Thou Shalt Not Speak His Name

I stopped saying his name sometime after midnight.

"Him" being a guy I used to date. You know who he is--those of you who read the other blog. The wonderful, generous, incredible person who everybody just loved--was really pissing me off.

After a particularly nasty argument via text (he would never call me during arguments like this, only because he knows it's easier for me to rationalize when I'm talking about something, and at that moment, he didn't want rationale), I decided enough was enough. He had accused me of doing something I didn't, and that was the one thing I can't stand.

When you've screwed up and admitted to it as much as I have, you get really defensive when you haven't screwed up and someone still thinks you have.

This was all after a long, drawn out battle to try and be friends with someone based on who they used to be. He was no longer who I used to know, he was someone else with new priorities, new ways of looking at things, and a hardened sensibility that it made it easy for him to forget that for eight months we meant an awful lot to each other.

It was then I realized that I had found yet another bad habit in need of breaking.

No more trying to mend, repair, fix, contort, reason or beat this dead horse anymore. There could be no friendship right now. It was time to stop.

ADAM: A-f**king-men.

Adam once again manages to bring sacrilege to a whole new level.

ADAM: You pounded this thing into the ground long enough.
ME: I just don't see why we can't be friends.
ADAM: Well, nobody else has ever had that problem, except for everyone whose ever dated anyone.
ME: Wait a second, I'm confused. Are you trying to be supportive?
ADAM: I'm saying let him move to Crazytown, and don't send him any postcards.

That's right. He's moving to Florida with someone he's known for a month. He quit his job, he's getting a puppy, life is good for him.

ADAM: It's easy to think you're happy when you're crazy. It's one of the upsides of schizophrenia.
ME: He's not schizophrenic. He's just trying to figure out his life.
ADAM: Can you add 'defending a**holes who treat me like s**t' to the list of things you're not going to do anymore?
ME: He's really not an a**hole though--
ADAM: I'm hanging up now.
ME: You don't have any advice for me at all?
ADAM: Um...A boy like that...he kill your brother...forget that boy...and find another...
ME: Okay, now I'm hanging up.

It's funny what you miss when you determine that someone will no longer be in your life.

For some reason that night, when I went to bed, I missed having someone there. That warmth. That presence. The feeling that I was safe. He and I hadn't slept together in over a month, but some reason that night it really hit me that we wouldn't be sleeping next to each other ever again.

It's funny how just knowing someone is there means you don't really have to think about them too much, but knowing they're not there and can't be there makes you think about them all the time.

Suddenly everything was attached to something else. Cheap VH1 reality shows that I used to watch with him seemed pointless, whereas before they were "a night in" complete with pasta and cuddling on the couch. Inside jokes disappeared. Good memories took on a sting. I had to resist the urge to say "that reminds me of when--" because otherwise I'd be saying it twenty times a day. By trying to erase him, I had installed him everywhere.

I felt embarrassed by the hard time I was having with this. But then I assured myself that it wouldn't be easy for anyone to cut someone out of their life the way he and I had cut each other out of ours.

Seeking that understanding, I turned to the two most wonderful women in my life--my mother and grandmother. Both had divorced and remarried--and even then my grandmother's second marriage didn't take. Surely they would know the pain of letting someone go.

GRANDMA: The day your grandfather left my house, I made margaritas and danced to Tony Orlando.
ME: Is she serious?
MOM: It might have been Neil Sedaka, but yes, she's serious.

They were getting ready to go to bingo--their favorite Thursday night activity. My mother was doing her hair, which in true Johnston fashion meant she was putting enough hairspray on her scalp to set off an alarm in Al Gore's bedroom.

ME: But there must have been something you missed about him?
GRANDMA: I missed the five years I couldn't get back. That's what I missed.
ME: But--
GRANDMA: You're too skinny. Aren't you feeding him, Connie?
MOM: Ma, I made him lasagna yesterday.
ME: She did, Grandma.
GRANDMA: Was there meat in it? He needs to eat meat.
MOM: There was meat in it.
GRANDMA: I'm going to make you some ham.
ME: Grandma, I don't need ham.
MOM: I can make my son ham if he wants ham.
GRANDMA: You don't know how to make ham.
MOM: Who doesn't know how to make ham?
GRANDMA: I make good ham.
MOM: It's ham!

This was getting me nowhere.

