10:01 a.m. - 2005-10-31
Saints and Sinners Rant
John worked like a servant indentured to unrequieted love. He dug furrows to nurture the profusion of roses he had tenderly planted, sterling silver to variegated peach. Every petal sang of his selfless care. He painted my room the palest of yellows, insuring that I awaken to the sunny promise that life indeed goes on. There was a surety in his step, an unfailing smile heartbreakingly sincere. I had left him again and again for the sharp sting of Larry's touch, the solace of his caustic words. So many times over so many years I had cut John adrift with no warning at all. Larry would beckon and I was gone. It was as though John ceased to exist by sheer will during those dark lapses, just to avoid any embarassment for me. Again and again he was sacrificed on the altar of my self loathing. Ever virginal in his adoration, he returned to me time after time, graciously righting my capsized soul. I shifted uncomfortably under the laser focus of his gaze. My skin pulled away from his reverent touch. He loved me more than I could begin to love myself. I couldn't decide if I hated him for loving me or hated myself for not loving him. Either way, he swung suspended from a thread I could neither cut nor quite reel in. Forestalling the inevitable next trance, he grinned and pruned the roses. Sat beside me at family dinners. Dried my tears with his threadbare heart. We pretended not to see the hideous elephant before our eyes. One evening, I was alone on my bed, changing the channels. Titanic was halfway through. The phone rang only once and I knew. John deflated like a plastic clown when I let him know that I was giving it one more try. One more try. He lay, one dimensional, at my feet. Dutifully reminding me as the air escaped his lungs not to feel guilty. It was a chance he had willingly taken. He took responsibility for his own pain and, not missing a beat, vaporized into the ethers right on cue. And I was neatly free to self destruct. Right on cue.
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