It happened a few weeks ago, but I have let it sit with me. I was ripe for some serious misbehavior or misunderstanding, or both. I was not listening to myself at all. I was running on empty and as fast as I could. And in the midst of that....
I finally gave in and upgraded my cell phone--- after, I don't know... maybe twelve years! It was a cunning new toy, sleek and pretty. And it held a new form of communication for me... texting. (Everyone join me when I say "oooooooooooooooooo.") A few friends had texted me over the years, not realizing that I might as well be exclusively wearing white frocks and hiding a stack of poems tied with a silk ribbon in my attic. I was anxious and giddy at the idea of finally writing them back.
I filled my contact list with haste (another set up for disaster), and I continued to plunge myself into all the demands of my days. I did take a moment to write one friend in particular. Excuse me, I took a moment to text one friend in particular. Note the word I've used twice already : write. That is what it seemed like to me. Another place and way to write. Oh, I tell you, I was in heaven!
This friend is more than dear. Search these entries. He's here. Search my thoughts. He's there. Search my very heart; he's there. Given the opportunity to communicate in a brand new way, let me tell you... can texts be described as warm??? This one could. A reply came immediately. A phone call. I rejected it. I was sitting with colleagues, talking. I couldn't very well have the kind of conversation I was accustomed to having with my friend. Even while I was pushing that button, I was thinking how odd a move that was for me... never in life have I ever/would I ever reject contact with him... and yet... something made me hit 'reject.' It is one of the few times in this story where I will report following my instinct. A few seconds later, another call came. Still sitting at a table full of my colleagues, I rejected the call again, this time laughing a little. Soon after a text arrived. One glitch tho'... it was blank. I laughed at the irony and didn't give it much thought beyond 'of course somehow our devices aren't compatible,' texted back that I was in a meeting and that I would call him when I was on my way home and went about my extremely busy business. When I did try to reach him later, no answer came.
That night or the next, rather late, I was in bed talking to my husband and I received the signal that a text had arrived, and soon after, another. I reached for the phone and saw it was my friend again and again found myself shaking my head and laughing. Both blank again.
The next day I took my class to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. In the midst of a unit on Native American Indians, I heard of a new collection there. The kids also wanted to see a BIG christmas tree. I was trying to think of one that would be somewhat removed from the elements. The museum fit the bill and I plunged head first without hesitation.
Stupid. Foolish. Thoughtless. The minute I stepped through the doors I wondered what I possibly could have been thinking. Chris and I frequented that museum nearly every Sunday for two decades. Going there challenged every fiber of my very tired and still grieving being. Too late now, I stepped toward the tree with my class in tow. Behind the tree were the tapestries... a fascination shared with my blank textor in our younger years. On the bus on the way back toward school, emotionally rattled, no doubt, by the whole outing, I reached out to touch someone and texted my friend about seeing the tapestries. Again, I was thinking of this as a way to write a letter. It was an emotional exchange. I mentioned , I believe, how much I wanted to speak to him, and that I was sure we would manage true connection soon.
How many text messages crossed? I am guessing a dozen. Several phone calls came from him that I couldn't take. Several more inexplicably blank texts came in. This was something like singing into a cave and having your own voice come back to you, but I wasn't really paying attention. I was reaching out, I was at least aware of what I thought was his effort to reach back. I was patient and content.
The afternoon following the museum trip, I sent a few brief texts. Again, I was with colleagues and could not take a phone call. After a bit, a call came again. I assumed it was my colleague with a meet up message so that we could at least take the precautions not to be jumped on the way to our cars . It was my far flung, blank-texting friend. His tone was different. There was an urgency. There was a directive: "DO NOT send me any more messages. You are going to get me in trouble."
At the very least, I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach. I couldn't understand at all. One of the first things I thought was 'since when does he give orders?' I ignored my own question. As the night progressed I grew madder and madder. When I wasn't raging, I was weeping. Whatever this was, I was certain it meant one thing: we could no longer be friends. I am sure a thousand things were running through my mind; two of them were 'just how long had our friendship been a problem' and 'I don't have thirty more years' because that's how long he's been my friend and, in a way, how long it has taken to get here.
The next morning I sent him a scathing email. Now let me interrupt my own narrative to say this: I generally do not scathe. I am one of the most even tempered people you will ever meet. I have been married for 17 years. I have known my husband for 32 years. My father-in-law was visiting once for an extended period of time. He noticed something different as I was getting supper ready (I was very, very tired and maybe less talkative than usual) and asked me if I was in a bad mood. My husband interrupted to reply that I am never in a bad mood. How many husbands can or would say that? Father-in -law was incredulous. Husband insisted it was true; never. (Now granted, in this case my husband's definition of 'capable of being in a bad mood' is firmly lodged in the realm of 'given to viscious tirades' but still, you get my drift....) It had not occurred to me before. I didn't realize, even, that this was something my husband believed was true about me. Many, many times when we are out in the world he will overhear some exchange between spouses he will thank me. I also generally do not eavesdrop, so he often explains that he is thanking me for not being whatever he is overhearing.
