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Thursday, September 20, 2012

Talking to the Devil


Okay, so this was one of the darkest times in my life, and my life is made of bits of darkness.
1st of April 2011
Dear Cassi,

It comes to me that I’m telling you the events of January and here it has become April as if I let time get away from me, and here I stand trying to catch up with it. Much like the detritus in my life I’ve got garbage running round in my head.
       
One of the most important events of this year was your ex-husband calling me. It’s a point impossible to ignore in my life because it’s so telling. By the texts on my cell phone I can tell that it was on the 12th of January that he called some time after eight in the evening. It was a dark time for me. I was at this moment fighting to get a post I could work from Allied, a fight I knew to be futile, and the bleakness of my life had risen around me like walls. Soon those walls would fall and consume me, but that is not the subject of today.
       
I remember looking at my cell phone and seeing a number I didn’t recognize. I answered and I could recognize your ex-husband by his voice.
       
“Rick? I’m sorry. Richard” he said and the fact that he had used my real name stunned me. His abuse of my name had been at the center of his lies. He had constructed a falls person, this “Rick” and Rick had been a man I didn’t recognize.
“Do you have a minute?” he asked and this through me even further off my guard. “You stopped talking to me, and if I couldn’t talk to you-“

As if I hadn’t told him my feelings on his behavior a thousand times. Our friend ship had degenerated into nothing but arguments.
       
“I told you to call and leave a message” I said getting cut off.
       
“I called you three times and I didn’t realize anything was wrong until I told you my grandmother had died,” he said, and what a statement. He didn’t know something was wrong when his closest friend didn’t speak to him for three weeks. His text about his Grandmother’s death had implied that he would be in further contact. The fact that he had not contacted me after this led me to believe that he used her death as a way to get at me.
       
“Then Mr. Hill told me that it was about me calling you Rick and I know I did that a lot, but I knew it was more than that. Isn’t there something I could do to make it up to you?”

“It” He was refusing to say what he had done in the hope that I had failed to understand the scope of his deceptions. I told him “Nothing comes to mind.”

“I want you to be happy. It’s not my fault,” he said repeating a lie I heard before, “I’m impulsive. I didn’t have a plan.” So now I know he had a plan. Why would he deny without accusation? All this time he had thought that I would come round, but there was no hope of that. How could I have forgiven his transgressions? What could he do now that I couldn’t lay trust on him even in the smallest degree?

“My life was hellish with you in it,” I said only saying what I was thinking. I expected nothing as reply to this.

“I didn’t want your life to be hellish.”

“Yes, you did,” I growled.

“I’m going to go now,” he said putting on an act hoping for sympathy. “If you change your mind you have my number.” Little does he know that I deleted the contact.

That was a door that closed some time ago and it feels as if it was a lifetime away. This conversation was no more than a fragment of a ghost caught in the night mist.

It would appear that I broke the one page limit some time ago. It couldn’t be helped. As I look over my words I find that there are things missing but it is now too much to recall it all.

What will become of things?



Richard Leland Neal