I am Leaving You Jake, Goodbye!

Part 1

The conversation had taken a comic turn towards what our relationship would be like after the split. The jokes were full of sexual innuendo on his part, and on mine, the multitude of male friends I would have to take his place.

He took it better than I, but things were the way he wanted, with no compromise on his part. I was dissatisfied. I had plans to leave. I had an offer accepted on a condo, a plan. I was on my way out.

We had been what seemed like best friends, loving partners, with wits and humors, and dispositions well matched, but the relationship was stagnant. After being together for three years, the time for commitment had come and gone, Jake asserted he was committed, but my question would be, to whom was he committed, because it didn’t seem there was any commitment to me, only a carrot stick leading the way.

Commitment was not a word he understood, my commitment, yes, but not his. I hated his resistance, it was stifling, it was beginning to make me feel the same kind of fear he lived with everyday. His fear that another woman would leave him, “women always leave, he said” A self fulfilling prophesy,” not to mention he was running me off with his lack of courage, and covertly controlling all elements of our lives. He wrote the book on denial, and I spent too much time reading it. When it came to marriage he firmly planted his feet into the path of least resistance, now, he only wanted to live together.

“What as? What as?” I asked, quoting some favorite lines from Reds. “ Your mistress, your paramour, your concubine?” My humor weakened my position, but defended my dignity. “This is serious,” I crossed my arms to emphasize my position. My impish stance invited humor, and a smile began spreading across his face. I furrowed my brow. “ Remember all the times when I was certain your feelings and mine were mutual, my head in the clouds, silly in love, waiting to hear those three little words, “ lets get married? Well, I don’t want that anymore!”

Having experienced disappointment too many times before, I found it harder to allow my feelings to resurface. Just before the last straw, I had felt like a Christmas tree trimmed out in garlands and ribbons, ornaments that sparkled, a gold star on top. I brightened the room with my warmth, dazzling smile, bright eyes and festive spirit.

“Jerez , he said, I am not emotionally ready to marry.”

I felt as though he had thrown a bucket or two of ice cold water over my head. My star pitched, garlands slid, lights crackled, popped and sizzled, blinked one last time. The room turned dark. The papers from the presents dissolved, the boxes collapsed revealing emptiness. I ran down the basement stairs, opened the freezer door, climbed in, dug like a clam to the bottom beneath the frozen vegetables, and hid my feelings there, closed the freezer, locked the door, and evidently have lost the key. Probably buried in the pocket of some parka at the local Salvation Army. The new owner would never guess it was the key to someone’s heart.