replacement

Her name is Shelly. 

As an old English name, it means “Meadow on a Ledge”…whatever that is. For me, the female version of this name has a contemporary meaning; Shelly stands for replacement. Replacement. I’m being replaced.

We have been in a quandary since his parents flipped out.  I agree with him–we should see other people, because there is somebody better for both of us out there.  However, I do not believe we should do this now, not in front of each other’s faces.  We discussed this, and more, that Sunday.  So then, how could he tell me he loves me and lie with me until my soul touches heaven…and within the same hour, broach the subject of meeting her?  He is the only person I know who could make love to a woman who loves him, make her feel safe in her most vulnerable state, make her forgive him (for parental beliefs that are not his fault–even though following them is), and then casually bring up “seeing new people”. I choked on my cigarette. His explanation was vague, so I don’t think he knew who he was being set up with, but he knew co-workers wanted him to meet some girl.  He was noticeably excited about it.

Placid-face-saying-encouraging-things,  meet Electrocuted-insides-screaming-expletives.  Ya’all play nice.

I had made plans to see his students perform, before it was too late, the following Friday.  I was going to come straight from work, and told him to tell the kids I was coming.  The next day, he informed me that a co-worker would be introducing them the same night I planned to go, so I said that I would not be there. I was disappointed in not being able to see students I helped begin–and I was disappointed in him.  He said he was sorry, but I don’t think either of us believed it.

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday…went by quickly.  I was trying to stay busy, all while being gracious, all while insanely competing with an unknown woman for my boyfriend of 5 years’ love. I stayed so busy, I didn’t notice until Thursday that I’d overdrawn my bank account–by about $100.  I had to ask him for money so that I could just get to work, and I hated to do it.  Of all weeks, and of all days, why did I have to show him that she was already better than me? I felt pretty resigned as I drove by the school on my way home alone Friday. I knew she was prettier.  I knew she was smarter.  I knew she was white.

What I didn’t know was her name.  Nope…he told me that when he got home.  After he kissed me hello, and after I quietly told him I didn’t want to know any details.  He was considerate of my wishes and gave me only the broad gist of the meeting.  He said he’d gotten Shelly’s phone number.  I suddenly had a feeling that our weekend was going to suck.

We made plans a few months prior to go to Pensacola on Saturday to see the Blue Angels and to see Historic Downtown areas.  We were to go the day after he met her.  Still trying to be gracious, in a gritted teeth sort of way, I let him sleep in a little more than either of us should have.  I knew we wouldn’t get to do any of the other stuff that I wanted to show him (like downtown) unless we left early, before eight.  I also knew he would sleep late and somehow get out of doing anything that he didn’t want to do. I resigned myself to it, accepted his apology when he woke up with a headache at nine, and threw away the downtown maps.  Why should he care about what I want? The airshow was awesome and we actually had a good time, enjoying each other’s company…except for when he was actually holding my hand in public while we were watching fireworks…and down here, hours away from virtually everybody he is related to…lo and behold…his cousin walks by, and he jerks his hand away from mine as though I had burned him.  I actually thought I did.  What bothered me most about the incident was not that he jerked his hand away; it was that, in a crowd of thousands, he was looking around for who might be looking at us.

On Sunday, he called her, and a date was set for Monday night. Mexican food was agreed to be a suitable choice. By that time, Shelly was a supermodel in my mind, and I hated her. Since I’ve been dating him, he has brought out this violent jealousy (emotionally turbulent, not fist-to-cuff) I never knew existed in me.  I felt it then, and didn’t speak to him much throughout the day.  Somewhere around nine in the evening, insanity took over, and I ironed his clothes–for school, and for his date.  I chose a shirt I love to see him in, one that brings out his eyes and fits well. I have a favorite picture of him, and in it, he is wearing this shirt.  In the picture, his eyes speak of a soft and deep love for me, nowhere near as intense and heart-melting as the real thing, but the picture actually does his gaze justice.  I lovingly ironed every stupid crease as if the shirt could say, “She really ironed the shit out of me…she loves you this much…don’t do this, man.”

The next day, I didn’t have to work (awful time for an off-day).  I was going nuts, so I cleaned a whole bunch of stuff, loaded the dishwasher, hung up my clothes, ironed the rest of his clothes, and played on the computer until he came home to change. I wanted (and had planned) to stay away from him, but insanity took hold of me again.  I helped him get ready instead. I made sure he put on the good brown belt.  I surveyed my ironing job as he put on the shirt.  I reminded him to trim his nose hair.  My heart imploded in spurts and jerks.  I reminded myself that if Shelly was better for him, it was a good thing.  I hated myself for thinking it. 

As he was leaving he leaned over to kiss me goodbye. He always, always kisses me goodbye, no matter what else is going on in our worlds. This time, it was too awkward.  Even as I leaned into him, our lips touched and my eyes flew wide open. My brain screamed, he is kissing you goodbye before he goes out on a date with another woman. HE IS KISSING YOU GOODBYE BEFORE HE GOES OUT ON A DATE WITH ANOTHER WOMAN. We both pulled away. We both looked away.  He spoke first. “That was weird.”

I let him have a sad smile. How astute of you, jackass. “Yeah, weird…See you later.”

I watched him leave, I slammed the door, and I sat in the kitchen and cried. Just enough to know that I was still normal, and this betrayal hurt, and whatever he has fractured can never be fixed. None of this made sense.  Five years.  I have loved him through shit, but nothing like this, for five years. I hate him but I can’t hate him. I gave him permission to do this. I want him to be happy. With me. What did I do wrong? What could I have done to make him choose me over a normal southern-white life? What is so wrong about a life with me? I used to be so strong. Why did I choose to surrender some of my power to this man?  Why can’t I see that he is just as racist and stupid as his parents and everyone else? He can’t reconcile the racism and the love for me, so he is just quitting.  It’s easier. Why can’t I hate him and walk away? I went to the basement and watched T.V. At some point, I locked the door.  I didn’t want to see him until I was ready to face him, and I sure didn’t want him bouncing in talking about some great date that he had.  I knew it would be great. I knew he would want to kiss her, get rid of me, date her many more times, tell her she’s beautiful, propose to her, marry her, make babies with her, spit on my grave with her.

It took me a little while to come out of the basement once he came home.  He did knock on the door, and I told him I’d be out later. I got up all my courage and walked outside, but downstairs, instead of upstairs on the deck, where he was. He was on the phone with his parents. I hate them still. He walked down to me. He must have seen the look in my eyes and so he kept walking past. He turned around and just looked at me.  At this point I figured he couldn’t tell me anything about this stupid date because he was too busy pretending I wasn’t here while talking to family.  I walked alongside him, and we walked upstairs together. 

Since I have waited until my wounds healed a little, Shelly is actually out of the picture, and what he told me about the date is irrelevant. He told me things that made me feel better, and things that made me feel like there will be a lot more where she came from.  I still love him more than I hate him, and have probably been nicer to him this past week than I have in a while. I have not–and will not–let my guard down. He is the only one who has the power to hurt me so much that part of me will be destroyed. I really can’t afford to damage the wrong part of my soul, and never trust enough to know love again.  I know that now. I am enjoying what time we have left, and I want him to remember me for a long time.

Shelly stood for replacement–my replacement–but she just as easily could have been Jessica, Ashley, or Lily. The irony here is in what his name means.  In English, Israeli and Hebrew…the man I chose to trust…has a name that means “Supplant” or “Replace”. We should have both seen this coming.