Paper Chase (part 2)

The next thing on my list was to dye my hair a dark red. I have red heads in my family. I so envied them their difference, their uniqueness in the way they stood out at the reunions amongst the blondes and brunettes. I wanted, needed to feel different even if it came out of bottle and lasted only for a little while.
Lovey and I went hair shopping in our local drugstore. We searched the isles for the right shade of red, something a bit dramatic without the Bozo overtones. It took several hours and two boxes of dye to get my hair to what I thought was the perfect color of auburn. I blinked back the surprise when I first looked at myself. “You look good,” Lovey assured me now that the damage was done. I definitely looked different, but I felt the exact same. Lovey watched me as I perused the mirror looking for something beyond my hair. I stared at my eyes, my face to see if any other differences had appeared. “How do you feel?” Lovey asked. “I feel a little different,” I lied. Lovey hugged me knowing I was lying and just let me have it. She didn’t push me for anything more than that. It’s why I love her so much, she never pushes me to be or say anything I cannot be in that exact moment. She is somebody, who to this day, allows me to feel what it is I need, rather than what it is that should be expected.
Our time was so limited, so short. We squeezed in every activity that required my bravery to try and start my life over again mid stream. Lovey knew what I was up against. She reassured me until the very moment she had to go and board her plane back to Boston. She had to return to work and I had work, school and my kids. Our busy lives didn’t allow for much face time. Most of relationship is phone based, small intimate phone calls from faraway places, where we laugh, talk, encourage and love each other. Without her there to hold my hand, I wondered how I would survive, but for Lovey she never questioned that I would. There was not a single drop of doubt on her face, in her demeanor. She knew for certain I would figure it all out, alone if necessary, and the kids and I would somehow make it to the next phase. And I would be doing it with dark auburn hair, a very red and painful ear, and the memory of her holding my hand.
Michael was very much a part of my life during this time. He sort of floated in and out in waves. He was not at all sure how to handle Danny’s death or handle me handling Danny’s death. Everything felt surreal, out of balance. He tried to be my friend, my confidante, the strong one I could lean, but it was all so big. We were getting closer as the months passed. Soon it was the holidays and we were spending all of our free time together. I was working two jobs and going to school, so I needed as much help as I could get with the kids. The kids were having their own struggles trying to figure what and whom to trust. They knew Michael well. He is Betty’s Godfather and had always been around, but this was different and they were resistant to any more changes in their lives. They tested him to his very limit. They acted out because children are not resilient; they are tiny people who do not have the life experiences to assure them of success. Michael tried his best to be a good babysitter, but my kids are smart and they have ways of torturing those they do not want around. I reminded him that he was the grownup and in charge, but I could see the glint in their eyes and they plotted their revenge on whatever babysitter would try and tame them. Part of me found this very funny. My children, so smart, so very clever were very good children. They were generous and kind and the best human beings in my life then and now, but when they are ornery, well all bets are off.
By Christmas time Michael and I were seeing each other exclusively again. Another dance was being played out between us. He, the confirmed bachelor, found my life to be overwhelming. I the family oriented one, found the silence in his house to be deafening. Together we were a good match, but the combining of lives had some side effects that were difficult for both of us to take. We spent the holidays together, and in a blink January had arrived. Michael’s birthday gift to himself, being a bachelor he managed to celebrate with or without a partner, was to go skiing in upper New York. He did it every year, with friends and female companionship. The previous years it was me he would take, where we would ski, celebrate life and eat cake. I took a few days off, packed my skis, got babysitters, dog watchers and cat feeders and went away with him for a long weekend of adult fun. I loved getting away with Michael, forgetting all the pain, all the constant responsibilities, all the never ending interruptions. With just him and me, we could spend real time together enjoying each other’s company, being ourselves, having fun.
I blinked again and it was time to go home and face my life again. I had had a wonderful time. I enjoyed simple pleasures of falling snow and wind in my hair. Friends were there laughing, playing, it had been just what I needed to feel like a woman, a real live female. I have loved being my children’s mother, but I had become acutely aware that it couldn’t be my only role in life, if I wanted to live fully.
We had been home for a couple of days when Michael was in my kitchen. I was feeling warm and safe and somewhat comfortable. My feelings were growing by leaps and bounds. I felt so connected to him since our ski trip and I looked over at his face and smiled. I had just walked in from school tired from a long day of study and driving, and he had been at the house waiting for me. I noticed he wasn’t smiling. His eyes were sad, with his mouth down-turned. “Kel, we have to talk.” I felt my stomach seize. My entire body clenched knowing I was about to hear something hurtful. Michael wasn’t looking at me, but past me, the way one looks when they are about to rip your heart out. And then that is exactly what he did. “I can’t do this. I am not cut out for any of this. I care about you, I do, but this is not going to work.” I stood there in my tiny kitchen with my mouth open, glued in one place unable to move. “Where did this come from?” I stammered. Michael had tears in his eyes and I felt my face flush, hot, burning, as if struck by a fever. We talked for few minutes after that, he said he had been thinking about it for a while, he needed time to figure things out. “When did all this happen? My God we just got home from the ski trip? Were you getting ready to dump me back there? I feel so used.” And I did feel used. I felt like he had used me as his personal female stand in, as if I were some kind of convenience food item he could pull out of the freezer at his whim, so he was not alone. “I didn’t use you, I care about you.” Anger was welling up inside me at the words ‘I care about you’. I knew exactly what that meant. It meant I was good enough until he was ready to go, until he could find someone better, that’s what it meant. I care about the homeless, but I didn’t invite them on a vacation and sleep with them. I was more than just hurt this time, this break-up. I was furious for allowing myself to get caught up in Michael’s inability to commit. It was legendary, his way of never following through; at least it was with me. We had broken up and gotten back together so many times, when people found out we were dating they instantly got bored. I stood and watched him walk out of my kitchen, tears running down my face feeling as though, every single time I started to feel secure about anything the rug would immediately get ripped out from underneath me.