by Pamela Ribon
I’d already known the truth for a while, but was unable to admit it until I held that empty box in my hands. I felt absolutely nothing for him, and I was free. I could accept what I had been too afraid to deal with. I didn’t need Ian as my excuse anymore. He wasn’t what I’d wanted in a long time.
I threw away the box with the stuffed animal still inside. I ripped his card in half. And why the fuck hadn’t he returned my Beastie Boys CD?
We were breaking up.
000066.
Ian.
2 JANUARY
Relationships are very difficult. How two people grow with each other over the years amazes me. People change so much and sometimes when you change into two different people, you find that you aren’t the team you once were. And no matter how much the two of you are in love, you just can’t get things to feel like they’re working.
We broke up. We’ve separated. We’re on a break. We call it lots of things to cover up the pain that he’s not here every day, reaching out a hand and stroking my forehead as he passes through the living room.
There was a boy. There was a girl. They created a life together. They decided to step back from it when it just wasn’t fun anymore. It didn’t make them happy anymore. They loved each other so much they couldn’t stand making each other miserable anymore. This is life. This is what happens to people. We can trace a line of events, but we can’t follow a series of emotions. Things change. We change. It is possible to love someone so much and still be unable to make him smile.
Sometimes the best gift you can give someone is space. That’s what we’re doing. “Merry Christmas,” we decided. “Now go away.”
I may talk a good game, but I have no idea what I’m doing, what I’m going to do, or what I’m supposed to do. I’m just here, trying to figure it all out.
I’m posting now, before I lose my nerve. Once I post this, the words are true. It’s hard to have everyone know you’re terrified.
Love until later,
Anna K
000067.
Subject: Oh, No!
Anna K,
I’m so sad to hear that you and Ian broke up! It sounded like you two had such a good relationship. You’re both funny and he seems to really care about you. I’m very sad to hear that you two are no longer together. I am thinking good thoughts, and I’m sure you’ll both work it out and get back together soon.
-Marie Collier
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Subject: Go Get Him
Anna K,
You have to get back together with Ian! I love all of the stories about the two of you! Now I’m so sad. There’s no hope for any of us now, I’m sure of it.
-Glenda
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Subject: NOOOOO!!!
A,
I’m so sad to hear that you and Ian broke up. Ian reminds me of a boy I dated named Ian and we broke up when I cheated on him. He was the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t know if you did something to lose your Ian, but try not to act with too much anger. You’ll hate yourself if you lose him forever. Trust me. I will never have anyone love me like he did. Some of us realize whom we love too late in life.
-s.
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Subject: Single?!?!?!?!!!!
Anna K,
I think your awesome and Ian’s a idiot to let you go!!! I treat you right. I drive a Jeep. My parents have cabin in Tahoe. Give me a shot!!!!!1
-Keith
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Subject: Help!
An K,
I found a baby bird in a nest. I know that you like animals and I thought you might know what I should do with it. I keep feeding it grapes. What would you do?
-beth overton
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Subject: I hope this is Okay.
Anna K,
I’ve never written before, and maybe you don’t know anything about me, but my name is Stephanie, and I dated Ian the three years before he dated you. A friend of mine showed me your webpage a few months ago, and I quickly figured out who you were. I originally started reading as a way to check in on him, but I must admit I was quickly reading for you. I think you’re funny, talented, and smart. I can see what Ian saw in you, and I know he must be hurting these days without you.
I also have the unique position of being perhaps your only reader who knows what it’s like to break up with Ian. I sympathize with you. I know what that pain is like. I know that he will call you late at night to tell you that he’s sorry for everything he ever did that hurt you. Then he’ll say he’s saying what he thinks you want to hear. I know that he probably owes you some money, but he still wants to have back anything you might possibly have in your apartment that’s his. In fact, when he comes to visit you, you’ll notice his head bopping around, searching your bookcases and CD racks, desperately searching for one more thing that’s his. I know that his sister will write you letters, telling you that the family misses you terribly. Before you think it’s a trap, I have to tell you that Ian doesn’t know about the letters; Debra does that because she’s genuinely a wonderful woman. How is she, by the way?
Ian will ask you to co-sign his next apartment lease by reminding you that it’s your fault he’s looking for one. I’m trusting you’re smart enough to say no on that one. I hope you won’t find his Box of Old Girlfriends that holds naked pictures of exes, perfumed letters, and love notes. Maybe you won’t find him drunk on your doorstep at three in the morning, crying that he’ll never find a person who will love him like you did and that he wants you to wait until he’s ready to get back together.
