for, according to her, an hour, earlier in the night waiting for me to get off work. Perhaps the first time that Katie had done this, camping the Red Lobster parking lot, I wasn’t sufficiently vocal about how creepy this was and how I didn’t like it. Irregardless of my inability to convince Katie to not stake out my work, I was not in the mood to be seriously creeped out again in the same night. I told Chrystal about this.