SO... when I told my husband about this whole mess, and about my vitriolic email to my friend, his eyes became very wide. Of course, he also thought the very idea that I wrote the things I was telling him I wrote was utterly comical. I am finding it very hard to see the humor in the experience. There is nothing funny for me in having thrown the very essence of who I am and want to be out the window. I tell you, it was like a possessed woman wrote that email. I understand it, in a way. I was angry to be robbed of what was so precious to me. Angry to lose something that I had no idea was in jeopardy. Angry to be essentially given a gag-order. Angry , certainly, that this treasured friendship was no longer mine. In the light of all losses, this loss was more than I could handle with grace. But still....
Less than an hour after I sent the email my phone rang... when I looked at it, I could see my friend's name... Out loud, while I hit 'reject,' I begged "What do you want from me???? You told me not to communicate with you... I will probably never speak to you again... WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME????" And I cried. And looked down the tunnel of how much pain this would whole mess would cause me and how long it would last. And I was more than sad.
A few days later, an email came. My friend said, essentially, that he had no idea what I was talking about and suggested that we speak the next day. I don't remember what I thought then, aside from this: that I believed him.
So, what actually happened? I put his number in my phone directory incorrectly. I transposed two numbers. I texted some unknown. Receiving the first text, I am quite certain the recipient liked the nature of the communication. I generally am not one to hold back. There was regard and affection in my message. I guess he wanted a piece of that. Enough that he phoned a complete stranger. I rejected that first call and the one that came right after. What would he have done if I had answered, I wonder. Then there was both phone message and a text, but they were both blank. What I thought was a technical glitch was actually someone who could not blow their cover by letting me hear or read their 'voice.' Oblivious, I continued to communicate with my 'friend.' Following my emotional visit to the museum, in particular, I sent a few brief texts one right after the other. I suppose my blank textor was not alone on that particular afternoon, which prompted the "Stop sending me messages" order. The next morning, the call I thought was a response to my email was probably just the next opportunity he was 'free' and on second thought I guess he wasn't ready for this game to end, after all. What would he have done that morning if I had answered the phone, I wonder again, but not too seriously. I have other things on my mind.
Like the fact that I was setting myself up for some serious fall by running as fast as I could, sleeping very little, attending to my self in an utterly minimal manner. Like the fact that I put myself in a high emotional jeopardy by going to the museum at all; by never thinking about myself at all in the planning and execution of that outing. Like the fact that I lost, entirely, my sense of who my friend is, enough to be thoroughly duped by a stranger. Like the fact that I lost, entirely, my sense of who I am by playing fast and loose with anger.
It is a strange and jarring thing to have to revisit these simple lessons when you think you are long passed them.
I finally gave in and upgraded my cell phone--- after, I don't know... maybe twelve years! It was a cunning new toy, sleek and pretty. And it held a new form of communication for me... texting. (Everyone join me when I say "oooooooooooooooooo.") A few friends had texted me over the years, not realizing that I might as well be exclusively wearing white frocks and hiding a stack of poems tied with a silk ribbon in my attic. I was anxious and giddy at the idea of finally writing them back.
I filled my contact list with haste (another set up for disaster), and I continued to plunge myself into all the demands of my days. I did take a moment to write one friend in particular. Excuse me, I took a moment to text one friend in particular. Note the word I've used twice already : write. That is what it seemed like to me. Another place and way to write. Oh, I tell you, I was in heaven!
This friend is more than dear. Search these entries. He's here. Search my thoughts. He's there. Search my very heart; he's there. Given the opportunity to communicate in a brand new way, let me tell you... can texts be described as warm??? This one could. A reply came immediately. A phone call. I rejected it. I was sitting with colleagues, talking. I couldn't very well have the kind of conversation I was accustomed to having with my friend. Even while I was pushing that button, I was thinking how odd a move that was for me... never in life have I ever/would I ever reject contact with him... and yet... something made me hit 'reject.' It is one of the few times in this story where I will report following my instinct. A few seconds later, another call came. Still sitting at a table full of my colleagues, I rejected the call again, this time laughing a little. Soon after a text arrived. One glitch tho'... it was blank. I laughed at the irony and didn't give it much thought beyond 'of course somehow our devices aren't compatible,' texted back that I was in a meeting and that I would call him when I was on my way home and went about my extremely busy business. When I did try to reach him later, no answer came.
That night or the next, rather late, I was in bed talking to my husband and I received the signal that a text had arrived, and soon after, another. I reached for the phone and saw it was my friend again and again found myself shaking my head and laughing. Both blank again.
The next day I took my class to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. In the midst of a unit on Native American Indians, I heard of a new collection there. The kids also wanted to see a BIG christmas tree. I was trying to think of one that would be somewhat removed from the elements. The museum fit the bill and I plunged head first without hesitation.