ME: You didn't miss your second husband either?
GRANDMA: Him even less. It was probably easier seeing him go because I had practice the first time around.
MOM: Your grandmother can have a heart of stone when she wants to.
GRANDMA: Stone's the only thing that doesn't break.
ME: Actually, it can if you have a sledge--never mind. I should have just savored that statement.
GRANDMA: Why are you so worried? You're young. There's a lot of fish in the sea.
ME: Yeah, but the more I date the more polluted the sea looks.
GRANDMA: You'll get past this, sweetie. Just give it time.

Unfortunately, I'd heard those cliches from everyone I knew, and they weren't doing me much good.

ME: What about you, Mom? How'd you get past Dad?

My mother sort of winced. She briefly stopped the onslaught of hair teasing (yes, my mom still teases her hair--she also listens to Warrant and watches reruns of Square Pegs), and gave me a sort of sad look, which quickly became defiant.

MOM: I don't like talking about it.

And with that, they were ready for bingo.

BETH: Honey, I'm sorry you're so upset.
ME: It's okay, Beth. I'm sure time will help.
BETH: Trust me, if I can give up smoking; you can give up him.
ME: You gave up smoking?
BETH: Any day now.
ME: But I don't--
BETH: I'm waiting for a really low-stress day, so that it won't be too challenging when I quit. For awhile it looked like November 1st was going to be a good day, but then I'm going to have all that Thanksgiving stress--
ME: That's the thing, though. I can't decide when to quit him. I have to quit him now. He wouldn't talk to me now even if I wanted him to.
BETH: That's why I prefer men to cigarettes. You tell the cigarettes when you're ready to quit, not the other way around.
ME: And also because just when you think you're through with them, you try one and pretty soon you're going through a pack a day?
BETH: Or like how sometimes you can't wait until after sex to smoke, so you smoke during it?

Awkward silence.

ME: I didn't really...um....no.
BETH: Oh. Anyway, got to go.
ME: Bye now.

Determined to find someone who could give me some tips of quitting cold turkey, I asked the ladies at work for their opinion.

Upon walking into the library, I found all of the women wearing "Kiss Me" shirts.

ME: Uh... Why?
MILLIE: Before you say anything, yours is underneath the desk.
ME: I don't understand.
MARTHA: The boss has decided the library needs to be friendlier. He asked me to come up with a way to make us more personable.
ME: What the f**k is he talking about? We're super personable! What a jackass.

Hmm, perhaps the library atmosphere does tend to make some of us a little spinster-y.

ME: So the shirts are--
MARTHA: The shirts were Daisy's idea.
DAISY: What's friendlier than a 'Kiss Me' shirt?
ME: But what if people actually try to kiss us?
MARTHA: That's why I brought this in--

She held up a can of mace.

ME: Couldn't this fall under some sort of policy infringement?
MILLIE: Probably, but we have to wear the shirts until one of us reads the policy and figures out what rule we're breaking by wearing them.
ME: Meaning we're going to wear them forever.
MARTHA: You got it.
DAISY: I think Martha and Millie are just mad because mine's a medium and they both needed a large. Hehe...
MARTHA: You're right. I wish I could store all my fat in my a** the way you do, Daisy.

I put on my "Kiss Me" t-shirt and got to work.

ME: Hey Martha, how did you get over your husband?
MARTHA: I put the car in reverse.
ME: No, I mean--how did you emotionally move past him?
MARTHA: Alimony.
ME: Did you ever miss him?
MARTHA: No, his money kept me company.

It was becoming increasingly clear that all the women figures in my life were...um...bitter.

MILLIE: Trying to get past someone, Kev?
ME: Yeah, and it's not going so hot.
DAISY: The only real way to get over someone is to go out and find someone else. Then bring that person to where you know the old person is and get them jealous. That's how you find true happiness.
ME: Really? That sounds kind of petty.
MARTHA: Just because she looks like Yoda doesn't mean she can dole out sage wisdom.

I did think that half of what Daisy said made sense. I needed to move on with my life, and that meant meeting new people and forgetting old ones.

Luckily, I was going to have some help with that.

CARLY: I have the perfect idea to spice up your dating life.

My friend Carly is absolutely fantastic. If Ari from Entourage and Carrie Bradshaw had a child it would be her. She's blonde, gorgeous, and fiercely loyal to her friends. When I needed some ideas on finding Mr. Right, Carly was the first person I turned to.

