"I'm not really the jealous type."
"Me neither. I believe if your heart is gone it's gone and all the jealousy in the world won't help."
"Exactly!"
"I think it's just better to trust."
"Me too!"
Ok, cuddly iceberg memory dead ahead! Turn! Turn! Turn..!
Sigh, yes. For everything there is a season. A time to love a time to trust. That time was MyUnwife and I 11 years ago. That ship sailed moons ago, but think I can still stand by the conversation. Sure, you can look at us like the Titanic, but I like to think I'm more the Nina—MyUnwife can be the Pinta. We didn't find the Indies, but we did sail off with some cool memorabilia and great things to do with turkey and corn other than creaming.
One thing I did learn: there's a huge difference between jealous and suspicious, but neither one leads to happiness.
I've told you about my crush. I'm not going to refresh that story. Nothing happened, and MyUnwife knows that nothing happened. What's more, I'll go so far as to say she knew nothing was happening at the time. She wasn't jealous, I've seen jealous before. I know what it looks like. It's a fuzzy Visine eyeball with lasers shooting out. That wasn't her, Not being jealous didn't stop her from being suspicious.
My cell rang, she'd glare. An IM conversation came up on my computer, She'd flinch. I probably didn't help. IM's were either my sister or my NoCal buddy. Rather than making sure she understood that, I'd just reply quietly, because everybody wants something. My sister wants to say hello. My buddy wants to keep his mind off his troubles. MyUnwife wants another reason to hate me. At least she did then. I don't know why, she already had plenty. There for a while I couldn't joke with her without receiving a snarl. And yet I thought she was funny.
"Wow, another beer? That's two this week. Are you sure you can handle it."
"It's the only way I can keep from bashing your head in."
"That's funny! Ha ha…funny right?"
"Grrrrr.."
"I'll be over here kissing the rattlesnake, where it's safe…"
The cell phone was something different. I'd get calls, but I
never answered them. Nobody called me. The only calls that came in were debt collectors looking for "Bill," and some sailor looking for "Telemachus." That certainly wasn't me. The calls were never for me and I never answered. Why would I? My cell was an outie not an innie. So I adopted the "They'll leave a message" philosophy of phone service. It worked for me, not for her. She saw this as me hiding something. Some panting Circe or Rob groupie stalking from the closest cell tower.
In these modern times of electronic evidence, I wonder if she ever searched my computer. What did she find? I mean there was nothing there. She had open access to my computer, my email, and everything. I only changed my passwords once she asked for a divorce, and only then because I didn't want her to see some of the things my friends were writing. Bitter divorced friends make great coals for fire. Other than that, there was nothing on my computer except scraps of insanity: Partial stories, random stanzas, incomplete thoughts. These would all, of course, be code. She was suspicious.
Don't get me wrong. I had suspicions about her too. Her change was sudden and absolute. Where did it come from? Was there a guy? I doubted that. I just figured maybe some black pearl of crisis she decided to hold inside rather than open up and share.
Then one day, I heard the call. After she'd told me she was leaving, I logged onto her computer. I needed to get any files I'd left there from when we were a one computer family.
Sitting alone in the office I transferred treasures to CD.
"Ro-ob" the siren's voice called. It was a mysterious song from the cache of her computer.
"Yes."
"Since you're already here, wouldn't you like to have a look around?" the mer-file splashed playfully at me from a bit rock, hoping I'd byte.
"No. It's her computer. I've just got these pictures of the cats I need."
"C'mon, you know those aren't the only pictures she keeps here." She sang, urging me closer to the shore.
"Nope. Don't care. Not gonna do it. These Shamu pictures are mine though."
"Maybe you should look through your pictures before you download. Make sure there's nothing you want to leave," She cooed.
"Yeah, that's a good idea." No it wasn't. It was a bad idea and the mer-file knew it. She wanted me to see the memories. She wanted me to taste the salt, to feel the hurt and the wave slap of love lost.
Flipping her hair, she asked again, "how about now?"
She didn't need to ask. I was already swimming to shore as fast as my typing finger could drag me. I was a CSI: Wherever forensic computer geek, cutting and pasting, drawing image maps in the sky. Zooming and catching reflective glimpses of the woman who owned the computer. Tech sweat dripping from my brow, cool indie electronica played to the beat of my tapping fingers digging deeper and deeper.
Encrypted file of criminal sketch artists rendition of perps. Notice the Snydly Wiplash mustache and the Witchy-Poo pumps. The other culprit appears to be Mr. Monopoly backsteping with ill-gotten booty bag.
Somewhere here: Another guy, bitter friends screaming "Divorce!" Hidden assets. Show me your secrets, bitch! Hours of searches piled window upon window. There was something here. A signal, an answer, a sign. I crashed the computer on the rocks and fell to the floor gasping. There was nothing there, but I'd found my sign:
Abandon all hope all ye who enter here.
We'd both surrendered trust to the siren call of suspicion and were left with nothing more than brine and foam. Gasping, I replayed a conversation from long ago:
"I'm not really the jealous type."
"Me neither. I believe if your heart is gone it's gone and all the jealousy in the world won't help."
"Exactly!"
"I think it's just better to trust."
"Me too!"
Those poor kids. I'd tell them they're lying to themselves, but it won't do any good. The good news is now it's a new voyage. I can't speak for MyUnwife but I can say this, the very things I was most suspicious of before, I actually wish for her with all of my heart now. Another guy, friends who care enough to take care of her, wealth beyond her dreams. May they carry her ship to Valhalla's shores.
I hear another siren call right now. It tells me I'm got nothing to worry about. My belly is fat. My sails are full. There's a little chop, but my vessel is strong, and I've learned to trust my course. God will lead me to good places.
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