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.

My brush with unfamiliar feelings…

I have no idea how to concretely categorize how I’m feeling right now, and I have to get this out.  There are some lies which must be told to keep the people you love safe.  These are not lies that I’m telling, but I have to corroborate them.  Now, keep an open mind. 

Racism and bigotry is still very alive and well in the south, and especially in the Bible Belt. I was not raised to believe that people are not people when their skin color is different, but too many folks down here have been.  The older generation can’t get beyond the ideas about different races from their youth (think civil rights era, wars in Korea, Vietnam, and the Middle East). Still, some of the students I encounter don’t know quite what to make of me, because their experience is limited, but they are generally more accepting of people around them. The hateful backlash against the president…I’m sure that you can recognize that at least some of it is due to the color of his skin (even though he’s half-and-half). Want proof that such hard feelings still exist?? Link, link, link, and link. 

I have been in a wonderful relationship for five and a half years, and it is an interracial relationship.  I am the luckiest person alive to have found such a wonderful, caring individual to share my life with.  The two of us have been through so much together, and our love just grows stronger and stronger. We live together. We are not married, due to the fact that his family doesn’t and CANNOT know about our relationship.  You can read a little more about our situation in a couple of posts I wrote back in May (one <–read at your own risk! and two<–much more tame). He has been under a tremendous amount of pressure from balancing his two “lives”–one with his family (that doesn’t include most of who he really is) and one with the rest of the world (where he gets to be himself and include me). For the entire duration of our relationship, I have made excuses for his family and their views on interracial dating, and Black people, in general.  “They are good people and can’t be wicked and truly hateful if they raised their son so well…oh, they’re just from a different time in history….oh…they have lived in a small town their whole lives….well, they just haven’t had the opportunity to get to know people of different races, and would be more tolerant if they had…well, maybe…” This is his family, and the last thing I want to do is alienate him from the people who have loved him his entire life, because they would disown him.  So I have justified these elaborate deceptions to keep their feelings safe, and to keep his family in his life.  Even after every racist comment, reaction, joke (which I actually think are hillarious…yeah, I know…), and ugly comment about the president, I have still defended them. For their feelings.  For their sense of security and what makes sense in their limited world.  For what is acceptable to the “teachings” of the church.  For the fact that the son who loves me is more helpful to them in their increasing age and has the best chance of providing them with grandchildren than the other son….and the list goes on.

I have overlooked all of these things, until recently.  (Here’s where the open mind comes in handy) They were planning a trip to see him for this weekend. Did I mention that they didn’t know that I already lived here?  So needless to say, we were scrambling for an excuse, justification, or any reason for me to be here, with all my stuff when they arrived.  We decided on the path of least resistance, where I would just be living here temporarily, etc., etc., with no mention of half a decade of dating.  It seemed harmless, with me as a roommate, since we’re both post-grad, and are adults in every sense of the word, right?

Wrong.  We might as well have dropped bombs on them. From the reaction we got, you’d think he told them he had given me a ring (which he has).  Momma, Daddy, Brother(who is closer to our age)–they all flipped out.  They cancelled their visit.  They haven’t spoken to him in two days.  And I am left with an unfamiliar set of emotions.

Despair, which is new for me, in light of how I was raised so multi-culturally.  Despair which attempts to prove white people are looking at me and thinking, “she is black and dumb,” or “she is black and ugly,” or “she is black and worthless.” Despair which shows me the futility of trying to have intelligent conversation with them ever again, because I have the distinct feeling that they will just smile and nod while the n—-r is talking.  Despair, because I’ve had meals at the table with these people, and all of those interactions are now suspect. Despair when I consider the future with my s/o…they will never understand our relationship, and because of my newfound dumb, ugly, worthless and subhuman status, I actually almost believe that I’m not worth the risk.

Hatred, which is all-consuming and sickening all at once. Hatred which fuels a wish for a malignant something-or-another to be found this week.  Hatred which inspires a desire to sign them up for all sorts of junk mail services. Hatred which drops all the previous defenses I had for them…and labels the behavior as what it actually is. Hatred as un-like my nature and as unhealthy as it can be. Hatred in my chest and somewhere deeper, that is making me hot, cold and sick to my stomach.  Hatred that may not ever subside and allow me to forgive, especially if the current situation leads me away from the man I love.

Anger. Furious anger. I don’t even have the adequate words for how I felt when the comment “…well, you won’t be renewed at that job now,” was made.  Angry clenched teeth, when I realized that they would not bother to call him, and would ignore him on the internet. Helpless anger because, despite their irrational, unfounded, racist, outdated, small-minded, hateful, unintelligent, nonsensical beliefs and feelings, he still cares what the hell they think, and he’s hurting in a way that I CAN’T HELP MAKE BETTER unless I leave for good.

We knew this day was coming…but this is not even the level of revelation we were so afraid of. I am also equally appalled at my reaction.  I didn’t know I was really capable of feeling this way about his family, and I’m sorry that I feel as irrationally as they do.  I didn’t think they could have me so upset I’d be ready to wash my hands of the whole affair.  But he has been as wonderful as he can be–as sad as he is, he’s been more tender and loving than normal, and all I can do is hug him and tell him that I’m here for him.

Can people not recognize that the Emancipation Proclamation was in 1862, Desegregation mostly occurred in 1954, Anti-Miscegenation laws were repealed in 1967, and we have a damn half-black president, elected in 2008.  Yet…here I am today, in 2009…miserable because narrow views that take pride in STOMPING on my very human-ness, still exist, and are touching my life in ways I never would have believed.