CARLY: The first thing we need to do is complete make-over.
ME: Carly, I've tried that before.
CARLY: But this time we're going to make it fun. A competition.
ME: A competition?
CARLY: Deadline November 1st. 'Make Over Broccoli.'
ME: How will people know it's not a Velveeta commercial?
CARLY: We can take photos of you. You can put the whole thing on your blog. People can vote for a winner. It'll be huge.
ME: And you think this will help me meet a decent guy?
CARLY: Kevin, the better you look, the better you do. They've done studies.
ME: Whose done studies?
CARLY: Who the f**k knows? But it's common knowledge. So, make a post. "Thou Shalt Make Over--"
ME: Yeah, yeah. I get it. In the meantime, I have a date tonight, so I should get going.
CARLY: Remember. Show off your best features.
ME: What do you think those would be?
CARLY: Definitely your jawline.
ME: So I should...
CARLY: Chew gum. Lots of gum.
ME: Thanks Carly.
CARLY: Love you, doll!

My date was with this really laidback guy named Taylor. We went out for drinks (or rather, him for drinks, me for atmosphere) and instantly ran into trouble.

The shirt I had worn to work was absolutely hideous (libraries don't really call for style) so I just wore the t-shirt I had under it--that's right, the 'Kiss Me' t-shirt.

Everyone kept commenting on it, and a few people actually tried acting on it. I ended up turning it inside out so that we could have a real conversation. I had let Taylor know I was still getting over someone when he asked me out.

TAYLOR: So this guy--
ME: Oh, let's not talk about him.
TAYLOR: Painful?
ME: No, just unnecessary.
TAYLOR: Gotcha.
ME: I'm sure everybody has a story like mine.
TAYLOR: Are you kidding? I'm going through a story like yours.
ME: Beg your pardon?

It turns out Taylor was in a relationship he just couldn't let go of either--albeit for trickier reasons. He and his ex-boyfriend worked together, lived together, and went to school together, so it was really hard to put a period at the end of things.

ME: Well, that's understandable.
TAYLOR: It's also that, well, I mean...it sucks to be alone, right?

Wow, finally someone understood why I couldn't move on--too bad it was the person who was supposed to be helping me move on.

ME: It does, in fact, suck.
TAYLOR: I mean, there's a lot of s**t wrong with Nicky--that's his name--Nicky. He's a complete loser, but I mean, he's something, you know?
ME: Yeah.
TAYLOR: Even when I know I wouldn't miss him, I know I'd miss having someone there.
ME: But if he's there, that means nobody else can ever be there.
TAYLOR: I guess it's a question of whether or not you're willing to take that chance. That someone else could be there, because I mean, someone could also not be.

...And sometimes you don't have a choice.

UNCLE WILL: If you really want to get the guy back, put out a rumor that you're dying. It always works.
ME: Okay, granted, I don't want to get him back, I just want to move past him, but just out of curiosity, what happens when you don't die?
UNCLE WILL: Oh, by that time you're back together, he loves you again, and he doesn't care that you lied.
ME: That could never work.
JEFF: Actually it does...occasionally.

I had placed a conference call to my Uncle and his boyfriend in Boston to see if they had any tips for me.

JEFF: You're on the right track, Kev. Just find stuff to distract yourself and eventually you'll be fine.
ME: What kind of stuff do you recommend?
UNCLE WILL: Casual sex.
JEFF: Will!
ME: I know, Uncle Will! Geez. How about you Jeff, any thoughts?
JEFF: Oh, I think casual sex is a great idea. I was yelling at Will because he's not using a coaster.

The next day I went over my mom's house for, you guessed it, ham.

On the way in, I stopped to see how my brother Rory was doing. If Danny was a the religious one in the family, Rory was the black sheep that couldn't be found. He's constantly in trouble, and what's worse, he has the charm to get out of almost all of it.

My mom had told me that he had just broken up with a girl the day before and that the poor thing was calling the house at all hours of the night begging to speak to Rory.

I should mention that he's 14.

ME: Rory, don't you think you should talk to this girl?
RORY: Why?
ME: To make her feel better?
RORY: Why is it my job to make her feel better?
ME: Because you hurt her.
RORY: I don't like her anymore. That's not my fault.
ME: But it would be nice if you could help make this easier for her.
RORY: Won't she get past it faster if I just leave her alone? Like that time I got punished for locking Danny in the shed and I couldn't watch football for a week? At first it really sucked, but after a few days I didn't really miss it anymore.

Leave it to my brother to use football as an analogy for getting over heartbreak. Danny walked by as we were conversing.

DANNY: Rory, somehow your ex-girlfriend got my cell phone number and she keeps calling it.
RORY: That b***h is crazy.
ME: Hey, watch your g******ed mouth!
DANNY: Kevin!
ME: Sorry. I can't believe you don't feel bad for this girl. Danny, do you see what I'm saying?
DANNY: I don't date. I've given my life to God.

