Cool, Calm & Contentious - Merrill Markoe [19]
Now, after many years of therapy, I had learned how to stand my ground. No more volunteering that everything was my fault, especially on those occasions when everything actually was my fault.
And so it came to pass that almost three years into a relationship where we saw each other only on weekends and Wednesdays, my gentleman friend called me to say that his landlord had decided to sell the house he was renting and now he was going to have to look for a place to live. No one was more surprised than I to hear my mouth speaking the words “Well, then, why don’t you move in with me?”
While I spoke, I could feel my stomach knot as I was swallowed up in a rapid montage of fiery images from the dying moments of previous relationships: the lying, the swearing, the screaming, the vitriol, the day I filled a car with a boyfriend’s clothes as if it were some engine-driven suitcase and had it removed from the premises. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” I said to myself, “because I am not sure I was properly consulted on this decision.”
Cut to: one bright summer day, as I was helping this new man pack his belongings into cardboard boxes from Staples.
“What about your edict?” I asked myself, aware that I was ignoring it the same way I do my New Year’s resolutions. “Remember that thing you said about never living with another man unless you got married first?”
“Well, I’m not sure I ever said that,” I replied, as I rifled through his cupboards, throwing away the pots I’d seen cats sleeping in. “You know me. I’m always making jokes. I can’t keep track of everything I say!”
“No, you definitely said it,” I argued. “You were acting like it was a big revelation. I think if you consult your diaries you will find that you wrote it down.”
“Do you have any idea how many diaries I have?” I sighed, opening and closing closets, checking to see if there was anything useful inside we needed to pack.
“You won’t have to go through all of them, because I can put a date on when you said it,” I reminded myself helpfully, even as I was tuning myself out and heading outside to help pile boxes into the back of my car so we could get to the post office and file a forwarding address before it closed for the day. “Why did you ever say ‘Never again unless I get married’ if you were going to totally ignore it?”
“Well, I’ve only known him for three years,” I argued back. “Don’t you think it’s a little premature?”
“Plus two years of emailing,” I argued right back. “That’s five years.”
“Five years in the context of a human life is not that long. Have you ever met a five-year-old child? They are basically infants. Tiny babies,” I said.
“Getting married is an important thing. Gay couples wake up feeling like second-class citizens for being denied the opportunity to do what you’re avoiding,” I replied, shaking my head in disgust.
“Well, then why does everybody end up getting divorced and saying they will never get married again?” I countered as I drove his stuff across town.
“For the same reason that you said you would never live with someone again without being married,” I explained. “Will you stand still for a minute? I am getting sick of following you from one room to the next!”
“Listen to me,” I said. “Why do you have to make such a big deal out of everything?”
“I make a big deal out of this because it is a big deal, or else why is this whole country in a contentious debate trying to keep gay people out of the marriage club?”
“You’re just being a contrarian,” I replied. “Marriage is one more thing you refuse to play