Even knowing I’m the one in the wrong, there’s a growing tension building in my stomach at the words, “I’ve come to a decision.” Those words have never signaled anything good for me.
“What’s that?” I ask finally.
“I’ve decided to offer you a choice,” she says. “I can tell you what I need and you can tell me if it’s something you’re willing to do. Does that sound fair?”
“I guess that depends on what you’re going to tell me,” I answer. It’s not a kind or chivalrous response, but at least it’s the truth.
She takes another breath and crosses her arms. “Have you ever tried therapy?” she asks.
I don’t need to get mad; I just need to hear her out. Even knowing that, though, there’s still a tinge of bitterness in my voice as I answer, “I’m not really that big on therapy.”
“That’s up to you,” she says. “I just know that I can’t be with the guy from last night. I don’t know if therapy’s the solution or not, but I know that the way you’re dealing with this isn’t—I get that this all sounds demanding,” she says, interrupting herself. “I’d understand if this is too much of me to ask for where we are in our relationship, but I’m just telling you that I’m not willing to just go along with everything while you’re trying to tear down everything in your life.”
I want to tell her that’s not what I’m doing, but the more I think about it, the more I realize she’s right. “Do you know why I fight?” I ask. “I’m not talking about last night, I mean in general. Do you know why I still do this even though I know my chances of making it into the octagon are really, really small?”
“Why?” she asks, devoid of any visible interest in the answer.
“It’s not because I like hurting people,” I tell her.
“I know that,” she says, “but that doesn’t change the fact that—”
“Please,” I tell her, holding up my own hand, reflecting her earlier gesture. “I fight because that’s the only time where I really feel like I’m in control of anything. It’s the only time I’ve ever really felt that way. With everything else, there are just so many variables, and in my experience, anything that might go wron
g usually does and when it does, it’s usually worse than anything I’d imagined.”
She’s slowly shaking her head as I’m talking, but she’s listening. Maybe I’m not really getting through, but at least she’s listening.
“I know I need help,” I tell her. “What happened last night wasn’t just about Chris. To be really honest with you, I’m not entirely sure what all it was about. I know that I don’t like the guy from last night, either. That’s not who I want to be, and I know this may sound like a load of crap, but that’s not really who I am, either.”
“If I thought that’s who you really were, I wouldn’t be here right now,” she says, “but that doesn’t excuse what happened.”
“I’ve seen a lot of therapists,” I tell her. “Going to court as much as I did as a kid, you get put into a lot of shrink’s offices.”
“If you have a better idea, I’m all ears,” she says. “I’m just telling you what I need. Maybe I don’t have the right to tell you how to deal with your problems, but I wanted to at least tell you where I am. I just know that if we’re going to have any sort of a relationship, what happened last night can absolutely never happen again. You lost control, Mason.”
“I know,” I tell her. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Well,” she sighs and picks up her purse again, “I’ve given you my best conclusion on the subject. Maybe I’m wrong. I just don’t know what else to say. When we were at the lake, I don’t know if you know this or not, but you really taught me something. You taught me, ironically enough, that sometimes letting go is the best thing that a person can do.”
Wow, she really read a lot into that.
“I’m just trying to figure out how to teach you what you taught me,” she says. “You either let things go before they pull you under or you don’t. Make your peace with Chris or stay mad at him,” she says. “In spite of everything, it’s not my place to tell you how to feel. Maybe that’s why this feels so strange telling you what I’m telling you. I just want to get back to what it was like those few hours before we got back to find police cars everywhere. If that’s not something you think we can do, though, there’s really nothing left to do about it.”
“Yeah,” I stall. I’m angry at her for trying to tell me how to live my life, but I know she’s right about everything. It doesn’t take long to figure out that I’m angry at her because she’s right about everything.
“So,” she says, “that’s where I’m at. Maybe this is a stupid idea.”
It’s not lost on me that I had a conversation a lot like this not too long ago with my brother. That’s what has my attention more than anything right now.
“It’s not,” I tell her. “Something needs to change.”
There’s a hint of what almost looks like a smile on her face, but I still feel bitterness in my bones. I want to explain to her that it’s not me, but Chris who’s screwed up, and that she’s right, that it’s none of her business how I deal with things in my own personal life. Not a word of that makes its way to my lips, though.
One word keeps flashing in my mind. At first, I’m offended at my own thoughts and then I’m confused, but the more I think about it, the clearer the thought behind the word becomes.
Victim.
My life hasn’t been a particularly easy one, but that’s no excuse for anything. My parents failed me, but that doesn’t have to rule my emotions. Chris has brought an unprecedented amount of crap down on himself and, indirectly, on me, but that doesn’t have to rule my thoughts.