Last Sunday Redux

Last Sunday

I am the goddess of bad timing...

loads of dirty laundry
sorting your life into piles
things to keep
things to give away
stuff for the dumpster
how do you fit 24 years of your life in the back of a Subaru wagon?

I watch your efforts while I pretend to read your beat up copy of Less Than Zero
I feel like I'm in the way
your life, your future lies in a faraway place
and I'm not sure where mine is
funny, I thought it was with you
actually, I think it still might be
but we both know there's no room in your Subaru for me
I have no right to even think about asking you to stay
and you couldn't even if I did
too early to call it love
too late to just forget
my life feels like it's beginning
and you're taping boxes shut
and stacking them against the wall
I used to always say I'd written the perfect man for me
so he couldn't possibly exist
how wrong I was
you put my best dreams to shame
every cheesy love song on the radio has new meaning
songs of lovers departing
and feelings unspoken
lyrics that only touch on what I feel
no song could encompass the emotional turmoil I feel right now
I'm counting hours
as if I was on death row
with no chance of a call from the governor
hell, at this point death seems like a much easier situation

frustrated, you look up from half-filled boxes and piles of unmatched socks
"I don't want to do this.
I don't want to play this game anymore."
neither do I
but I can't find a referee to contest the rules.

June 8, 1999



As you can see by the date on this poem, I wrote this two years ago, when Roger Mexico was packing up his apartment to move to Albany. After all this time, it hasn't gotten any easier to say goodbye.

As I write this, Roger Mexico is on his way to Pennsylvania with all of his worldly possesions packed in his grandfather's truck with a U-Haul trailer. And I'm here, trying to hold it together. I'm not doing a very good job at it.

He will be back in town in a week or so for a short period of time; he has to go back to his grandparents' home to switch cars with them. That's not making it any easier - in fact, it's quite the opposite. As difficult as this weekend has been for me, the next time I see him will be even tougher, because that time will be The Big Goodbye. For real. For good.

His job doesn't start until mid-month; right now he's driving out there to find a place to live. He's pretty optimistic that he'll be able to find a place near the university (where he'll be working), but he's still apprehensive. He's taking a big risk, a major step. He knows absolutely no one there. He doesn't have a place to stay. I'm sure he's feeling just as sad and lonely and scared as I am right now, if not more.

He's better at hiding it than me, though.

For the past few days, I've pretty much been in shell shock. I've spent the entire weekend watching happy movies to try to cheer myself up, interrupted by helping him prepare for the big move. We've run to Wal-Mart to get cat carriers. I've run errands for him while he was too groggy from the painkillers. (Yep, still in kidney distress...the doctor moved him up to Percocet. He's named the stone Peggy.) I've just sat in his apartment keeping him company while he packed up all his CDs. And the entire time, I've tried to put on a brave face, thinking that if I didn't appear upset, it would keep his spirits up. The last thing I wanted to do was add to his stress. Unfortunately, I am a terrible actress and he's known all too well how much his departure is affecting me. No matter how much I've denied that I'm upset, he's seen through me and told me to stop lying to him. I did lose it the other night and burst into tears at his place, explaining how hard this whole situation is from where I stand. Sometimes I wish I wasn't so emotional about things; the last thing he needs at this point is a sobbing woman sitting in his apartment telling him how upset she is over his moving.

How incredibly shallow and self-centered of me. Yeah, me me me, it's all about me.

He left Iggy and Bowie (his cats) in town while he searches for a new apartment. Originally, they were supposed to stay with me, but I bowed out, giving some lame excuse about never being home and my apartment not being cat-ready. The truth of the matter is that I couldn't handle the thought of the boys staying with me, constant furry reminders that he was not there. I hated the idea of getting used to having them at my place, only to be whisked away on his way back through. I'd gone through that two summers ago when I watched his cat Sherlock (now unfortunately deceased) while he worked for The Evil Cruise Line. He came back, collected his cat, and departed from my life. (This was back when we were still dating; his return coincided with our breakup. It was ugly for a few weeks, but we worked through it remarkably.) Between my feline separation anxiety and a bit of remaining mourning for Elvis, I made the decision that it would be best if the boys went to stay with his intern friend.

Selfish, selfish, selfish. I felt like I'd let him down, focusing on my stupid insecurities rather than helping him when he needed it. Some friend I am.

I took a nap Saturday afternoon and dreamt he had given me a letter saying goodbye and all the things he wasn't able to say to me in person. It was an amazing letter, beautiful and touching and poignant and gone when I woke up. Well, not entirely gone. I read it. It's still inside me.

(On a completely unrelated note, I also dreamt I was in a Tae-Bo class with that Australian woman who created Nads. Word to the wise: do not fall asleep to infomercials.)

He had a going-away party Saturday night, and I felt bad because he spent a lot of the evening checking to see if I was doing OK. Actually I did manage to have a good time, given the circumstances. I got a chance to talk to a lot of people and had more than a few good laughs. But the entire time the finality was hanging in the air. This was it. This was the last party he would throw at his place, possibly the last time I would see a lot of these people. In 24 hours, he would be far away. It wasn't his responsibility to ensure my happiness, but he still wanted to make sure that I was talking and laughing and not sitting in the corner pouting. And I tried my best. But, like I said, I'm a lousy actress and he knows me better than that.

I stopped over at his place as he was packing the last of his belongings in the truck. It was strange being in the empty apartment. While he ran the trash down to the dumpster, I paced the apartment, remembering where things used to be. Here was where the table was, where I used to dump my keys when I stopped over. Here was where the keyboards were, where he would work on his music. Here was where the couch was, where I would furiously scribble into notebooks while he worked on finding the right sound for a drum line. And all that was left was a few beer bottle tops from the previous evening's festivities and a small family of dust bunnies composed mostly of cat hair. The apartment even sounded empty, like places always do when devoid of furniture.

We went to Friday's for dinner, and it was possibly one of the most uncomfortable meals I've ever had. The inevitablilty was catching up with us, and neither of us spoke much. I picked at my order of potato skins, thinking, "Less than one hour. It's down to minutes." Again, I tried to wear the I'm-not-depressed mask, and again he called me on it.

He walked me out to my car, and said goodbye, reminding me that he'd be back in nine days. And all I could think was "Yeah, and then it's forever."

Me, me, me. Poor little me. I hope my sadness about his leaving didn't add to his stress. I would hate to think I made things any harder for him than they already were.

But now he's miles away and I can't say that to him. All I can do is sit at the computer, clacking away at the keyboard, spilling out all my thoughts to Blogger, hoping that he'll read this once he gets settled and has internet access.

Drive safe, babe. Find an apartment with lots of windowsills for the boys to sleep on. Show this university what you can do and make them glad that they hired you. Write amazing music, become rich and famous. I know you have it in you. I'm sorry if I made this last week tough for you. I wish you nothing but success and good fortune.

But don't forget your way back. My light's always on for you.