Oh f**k me sideways.

ME: Rory, I'm talking about the difference between being a caring, considerate person and being a complete jerk!
RORY: It sounds like you're talking about the difference between being a guy and a girl.

Okay, that one stung. Not gonna lie.

ME: Danny, religion him! Quick!
DANNY: Kevin, I've just taken solace in knowing he doesn't hurt small animals for fun.
RORY: Well...not anymore.

I retreated to the dinner table where my Mom was doing her Avon order. She could tell I was upset, so she asked what was wrong.

ME: I just feel like I've failed at a lot of stuff, Mom.
MOM: Just because of that guy?
ME: It's just--you invest yourself into something so that when it doesn't work out, how can you help but think that it's probably because there was something wrong with you?

My mom sat down next to me at the kitchen table and looked me right in the eye.

MOM: Are you aware that when I was your age I had a child, no husband, a one-bedroom apartment with a mouse, a lousy job, and an ex-husband who--Well, you know your father.
ME: Yeah, I do
MOM: I was embarrassed about it for a long time, and a big part of me still is. That's why I don't like to talk about it. You'll find that your life is going to end a thousand times before it actually does. You'll think you have nothing, and everything will be taken away from you.

.........Silence.........

ME: And?
MOM: That's pretty much it.
ME: Great. Do you think you could get me a noose or a sharpened knife?
MOM: What I'm trying to say is, even with all that, I'm here. You haven't failed if you're still going, and you're still going. When you feel like you've got nothing else to be proud of, be proud of that. That you're still in it.
ME: Yeah, I'm in it all right. I'm in a rut.
MOM: Above all else, remember this. My son is not a failure. He's a smart, handsome boy and he's tough as nails like his mother. Now eat your ham.

She kissed me on the head and that was that.

ME: But wait, how long does it take until you stop being upset towards the person who hurt you?
MOM: Oh, it varies.

The phone rang. She picked it up.

MOM: Hello? No, I was just telling Kevin how you destroyed my life.
ME: Is that Dad?
MOM: Yeah, it's him.

I took the phone.

DAD: Do you want me to break his legs?
ME: Who told you?
DAD: Your grandmother.
ME: Since when do you talk to grandma?
DAD: I loaned her money for bingo.
ME: You did what?
MOM: Has he been giving your grandmother bingo money again?
ME: Dad, she's your ex-mother-in-law.
DAD: Yeah, and I keep her on the take, what's wrong with that?
MOM: I'm going to kill her!
DAD: Where does this guy live?
ME: Dad, as much as I appreciate you threatening to physically harm someone for me, I'm a big boy. I can handle myself.
DAD: All right, but make sure you eat. You grandmother said you looked skinny.
ME: Mom made me dinner tonight.
DAD: What'd she make you?
ME: Ham.
DAD: Your mother can't make ham.
MOM: Is he saying something about my ham?
ME: Hey Dad, you ever feel bad about what you did to Mom?
DAD: Every day, kiddo. But don't tell the witch that.
MOM: What'd he say?
ME: He said he wishes he'd done more.
MOM: Son-of-a-bitch!

I have a dream.

In the dream, it's thirty years from now. I'm 53. There's a barbecue going on with lots of people. Family. Friends. My kids. Maybe grandkids. Pets. Neighbors. Suburbia.

I'm making burgers on the grill. There's a pool with people splashing in it. Music is playing from a stereo that somebody brought out onto the porch.

There's laughing. Drinking. Eating. It's heaven.

Then it's night. The house is empty, messy from the people going in and out of it all day. I don't care. I'm in pajamas. I hear music. I go downstairs where there's a piano in my living room. Someone's sitting at the piano playing a song. I know the song, but I don't know it.

I sit next to him. It's a him, by the way.

ME: So you're Mr. Right?
MR. RIGHT: You are correct, sir.
ME: I thought you'd be taller.
MR. RIGHT: So did I.
ME: I was just kidding.
MR. RIGHT: So I can play piano?
ME: Piano and guitar.
MR. RIGHT: Already your hopes are a little on the high side.

I want to get a good look at him. I want to memorize everything about him, but I can't. I just keep listening to the music. And strangely, it seems like it's all a reminder. That I won't really be worrying about anything that I worried about before I went to sleep even a year from now. That there are always things to look forward to. New people to meet. New paths to walk down.

And the perfect guy sitting at a piano in a messy house plunking out heaven.

It was then that I said to goodnight to someone whose name I would not say again for a very long time...