the storm

It beat on the windows.  The hail outside is like gun fire.  It is 2 a.m.  I flip my pillow over to the cool side and bury my face.  I want to go back to where I just was.  Even though I know it's not real.  I can't really taste it.  But my soul mate was there, and I ache to talk with him one last time.
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“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.

A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave.

A soul mates' purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master...”
― Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love
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It's been 7 years.  When I walked away for the last time, I was physically sick.  My stomach  dropped and dropped and dropped.  I felt it in my stomach because that's where the tether is.  It is still there.  Sometimes the right song will pull it tight again.
One drunken night he yelled at me.  He thrust a fist into his gut and pleaded,
"Cut this!  This metaphysical tether you are holding!"
As usual, I rolled my eyes, popped out a hip and slurred,
"What are you talking about?   God you're so dramatic."

Years later I would yell back at him when I realized what he meant,
"You think I did this!  I don't want this tether either!"
We were stomping through San Francisco streets, drunk as usual.
I wore a tiny red dress that swished around my thighs like ocean waves.
"Isn't it obvious!" I shouted.
"What?"
"That we're fucking in love with each other!"
A year and a half after we stated it, I said goodbye for the last time.
We weren't exactly in love.  We were in bondage, and I had to get free.

I was 16 when we met.  There must have been something pulling.  Because I showed up on his door-step one night, and informed him we were going to drink together.  And we did.  Jaigermeister, the whole bottle.  This became our ritual.  I had a personal shot glass he kept in his cupboard.
After ringing the door bell I wondered, 'What am I doing here?'  But then he answered.  It was as if he was expecting me.
We talked all night.  My mind was equally agile to his.  What a relief to be able to run that fast.  Like a horse whose reigns are finally released we bolted into wide open space together.

For 10 years I circled wide, but always came back.
I migrated all over the state and to the east coast for a year and a half...trying to outrun myself.
Trying to tame the horse I'd let run.
I never didn't write to him.  More than half of my letters, he has never seen.

We tried to be a couple twice.
Both times ending in implosion like a black hole.
But just before we went black, we were sublime, too bright for this world. 
We couldn't function, we could only theorize.
I can feel the tether now, as I write.
I was certain this would all have faded by now.  It hasn't. 
And especially in my dreams, I can sense all of it.
Like how one smell retreives an entire section of life, I can bring it all back.

I don't wish this away anymore.
I've made peace with the ache.  I am glad for it.
It helps me not fall asleep. 

We took a road trip to a place called Pagosa Springs once.
I was drinking so much at that time.  I don't even know what state we were in.
But we sat out on the patio of an empty restaurant.
A pizza and a pitcher of beer.  I was only drinking beer.
All of a sudden, Christmas lights fluttered awake all around us. 
An orange and red glow held our little table.
The loan server of the restaurant popped his head through the sliding door and said,
"I thought I should turn the lights on.  Cuz it looked like a movie, ya know?"

The sad thing is we didn't talk much anymore by then. 
I am an alcoholic, and I couldn't survive drinking like we did.
I was shriveling up and he knew it.  I knew it.  Like the spouse of a cancer patient he took note of every moment.  He tried not to know what we both sensed.  Our days together were ending.
We ran as fast and fierce as we could, tears and wind blinding us. 

On our way home from Pagosa Springs, I drank vodka all day.
We had a half gallon jug in the trunk and I refilled my cup every time we stopped.
"Isn't this great! Drinking in the middle of the day?" I bubbled.
Six hours later he brought he me into the house and spread me out to dry like a delicate sweater.
I would surely come unraveled in the full heat of a dryer.
"I'm sorry...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have drank so much," I whimpered.  My head dangled on my neck.
"I know," he said, and smoothed my forehead.
My hangovers lasted 2 days.

That's how it was.
We'd invite friends over for dinner.
I'd push my ravioli apart trying to make them look scarce.
I went to the kitchen every ten minutes to add more gin to my glass.
It took all my attention to keep my head stable and eyes open, but I could do it.
From across the table, his eyes would ask, "Aren't you going to eat anything?"
To which I'd shrug my shoulders in acquiesence. Not to him, but to the way it was.

I self-destructed in the cage he built up around me.
He built it to keep me safe.
Not many people understand this. To most it appears simply a sick relationship.
But what human heart ever loved without becoming sick from the potency of it?
He pushed on me because he knew I could handle it.
I wanted to handle it.   He made me defend everything.
He called me his Grace. Every time he gave me a hug, he held on too long.
He held on long enough for me to know his smell and to feel him breath a whole breath into his chest. 
He has kicked me out of his apartment numerous times.
One winter night, I stumbled a mile from the bar to his apartment.  I wore a giant, pink leather coat with fur around the neck.
He refused to open the door.  I passed out crying in the hallway, into the coat.
I woke up to creaking stairs, his neighbor leaving for work, and way too much sun.

Now I have been sober for 7 1/2 years.
I hear his echo all the time,
"What is it that makes you believe you deserve punishment?"

"If I could teach you one thing, I would teach you to be deliberate."

"Why can't you see it, what you are?  Why do you try to pretend you are not exceptional?"

"Once you go there, to that place of wishing life to end, you can never go back...you can never go back to before you knew it.  I wish you didn't have to go there."

He said this to me, after I slit my wrists in his bathtub.
He was crying and holding.  My body limp like in the movies, and him rocking it.
I couldn't cry. 
I meant it when I did it.
Roaring out of a drunken black-out, maybe momentum to go deep enough?
I just wanted it to stop, all of it.  I didn't want to endure one more cycle.
Luckily, I hadn't learned how to be deliberate yet.

He drove me to the treatment center 4 days later.
The run was over.  We both knew it. 
I can still feel my legs sticking to his leather seats as we drove.
The alcohol sweating out.
We stared at the road, a gaping space between our two seats now.
There was nothing left to say.

After that, I had to choose.
I want him to know that I chose life.
I want to tell him thank you.
About 5 years ago, I watched V for Vendetta.  Afterwards, I curled into a ball and cried, because I realized what he had done for me.  I never knew if he was an angel or a devil.  Now I know.

Evey  - V for Vendetta

V - V for Vendetta