The Wonder Years

And over the next few hours there are more texts from Scott. Benign, friendly texts with no overtones or hints that suggest anything other than friendship.

Against my judgment, I answer each one. But with short, unenthusiastic responses. Except for the last, which goes unanswered.

Because by then, I was envisioning explaining this whole thing to Priscilla and am hearing her Wisconsin accent as she says, (or even screeches), "Did you not hear the words coming out of my mouth?  Have you learned nothing?  Do. Not. Engage!" 

So like so many other texts before them, in fact, every text we ever exchanged, I deleted the conversation on my phone. No record of it. No souvenirs.  It's easier to do so now.  It took all the bravery I could muster to erase two years of love notes last Fall.  Gone in an instant. No record of them ever being sent or seen.

But this whole recent episode troubles me, to be honest.  I don't like the idea that someone, somewhere out there is constantly thinking of me. It reminds me of the obsessive, possessive way J. was with me at the end, and I hate to put J. and Scott in the same brain synapse.  Ever.

And then I start to wonder. Because the unemployed have abundant amounts of time to wonder and ponder and overthink the most minuscule things.

I wonder if J. had been possessive and insane all along.  Had he been a secret, closeted maniac the entire time and had simply lost his ability to control himself  after the first few years? Or was a really good guy like I'd thought, whose health and bad habits twisted his life (and then his psyche) into a pretzel?  It casts the whole relationship in a muted, puce, warping color wash of craziness that makes me question my ability to make decisions. Bad spouse, bad boyfriend(s), bad jobs, bad mother. Oh wait, that last one can not be pinned on me.

But when I review the three years that J. and I were together and can see it now in the context of alcoholism and insanity, I can explain things that went unexplained at first and have to consider the possibility that the relationship was not a really great thing that soured and decayed. No.  The whole thing was a festering mess quietly simmering below the surface all along.  Like the egg that has rotted that looks perfectly normal until you crack it and then becomes a Pandora's box of botulism and other nastiness.

Am I going to see Scott and me in the same tainted way before too long?  And is that a fair assessment, or is that just my way of making it all make sense in the rear view mirror?