Chapter 272, In Which I Become "One Of Those Guys"

I tried.

I failed.

I went to talk to Melody Friday after work. We talked. Or, rather, I talked, and she listened, and we got cold toward each other, and we talked some more, and opened up, and I thought we'd really come to some understanding that would show her that yes, I really did want for her to be happy, and yes, I really did think I could be there with her. That it was something to do together, that both of us still had things to learn, but that we had enough forgiveness and understanding between us that we could do it, and it would be worth it.

She asked me, "haven't you ever been with someone who wanted you but who you didn't want?"

I guess that would be me.

I asked her if she would come with me to New York next weekend. She has been quite sad lately at the prospect of being alone during Christmas, and I've been quite sad about the same thing. Not to the point where I'd be with just anyone to avoid that happening, but in my silly simplicity I thought, you'll be unhappy and alone, I'll be unhappy and alone, we do get along OK most of the time and sometimes we've been absurdly happy with each other, so... why not? We talked late into the night about a lot of things. More so than we have in many months. And I felt that something had changed, that maybe some light had come on and that she understood that I knew she hadn't been as happy as she should have been, and that I wanted to make that right.

In the morning (yes, I stayed over, and no, there was no physical contact involved), I asked her, "so, what sort of resolution do you think we've been able to come to?

She looked at me as if I'd asked her to donate to Republicans.

"Nothing has changed," she said. "You still haven't fully explained how you're going to change."

I sat there for a moment, and realized that all of my time and effort and thought had been wasted.

You haven't fully explained how you're going to change.

So that was it: in spite of everything, I was still the broken one, the one who would always have to do all the changing, all the compromising, all the apologizing.

Even when I'd done all that, new flaws and sins would of course be identified and scheduled for "fixing," before, of course, she would have to change or compromise in any real way.

I left with no more words to say. As I packed stuff up, and put my clothes on without even bothering to take a shower, she mentioned that she was supposed to meet someone in half an hour, someone she'd been emailing online for a couple of months. I got in the Saab and left.

I did leave her a voicemail when I was partway home. I told her, "look, don't break his heart too, OK?"

I am a bundle of uncertainties now. I have no more ideas on what to do.

I had what I wanted and needed. I didn't know its proper care and feeding because it's a pretty rare bird. But to revive it and restore it to health, I took a chance and stuck myself way out on the edge.

I gambled and lost. Once again, found wanting by someone who I really valued and needed, but someone I didn't know how to be with. For my mistakes, I pay a permanent penalty. It's very hard to think of myself now as being worth the things I want in the world. I'm seeing myself condemned to a lifetime of being with women I don't really want, and never somehow quite being worth the one I really do want.

I told a woman friend of mine, "damn these women who taunt you with what they know you want, who wait for you to open yourself up as a price of getting it, and then laugh and turn away because then you've committed the ultimate faux pas, that of admitting you're soft and squishy inside like everybody else."

That's them.

They fuck things up for guys who really want to be good, but who are unfortunately not perfect and never will be. They drive them into hiding by reminding them of their flaws and never focusing on the willingness to remediate them, albeit slowly, as we all must go at our age.

Where are all 'the good men?' Some of your fortysomething sisters are driving us away at a record pace.

I can feel myself becoming One Of Those Guys. The guys who have been so bitten up by women that they withdraw a part of themselves they can't put out into the light any more, for the damage it takes. The guys who basically say, do whatever you want with my cock, but nobody's getting anywhere near my heart any more.

Ah, it's been a good run, and over the last 25 years, I've let a lot of women deep inside me to poke around and learn and tinker, but no more. You get in there, and break things, and reset the dials and forget to oil things, and when it's all fucked up and smoking and in ruins, you leave because I'm "so troubled." Shit was working just fine until I let some woman in to a place I thought she wanted to be.

So, all of you women, come on out and invite yourself into my life and onto my dick, have a good time, try not to spill too much, and be sure and turn the lights off when you leave, but none of you is ever getting near my heart again.

You didn't want that anyway, and I kinda have to preserve the wreckage of it in case they come up with a way to rebuild it some day.