Stupid. Foolish. Thoughtless. The minute I stepped through the doors I wondered what I possibly could have been thinking. Chris and I frequented that museum nearly every Sunday for two decades. Going there challenged every fiber of my very tired and still grieving being. Too late now, I stepped toward the tree with my class in tow. Behind the tree were the tapestries... a fascination shared with my blank textor in our younger years. On the bus on the way back toward school, emotionally rattled, no doubt, by the whole outing, I reached out to touch someone and texted my friend about seeing the tapestries. Again, I was thinking of this as a way to write a letter. It was an emotional exchange. I mentioned , I believe, how much I wanted to speak to him, and that I was sure we would manage true connection soon.
How many text messages crossed? I am guessing a dozen. Several phone calls came from him that I couldn't take. Several more inexplicably blank texts came in. This was something like singing into a cave and having your own voice come back to you, but I wasn't really paying attention. I was reaching out, I was at least aware of what I thought was his effort to reach back. I was patient and content.
The afternoon following the museum trip, I sent a few brief texts. Again, I was with colleagues and could not take a phone call. After a bit, a call came again. I assumed it was my colleague with a meet up message so that we could at least take the precautions not to be jumped on the way to our cars . It was my far flung, blank-texting friend. His tone was different. There was an urgency. There was a directive: "DO NOT send me any more messages. You are going to get me in trouble."
At the very least, I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach. I couldn't understand at all. One of the first things I thought was 'since when does he give orders?' I ignored my own question. As the night progressed I grew madder and madder. When I wasn't raging, I was weeping. Whatever this was, I was certain it meant one thing: we could no longer be friends. I am sure a thousand things were running through my mind; two of them were 'just how long had our friendship been a problem' and 'I don't have thirty more years' because that's how long he's been my friend and, in a way, how long it has taken to get here.
The next morning I sent him a scathing email. Now let me interrupt my own narrative to say this: I generally do not scathe. I am one of the most even tempered people you will ever meet. I have been married for 17 years. I have known my husband for 32 years. My father-in-law was visiting once for an extended period of time. He noticed something different as I was getting supper ready (I was very, very tired and maybe less talkative than usual) and asked me if I was in a bad mood. My husband interrupted to reply that I am never in a bad mood. How many husbands can or would say that? Father-in -law was incredulous. Husband insisted it was true; never. (Now granted, in this case my husband's definition of 'capable of being in a bad mood' is firmly lodged in the realm of 'given to viscious tirades' but still, you get my drift....) It had not occurred to me before. I didn't realize, even, that this was something my husband believed was true about me. Many, many times when we are out in the world he will overhear some exchange between spouses he will thank me. I also generally do not eavesdrop, so he often explains that he is thanking me for not being whatever he is overhearing.
SO... when I told my husband about this whole mess, and about my vitriolic email to my friend, his eyes became very wide. Of course, he also thought the very idea that I wrote the things I was telling him I wrote was utterly comical. I am finding it very hard to see the humor in the experience. There is nothing funny for me in having thrown the very essence of who I am and want to be out the window. I tell you, it was like a possessed woman wrote that email. I understand it, in a way. I was angry to be robbed of what was so precious to me. Angry to lose something that I had no idea was in jeopardy. Angry to be essentially given a gag-order. Angry , certainly, that this treasured friendship was no longer mine. In the light of all losses, this loss was more than I could handle with grace. But still....
Less than an hour after I sent the email my phone rang... when I looked at it, I could see my friend's name... Out loud, while I hit 'reject,' I begged "What do you want from me???? You told me not to communicate with you... I will probably never speak to you again... WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME????" And I cried. And looked down the tunnel of how much pain this would whole mess would cause me and how long it would last. And I was more than sad.
A few days later, an email came. My friend said, essentially, that he had no idea what I was talking about and suggested that we speak the next day. I don't remember what I thought then, aside from this: that I believed him.
So, what actually happened? I put his number in my phone directory incorrectly. I transposed two numbers. I texted some unknown. Receiving the first text, I am quite certain the recipient liked the nature of the communication. I generally am not one to hold back. There was regard and affection in my message. I guess he wanted a piece of that. Enough that he phoned a complete stranger. I rejected that first call and the one that came right after. What would he have done if I had answered, I wonder. Then there was both phone message and a text, but they were both blank. What I thought was a technical glitch was actually someone who could not blow their cover by letting me hear or read their 'voice.' Oblivious, I continued to communicate with my 'friend.' Following my emotional visit to the museum, in particular, I sent a few brief texts one right after the other. I suppose my blank textor was not alone on that particular afternoon, which prompted the "Stop sending me messages" order. The next morning, the call I thought was a response to my email was probably just the next opportunity he was 'free' and on second thought I guess he wasn't ready for this game to end, after all. What would he have done that morning if I had answered the phone, I wonder again, but not too seriously. I have other things on my mind.
Like the fact that I was setting myself up for some serious fall by running as fast as I could, sleeping very little, attending to my self in an utterly minimal manner. Like the fact that I put myself in a high emotional jeopardy by going to the museum at all; by never thinking about myself at all in the planning and execution of that outing. Like the fact that I lost, entirely, my sense of who my friend is, enough to be thoroughly duped by a stranger. Like the fact that I lost, entirely, my sense of who I am by playing fast and loose with anger.
It is a strange and jarring thing to have to revisit these simple lessons when you think you are long passed them.
