Look at me, my depth perception must be off againBen's plane finally got out and I'm almost sober again. With any luck someone will bring me just a little more because this hurts like hell and it really didn't help that we wound up in the airport lounge waiting for his first-class flight trying to pretend it wasn't going to hurt like hell.
You got much closer than I thought you did
I'm in your reach
You held me in your hands
But could you find it in your heart?
To make this go away
and let me rest in pieces
It didn't help that he ordered me drink after drink at seven o'clock in the morning hoping he could dull the pain for me just long enough to make his getaway, laughing in his defeated way, telling me all I had to do was say the word and he would figure something else out.
It didn't help that my lingering kiss at the gate was the exclamation point on an argument we managed to craft before the announcement that his flight was rescheduled at long last. Never mind that that final kiss seemed to be more of an attempt by him to soak up whatever alcohol he could taste by proxy, and never mind that he slipped his lucky ring onto my finger before he left, even though it's supposed to be this very ring that gives the night job all of the magic, or so he claims, and when I tried to make sure he took it back he told me just to shut up and keep it for luck, because I need some,
He said that I would be in good hands. That I am always in good hands. As in fuck off and shut up. I'm gone and they can deal with you so I don't have to worry about you.
Okay. Yeah. I may be drunk but I know you, Benjamin and I know how exquisite your hatred can be when you shut yourself down in order to go work because otherwise you wouldn't go at all. So you don't need to be mean just to protect yourself.
Can I use that against you later?
Sure, whatever you need, Benny.
When did I ever say we were functional?
The good news is, it's all an act on his part because I saw his eyes before I turned to run back down the concourse, coat flying out behind me, heels clicking on the polished stone, heads turning as I passed, gasping for breath while the tears just fucking streamed.
This was right after I contemplated making a scene, yelling, I love you, you fucking asshole and he would have whispered it back because there is only one phrase in the whole entire world that I can lip-read and that would be it.
I hate the airport. I hate goodbyes and I hate waiting. I hate that everything echoes. I hate that I made it through the automatic doors while security walked about twenty feet behind me because really, a delicately-crying five-foot-tall woman in high heels who can barely walk upright isn't much of a threat and John caught me before I wiped out on the ice and he took one look at me and he said very slowly that everyone cries when someone they love leaves.
I know that, that part is easy. Excusable, almost.
But not everyone drinks at this hour on a Monday morning, princess. I'm really glad you called me.
I didn't say anything. He cajoled me the whole way home, stopping for coffee along the way and pointing out that in three weeks I will have Ben back.
Poor John. I'm sure there is nothing better in the whole world than a drunk friend with abandonment issues being your charge.
(Oh wait, I just described life with Ben before I married him.)
So, apparently there are worse things.
And for the record, I fully intend to keep my promises and get on with improving my outlook, curbing both my emotional outbursts and my flair for the dramatic while Ben is away, to give myself an unemcumbered shot at getting better without his influence, and oh, what an influence it can be, since I made no attempt to refuse four whiskey sours on the table when I hadn't even cracked a coffee yet.
And no one is allowed to give him a hard time, he was doing what he thought might work because, really, between you and me? No one knows what works or helps or makes anything better and so Ben fell back on the one thing that always used to make him feel better. I wouldn't have been surprised at all if he had called me from his destination three sheets to the wind, softly fumbling the words I love you and I'm sorry into the phone but instead he asked how I was doing as if he really and truly cared and it kind of surprised me because he doesn't do that when he's away. I confirmed that yes, I was pretty much sober the moment he was gone, because if there is ever a sobering moment it is always that one when they go out of sight.
I also confirmed that yes, I am making spaghetti for dinner for the boys tonight, because they're the ones holding the net, while Ben and I do our high wire act. Tickets are cheap but they go so fast. It's hard to believe your eyes.
It's so hard to perform perfectly with all these distractions. But I'm going to learn how.