bluishorange

i’ve not mentioned it before, but i went through two breakups in 2006.  perhaps “experienced” is a better way to put it than “went through,” but you get the idea.  one was the breakup of a long relationship, the other of a short one that happened during the summer.  by the way, if you were thinking about asking me for advice on relationships, don’t.  i’m apparently not very good at them.

i ran into the second 2006 ex at a party over the weekend.  this has happened from time to time since the breakup, as we travel in similar social circles.  it’s usually a bit awkward, but he and i have established a system that works.  we do the obligatory hey how are you good how are you fine thanks, and then we avoid further talk unless we end up in the same group conversation.

the group conversations are interesting.  sometimes i wish i could watch them on television, with audible dialogue and subtitles that outline what we’re carefully not saying.  when you know a lot about another person, you can read quite a bit of subtext into their words.  sometimes i’ll tell an old story that i know he’s heard me tell a bit differently before; sometimes he’ll mention something he’s done recently that gives me insight into his current life.  nobody else hears it, but to both of us i’m sure the subtext is awfully loud.

when the second ex left the party last weekend, i was talking to some of our mutual friends.  he came over to say goodbye, and hugged a few of the people near me.  i prepared myself to say “see ya!” and wave, but when he got to me he stuck his hand out.  i was so taken aback that i stared at his hand for a second, frozen, before i came to and took it.  as we shook hands, i think i may have laughed.  i didn’t know what else to do.

a few months ago i went to see an old boyfriend’s band at a bar here in austin.  his band is really good, so i brought two friends with me.  when i arrived, my old boyfriend said hello but seemed rather uncomfortable.  when the show started i figured out why; his girlfriend was there.  this wasn’t something that bothered me in the least, especially since it’s been over three years since the breakup.  in fact, i’d have liked to meet his new girlfriend, but it was clear he didn’t intend for that to happen.  in retrospect i shouldn’t have been so surprised; he always shied away from potentially awkward social situations.

at this austin bar, it’s customary for someone from the band to pass around a tip jar after the set.  so when it was over, my ex’s girlfriend came over to our table with the jar.  if we’d been properly introduced, she would have known that i was the girl who’d maintained the band’s website for free for four years.  if she’d known that, she probably wouldn’t have come over.  but she didn’t know.  as she held out the jar i froze, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.  it wasn’t her fault, but my ex’s girlfriend asking me for money was so weird i didn’t know what to do.

in that situation, i’m not sure what the subtitle would say.  perhaps something like OH HOLY SHIT.  but i’m fascinated by the former-boyfriend dynamic.  time and lack of contact turn exes into too-familiar strangers; people about whom you know everything and nothing simultaneously.  the nothing is outlined in careful small talk, the everything is never, ever mentioned.

i wasn’t going to go anywhere today, but then i ran out of coffee and food.  i figured i’d go outside and see how much ice was covering my car, and depending on the results i’d either drive to the grocery store or walk to a gas station.

it was pretty bad.  i used my key to chip the ice from the driver’s side door lock and then, with great effort, wrenched the door open.  half-inch-thick sheets of ice flew off the door and shattered on the pavement in front of me.  one of my neighbors came outside and saw me standing in the shards.

“want some help?” he said.  “i’m from chicago.”

in texas a statement like that is a testament to ice-and-snow expertise.  “yes!” i said.

“okay,” he said, walking over to my car.  he pulled a spatula from his back pocket.  i noticed he was wearing just a t-shirt and jeans, and i was about to say, aren’t you cold?, but then i remembered about the chicago thing.

“you have to take the handle and kind of stab at the ice around the edges like this,” he said, demonstrating on the passenger side.  “then you use the spatula part to wedge the big pieces off.”

i watched him spatula all the ice off my windshield.  “that’s awesome!” i said.  “it’s totally working!”

“you can have this spatula if you want,” he said.

i didn’t want it, but i thought it might be rude to refuse.  is it rude to say no when someone offers you a spatula?  “thanks!” i said.

the grocery store was packed with people and empty of a lot of food.  apparently when there’s an ice storm people buy a lot of milk, bread, beer, and pizza.  “fuck this!” they say.  “we’re getting a pizza!”

the apartment complex has been much quieter today than yesterday.  apparently thick, hazardous sheets of ice don’t inspire much excitement on the part of local children.  every now and then the relative silence is broken by large crashing sounds, of ice falling from trees and eaves and breaking on the pavement.

for my part, i have this irrational fear of myself or the dog being stabbed fatally from above by a falling icicle.  if it were me, the ice would melt by the time they found me and nobody would be able to figure out how i got such a great big hole in the top of my head.  the running theory would be self-trepanation until they called in someone who reads too many mystery novels, someone who would immediately realize i’d been stabbed by an icicle.

i don’t even want to think about what would happen if it were the dog.  because that would be morbid.