I hope you won’t let him keep you waiting to see what will happen next. Don’t let him tease you with little bits of happiness, making you think that you might still have a chance. Don’t let him keep you from falling in love with someone else because you think that the second you do he’ll finally be ready for you. Move on quickly and love someone else as fully as you loved Ian. If you’re lucky, Ian won’t show up someday when you’re sad and broken and just about ready to let yourself be loved again. He won’t just show up and hold you and give you pity sex somewhere inappropriate (I can’t go back to my high school ever again. Reunions are a bitch, I tell you) and then ignore you because he doesn’t know how to talk to you. The breakup will be a knife in your side, just under the ribs, and every time you lean forward to stand up on your own, the knife will stick in you again, reminding you that you can’t keep a relationship going. You aren’t good enough. You failed at Ian; you failed at life.
He’s a chaser, and the second you stop running, he’ll run right past you. He wants what he thinks he can win. He never wants the prize he’s got. It took me a long time to realize that I had done nothing wrong. That I was still a good person. It took almost three years for me to finally let someone into my life again. I’m happy to tell you that I’m now married and pregnant with my first child. Please don’t tell Ian that you’ve heard from me. It took too long for me to leave him in the past. I’m ashamed to admit that I was still seeing him when he started seeing you. I don’t know if he ever told you. We didn’t sleep together then. He kept insisting there was some girl named Anna. I didn’t believe him. Here you are. I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry that I kissed him a few times that night. I’m sorry I called you a bitch back then when I hadn’t even met you. I’m sorry for a lot of things.
Having read your site for a while now, I know that you’re strong, independent, and intelligent. Still, I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t offer my support wrapped in a warning, since I’m also strong, independent, and intelligent. I’d hate to have been able to stop someone’s pain but did nothing. I’m offering you support and a sympathetic ear if you need it. Feel free to delete and ignore completely if you want. Write back if it’s exactly the kind of thing you need to bitch about over a couple of beers. I live in Austin and I know a great bartender.
-Stephanie Greenwood
-----
Of all the people to read my webpage, I’d never have thought that Stephanie “Th
e Girl Who Broke Ian’s Heart” Greenwood would be one of them.
She was the reason for every fight Ian and I had early in our relationship. I thought she had to be an evil, crazy woman, the way Ian described her. Something she had done or said always triggered some ridiculous reaction in Ian because he expected the same behavior from me. This girl and I were not the same, but her letter smacked me in the face with its familiarity.
Ian did so many of those things in the months after our breakup. He would call at three in the morning and propose. He said he just figured that was what I wanted.
Why now was it so much easier to look back on and judge? Why wouldn’t I see what was wrong back then?
His sister Deb did write. She wrote letters that would make me sob. She’d remind me how I was a part of the family and how much everyone missed me and how she hoped I’d be back soon.
Stephanie was right about more than just Ian’s behavior. She knew what I was doing to myself. I was scared to start up things with Kurt because I was afraid I’d fuck it up. I’d fail again.
I had screamed, “I am not Stephanie!” to Ian countless times over the course of our relationship. And now there I was, staring at my monitor with only one thought: I am Stephanie.
000068.
Having a birthday three weeks after Christmas usually makes for some shitty presents, but having a birthday after an especially sad year makes for some really thoughtful ones. Dale gave me four CDs and a gift certificate for a day spa. My mother sent two books on acting and a framed picture of Dad and me. I’m in his lap and he’s beaming down at me. I’m six months old. Shannon drove up from school to give me a six-pack of beer, which she promptly drank on my porch as she smoked my cigarettes.
Packages started arriving from website readers: books, CDs, candy, cards, photographs, and belated Christmas presents for Taylor. I was as flattered as I was amazed.
Kurt’s package arrived the morning after my birthday. The deliveryman struggled with the large item so much that I felt the need to tip him five dollars.
Kurt had painted a collage of silver clouds, beer, puddles of water, horrible one-liners, and me right in the middle. Tiny silver hearts filled the background as the words “There’s Still Time” were written in very small letters at the bottom. He sent a card. “I found some of your hair on my pillow,” it said. “I mixed it in the paint I used on this piece.” He named it Love Lives in Texas.
Three weeks later, I couldn’t believe I was already trying on bridesmaid dresses with Dale by my side. The time was starting to fly by with the amount of work I’d been doing on Smith’s rally in between updating my journal with Anna K’s post-Ian lifestyle. It was very exciting to have her go out and have fun, to give her girlfriends and stories where she’d enjoy something about herself that Ian might have overlooked.
I was crunching candy hearts and wiggling around in my dress as Dale twisted the neckline around my bust. The candy hearts were from Dale for Valentine’s Day. The dress was from evil dressmakers who have ordained that every bridesmaid will look like a second-rate woman in every wedding ceremony ever held.
“You’re hurting my titties.”
“Your titties are hurting this dress.”
“Becca picked out a dress for girls with no boobs.”
