03/09/2006 - 11:44 p.m. | untitled

Either my plan worked too well or too poorly, I can't tell, but I have been suddenly skyrocketed to the top of the list in terms of clusterfuck hell breakups.

As I said, I'd been keeping out of contact with Missy, for a variety of reasons: 1) I did not like the idea of acting like everything was normal right up until I dropped a bomb, so this was forewarning� sort of. 2) It gave me time to make sure this was what I really wanted as well as figure out what I needed to say. 3) It would hopefully enrage her and her circle enough that she would be angry and happy to be rid of me anyway. 4) I would not have to break up with her earlier and get all the feelings involved with the other stuff she has going on (teacherly tests, interviews, etc). 5) Breaking up is scary, and I am a chicken.

I'd done a pretty good job avoiding her right up until Tuesday morning at like 1, the day I thought I would be doing the breaking. I got online, thinking I'd surely be safe that late. This was true, but only for a while, as Missy eventually signed on and threw some rhetoric at me. A lot of it. I continued to ignore it. I knew if I responded, we would just have to start the whole thing then and it would be an Ordeal. In hindsight, I should probably have just gone with that, but whatever. I ignored her and got ice cream.

Next day drags on 'til 7:30 (I e-mailed her that I'd call then). My stomach is in knots the whole time, and I wish I could just get it over with. Finally, the appointed time rolls by, and she calls me. Well, what else would I expect? I can tell she's in her car. I ask where's she driving (fearing the worst in her answer), but she won't respond, and I just start in. �I can�t be your boyfriend anymore.�

It's going... about as planned. She�s still in shock, and we reach kind of a lull in the conversation. "So, where are you going really?"

"I'm about 10 minutes away from your house."

Apparently, concerned that I'd gone totally around the deep end, Missy had decided to skip school (not classes - actually teaching school to little children) to drive out here and comfort me. There's got to be some irony in this somewhere.

Oh, I found some. Apparently Missy and Smacko had been discussing this the night before and they had both agreed that driving to visit would be quite stupid and would only result in her looking like a crazy person.

And some more. She may have even tried forewarning some people, but since they were all terrified of her and could not reveal my intentions, no one had any idea she was barreling east on 70.

So, we continue to talk, normal breakup stuff - "What did I do wrong?" I have no good answer, etc. - and pretty soon she is right outside the house. "Uh, do you want to come in?"

Well, at least I'm not the sleaze that breaks up over the phone anymore. I'm the sleaze that somehow coerces his future ex to drive 8 hours in the rain to have her heart broken face-to-face. Yes!!

Meanwhile, because I was incommunacado for so long, she was worried sick, didn't finish her test, bombed her interviews, and skipped not one but two days of school (with probably a third one to come). Oh, my stock is rising. Everyone in her circle told her to just dump me (Imagine how nice that would have been!), but nope. She is now at the cruel halfway point of a twisted 16 hour marathon.

She tries to be mad. Everyone else is mad on her side, I think. She throws the butterfly ring I bought her at me feet, tells me she hopes I'll turn gay with Spritz (How did poor Spritz get dragged into this?), tries to curse me and wish me nothing but bad luck, no happiness, no girls, whatever. Unfortunately, though - for both of us, probably - she can't hate me, can't really get angry. If we could have a nice vengeful breakup, there would be some finality. But no, just sadness. So much damn sadness.

I have no idea what to do in such a situation. I don't want her to hurt, but I'm the one causing it, so I don't know how to help either. She is sobbing with her head in hands, and normally I would just hug her, rub her back, something. Now these things seem inappropriate. I worry they'll only make things worse, because I�m the one doing them.

And lord, to soldier on through this thing. I mean, everybody always has their little speech in mind when you start, but you're so far away from that so quickly, and then you just want it to stop, you want her to feel better, you want to feel better for hurting her, and it always seems so easy to just back out of it. All the terrible shit I did, the fact I've already told her I want to end, but it would be so easy just to take it back. She wants me to - she's begging me to, for Christ's sake - and you've got to have some serious resolve at this point. All the reasons you thought of, the stuff that brought you into this scenario, ideas about girls and freedom and I don�t know what, they've all flown the coop, and now you've just to march on and stomp on the last little bits of hope. It's horrible is what it is. And it's not the tears or her saying she'll never love anyone else like me, because I do believe she will move on in time... it's just that... now I'm the one marring someone for life. It's so much easier when the other person is to blame. You feel vindicated by your self-pity. "I was wronged," you can tell yourself, and there is pride in that somehow. "I wasn't the one that fucked up!" Well, not time time about. You've got to live with the knowledge that you've messed someone up like you were messed up before, and it is awful awful awful. Not the crying helps, though.

I don't know if she knows this or not, but it's when she's not saying anything that it's the worst. She's asked me again just to forget all of it, to go back to things being normal, and I say, "I can't, I can't," and she just does this pathetic little nod like, "You can, you can," and that's when I really start to rupture. She just seems so helpless then, when she doesn't have words, like a lost puppy or a little girl, and how can I kick this poor thing to the street? But I do, I do, because deep down I still think I�m right.

I offer to let her spend the night before driving back, but I don�t really expect her to take me up on it. What kind of fucked up arrangements would that even entail? She tries to pull herself together, numerous times, to make it downstairs past everybody without just sobbing, and I wait and I watch because I don�t know what else to do. She�s strangely businesslike at the end � the sorts of things you wouldn�t think would appear in her mind until at least a day or two down the line. She bought us Rhett Miller tickets as a surprise; she�ll send them in the mail. And no, she won�t take money for them ever. Smacko, on the other hand, is back to being in debt for those Medieval Times tickets, plus apparently gas money for the trip, as she blames him more than anybody for not telling her what was going down. Glad to see I still don�t get her at effing all.

We walk downstairs finally, and I try to give everyone a look, but I am pretty beyond looks at the moment. I walk her out to her car. It�s still drizzling, and I�m not wearing shoes, but I�ll stand out there as long as she needs to. Some guy asks for directions in the middle of this, and while I�m telling him, Missy starts her car and waits for me. Then she gets into it, all the thoughts that I have been trying not to fully process: Is this really the last time she�ll be here? The last time we�ll touch? Hell, the last time I�ve see her or hear her voice? I like to remain optimistic � that someday maybe we really can be friends. Maybe I�ll just finally grow up and realize who I�ve thrown away, try and win her back, who knows? I have a lot of weird thoughts about fate. Maybe we will end up in the same city somehow and bump into each other after I�ve gotten my jitters out and things will be great. But for now, the outlook seems bleak, and she won�t let go of the hug for it, still out in the street, door open, cars blazing by all pissy. �I love you,� she�s still saying. I�m so used to just throwing it back at her, but now that it�s all out, I don�t know what to say to it. �I do, too� but not enough?� Finally, I gently force her down into her car. Before she goes, crying, she takes my hand and kisses it, saying, �I�ll miss you� before she shuts the door. I can�t even think of it now without tearing up. I walk away without looking back, afraid that last little it of resolve will give out. I�m so glad she didn�t try coming back.