On Meaninglessness
Some days the present is too hard to write about. Maybe it’s just because I am still living in the past. Isolated incidents are recalled to the surface of my memory on days like these - by these, I mean days that are cold and dreary, where all I want is a rum and cider and a fireplace and a pair of arms to wrap around me. Today the wind blew my hat from my head as I walked down a busy, window lined street. I got a voicemail from an old acquaintance wanting to meet me for coffee one day; I met a guy on the train who was looking for a kitten for his girlfriend and I knew just the place to get a good one. The same place that Stephan got my kitten, which he gave to me on our imaginary anniversary February 20.
[the (past) past]
My ex-boyfriend (before Stephan) confessed his undying love for me while Stephan and I were enjoying a romantic dinner, which was to be followed by an few hours of salsa dancing at a club.
He got down on his hands and knees, and looked deeply into me, and said, “Jaime, I need you. I love you, I need you, and I can’t live without you. Please take me back.” Then Stephan, in his heroic nature, picked the guy up off his knees, told him to never bother me again, and tossed him out onto the street.
The Romantic Dinner was spoiled, the dancing never happened, but Stephan had proved to be the man I was destined to be with forever, once again.
Or at least, that’s what would have happened had my ex been a man with any dignity.
In reality, Stephan and I were eating dinner at a fancy restaurant. It was some minor anniversary that neither of us could agree on what the day’s significance was. My ex text-messaged me the same message of undying love - with just about perfect timing, and such things usually have.
“What are we celebrating, Stephan? I don’t understand why we keep celebrating this silly day. Nothing has ever happened to us on February 20th. Except that we always make a big deal out of dressing up and going out to dinner with roses and butterfly kisses and dancing the night away.”
“And what’s wrong with dressing up and dinner and roses and dancing?”
“Nothing, nothing at all. But if you are going to pretend that we are celebrating some anniversary, then we may as well make up something to celebrate.”
“Jaime, there is no need to make anything up! This is a real anniversary.”
I looked at him incredulously.
“…you just don’t remember what it is,” he said to me softly.
“Then tell me.”
He looked at me stubbornly. Stubborn was not a look that I often saw in Stephan. Determination, certainly - but rarely was he ever stubborn. Normally my sensitivity would have allowed me to leave the question alone, and enjoy the dinner (which was getting colder as we argued) and salvage the evening, regardless of why we were out. But that night was an odd night. I had a strange feeling about me, like I knew that I needed to check my cell phone even though I hadn’t heard it ring.
I continued looking at Stephan, and he continued stubbornly looking at me. Our food was certainly not going to be appetizing at that point, and dancing with him was not going to produce any fiery sparks between us.
“Do you remember when we went shopping for kittens one year?” he asked.
“We go looking for kittens all the time,” I said dispassionately.
“Well one particular time happened to be on February 20,” he said, finally, as if that would explain everything.
“And…?”
“And nothing. That’s it. We went shopping once for kittens on February 20th. And now we are out to a fancy dinner and there are roses.”
“And why are there roses, Stephan? Why must there be roses tonight and not tomorrow night?”
“There can be roses tomorrow night too if you want,” he said.
He looked at me and opened his mouth to answer, but I stopped him. “You’re so obtuse sometimes Stephan. Can’t you see that this isn’t about kittens or roses?”
“Don’t call me obtuse, Jamie. I resent that. It’s not my fault that you are too stubborn to admit that something of importance to our relationship happened on February 20th. It’s not my fault that you can’t come down to reality and accept the fact that not everyday is meant for fooling around and throwing money away on frivolous things.”
By now the waiter had come by the table three times and our meals were yet untouched. Passionate discussion, friendly argument or whatever you may call it had more than transcended into the realm of young-couple-arguing-over-nothing, also known as a-warning-sign-preceding-the-crashing-and-burning-of-an-otherwise-perfect-relationship. I’m sure my voice had risen over the course of my frustration, but if it didn’t, it was about to.
“It’s not my fault that you are more attached to your precious work than you are to me,” I said bitterly. “Your cell phone is constantly glued to your ear. I swear, you value more your work emails than the handwritten notes that I sometimes stick in your brief case - I bet you don’t even know I stick notes in your brief case.”
Somehow in my excitement, that strange sense that I needed to answer my cell phone reached me again, and I grabbed the phone from my purse and was clutching it tightly in my hand.
Stephen saw and pointed at the phone. “And what about you and your attachment to social status? Your cell phone is your life line. God forbid you miss some dinner party or fail to make a 10 second appearance at some girl’s engagement party.”
“Watch where you’re going with that - I am not that shallow Stephan, and you know it.”
And as the words left my lips, my cell phone alerted me that I had a text message. By force of habit, I flipped it open.
The feelings that swept over me in that single moment were insane, to say the least. I had proven my own shallowness through my cell phone and received a fleeting personal crisis that, of course, affirmed Stephan’s accusation that I was a slave to society, but only because I refused to tell him the contents of the text message.
In the end, the only thing that I could do and still maintain composure was leave. So I left, and Stephan followed, like he always did.
//KiLL