“You look obscene.”
I looked in the mirror. I had cleavage practically up to my neck. “This won’t do, Dale,” I moaned.
“I know. I’ll call Becca later and see what she wants to do about it.”
“I can call her.”
Dale took my hand. “Trust me. You want me to call. You stay away from the bride, if you know what’s best for you.”
“What did Jason get you for Valentine’s Day?” I asked him.
“Oh. A happy/sad mask.”
“That’s nice.” I smiled.
“Anna,” Dale said, leaning in. “Don’t tell anyone because I feel like an asshole, but if I get one more happy/sad theatre mask I’m going to kill someone.”
“You’ve finally figured out that they’re creepy?”
We stared at each other. Dale looked down. “Promise you won’t tell anybody, but yes. God, they’re hideous.”
“Thank you!” I danced up and down.
“Please. Save the moves for the reception.”
We stared back at the mirror. The dress was aqua and hung down to my toes. The sleeves were long and pointed at the backs of my hands. The dress was made out of a velvety fabric that had no give whatsoever. My breasts were trying to find someplace where they were accepted and loved, and optioned to pour over the top of the dress. I looked like I was ready to skank up a groomsman.
Dale sighed. “Always a bridesmaid wrangler, never a bride.”
000069.
Poems for the Love-Challenged: One for Every Occasion (Take That, Hallmark!)
14 FEBRUARY
I need you
i want you
i need you
i want you
i need you
i want you
i need you
to shut up.
i want you
to go home.
The warmth
In my mouth.
That rush
Through my veins
Making my heart race
My pulse quicken
My head—
Just a bit dizzy.
My legs—
Just a bit numb.
My tongue
Yearns for more
More of you
Right now.
Now.
I can’t wait anymore.
This is torture.
Seriously.
I’m in hell
Waiting for you.
I just want to shout
To this giant crowd of people
“How hard is it to make a latte, fuckers?”
I love you, coffee.
Here.
It’s for you.
No, it’s just a little something I thought you’d like.
What is it?
Well, I was out getting some gas, you know?
And, uh, this was right there at the register and it made me think of you.
Your sweet ass.
It’s mint flavored.
Check it: It’s both a rose and panties.
Isn’t that cool as shit?
I bought you a panty rose.
Don’t look at me like that.
Go put them on.
And sprinkle this Limon stuff on them, too.
Good morning, you.
This is my favorite time.
This time, right now.
When the sun is first starting to come up
and the light hits the flesh on your back just so
And the room still smells a bit like us
Our smells mingled together
Matching the taste on my lips
The feeling of your legs tangled with mine
The warmth of your breath on my cheek
The memories of our passion and yearning and groping still fresh on my muscles
The sound of your heart beating against my body
This is my favorite time
Because it is ours.
It’s quiet.
I love you more than anybody.
But you’d better get up now.
And go back to your room.
Mom will kill us if she finds us here.
dear dre,
bitches and hos be riding my dick like the Tilt-A-Whirl.
but no one makes me feel like you do.
i love you.
Snoop
For the time you left my shoes out in the rain.
For the time you broke my favorite hair clip.
For the time you hammered nails into the wall and called it a hat rack.
For the time you tried to serve me a tea bag from the trash can.
For the time you put a match out in my car.
For the time you woke me up by pushing me off th
e bed.
For the time you called me by your brother’s name.
For the time you almost drowned me.
For the time you locked the keys in my car.
For the time you lost my Macy Gray CD.
All is forgiven.
All is worth it.
And on that last one, you were actually doing me a favor.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
i’m sorry i’ve been telling everyone that you’re gay.
it just makes me feel better.
you know. because you’re a dick.
Hey. You.
Yeah, you.
You.
Call me.
I miss you.
I can’t make it any simpler.
Love until later,
Anna K
000070.
It was windy on the track bleachers. Smith’s hair whipped around her head as she stood watch over the quickly growing crowd on the field in front of her. She had dyed her hair cherry red for the occasion and looked like she had summoned a crown of fire. Her eyes were sharp, and I could tell that she was nervous. So was I. The crowd of Action Grrlz was sitting on the bottom step of the bleachers facing the audience, waiting for Smith to speak. Smith was just waiting for the crowd to be big enough for her.
I was standing just off to the side of the bleachers, near our rented amp. I was looking up at Smith with the rest of the waiting students. I could feel anxiety rising from the arches of my feet. I shifted my weight back and forth as I searched the field. I looked farther to the right, toward the back of the school building. Classes had let out fifteen minutes ago and large clumps of kids were walking toward us. They were loud and laughing, free with the release that comes at the end of a school day. We were lucky enough to score one of the five Texas days in March that has a cool breeze and a clear blue sky. Other states know it as “spring.”