By Deanne Revel
“We’re monogamous, but don’t have any expectations for me because I’m still unsure about you and I’m still deciding if I want to date you.”
Yes, I was put on dating layaway.
The strange context of my last relationship was only a sliver of the most unconventional relationship I have had.
Trust issues are mythical to me. I have never experienced trust issues—until him.
“I can’t trust you because you’re a journalist,” he told me.
“Well, I can’t trust you because you’re a drug addict,” I replied.
Then there were the mystery condoms in his car.
He claims the condoms are for bong cleaning. But this is also the car that he lost his virginity in while in high school.
I take motor regulations seriously. I never distract the driver.
Those condoms were not for me. They weren’t for the bong either because he doesn’t have one.
But the greatest mystery was how this thing between us was going to turn out. We romanticized the breakup before it happened.
“I’m always the one who breaks things off,” I told him.
“I’m always the one who breaks things off,” he told me.
We stared at each other after this exchange for a few moments—competitively.
“This will be interesting,” he said. “I’m excited to see how things play out.”
Well, I got dumped.
I did not cry or consume a tub of Betty Crocker chocolate icing as my therapy.
I was not heartbroken. I was shocked.
Being dumped is like the moment when Dumbledore pulls Harry Potter out of the memory-sink contraption in his office. Harry is hypersensitive, shifty and disoriented.
I saw the breakup coming; however, I did not expect the pristine delivery. It was clear, concise and professional.
He texted me and asked when I was available to talk. I texted back saying I was filming all day and couldn’t have the talk until 7 p.m. I opened my day planner to schedule the talk, but I realized scheduling the talk is ridiculous so I called him.
The talk was like a business call. Like a public relations interview for a press kit, in less than ten minutes I was presented with narratives and evidence to support the argument that he and I should breakup. He sounded like he was reading off a PowerPoint outline: introduction, key points and conclusion.
It was a clear and organized ending to a severely skewed and tainted abstraction of a relationship. He sounded so determined to get the ending right.
He once said that he has ideas bouncing around in his head uncontrollably. Fragments, notions and observations constantly stimulate him.
But his breakup was so focused. His language, phrasing and even his cadence were out of character.
Is the last laugh more important than the first impression?
I always use the “forced” speech.
“Does this feel forced to you? Because it feels forced to me.”
It’s prepackaged. It’s convenient. This probably doesn’t create a nice lasting impression for me. My ending says: I did not give the breakup much thought or attention.
This guy remembers to put the seat down, but forgets to flush. He leaves wads of mint gum on my bedpost for me to find days later. (I have an irrational fear of kissing someone who has gum in his mouth. I’m afraid I’ll choke.) He uses dirt-encrusted vanilla ChapStick because he is too lazy to buy a new stick. He preaches of mushroom juice and sitting among the sand dunes at Tybee Island Beach.
He is a mess, but I am left with respect for him.
Eventually I will forget that wearing a New York Yankees cap means he hasn’t showered, but I will remember a clean breakup.
Video by Randy Smith
