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Twig Enters the Twilight Zone

November 9, 2014

I’m stuck in the Twilight Zone. I’m sure of it. There is no other possible explanation. Because if this is just the way life works, I’m not sure how anyone survives more than a day of it.

Some friends of mine were throwing their yearly post-Halloween bash tonight, so I offered to help with getting things ready and collected the cover charge at the door. TLTL was supposed to come with me, but of course he didn’t show up. He booked himself for two comedy gigs instead, and only bothered to tell me this when I was already working the door and texted to see if he was coming. I showed the text to the hostess and sighed. I didn’t reply to TLTL to wish him successful shows.

I just kept wishing that FastCar could be there. (Did I mention that he showed up at my door with flowers before he had to get on the road again? Yeah, he did. And I think I’m more than just a little in love with him. Yeah, I said it. I love FastCar.) I pulled my hair up into pigtails tonight, took a picture and sent it to FastCar since I know he loves pigtails. I wish he could have been there with me. I wish he could be here all the time.

Instead, we texted back and forth until he had to go to sleep. It was just as well, since my phone was dying, but it’s also around this point that things started to get weird… and then weirder.

1) A very sweet, nerdy guy spent the evening chatting me up, but I wasn’t interested. I gave him my number anyway, because I don’t know how to turn someone down directly, and I couldn’t find the words to say, “I’m sorry, but I have a boyfriend.”

2) The rarely seen Photographer (from a year ago) was there, and he tells me, “I really want to do a photo journalism piece with you.” With ME? Why ME? And where the fuck has he been the past year?? Oh, right… protesting various political things I don’t understand and raising a shit-ton of money for his latest art installments. I can’t help but be drawn in by his stories, but I then remember that I refuse to date anyone without a permanent address, and that I don’t count squatters rights as evidence of one. He wanders off, anyway, and I likely won’t hear from him again for months.

3) MTIA messages me and asks me to return to the sketch comedy group, and I agree. We still have not stood in the same room for nearly a year. I don’t ever tell anyone how much I still miss him, and how much I still believe he completed a part of me. He promises to stand by my side and come to my rescue if I get nervous and panic on stage; that’s enough for me. I don’t want more than that, actually. I want to tell him thank you, though, and hug him. Though I had to go through hell to get where I am now, he changed my life for the better.

4) FastCar texts me three words: I Miss You. It’s the first time he’s said it. Yes, I miss MTIA. And yes, I will probably always love both MTIA and TLTL. But FastCar and I have been taking things slowly, and every day, I’m a little more sure that I love FastCar, and I’m finally at a point where even if TLTL could guarantee me a lifetime of sobriety, I’m not willing to go back to him. “I miss you, too,” I write back to FC. “I really wish you were here.” Earlier in the week, upon discovering my inability to say no to a guy in eyeliner, he told me, “I’m sorry that you’ll never catch me in eyeliner… except private time.” Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, can he PLEASE come home now?? I’m going to jump him the second I see him. Compose yourself, Twig. And then maybe fuck his brains out. I mean, what? I didn’t say that. But FastCar has incredibly gorgeous eyes, and god help me, if he’s ever willing to put on eyeliner in bed, I will follow him to the ends of the earth. Hell, I’d do that already, anyway. But you get the idea.

5) My phone dies, but on the drive home from the party tonight, while it’s charging, I get a new message from TLTL: I miss you. At this point, I felt compelled to check my phone to make sure I didn’t misread TLTL’s text and think it was FC. No, they BOTH sent me just those three words: I miss you.

Dear sanity,

I’m going to miss you most of all.

I’m trying to ignore the texts that TLTL keeps sending. I think he’s outside my house in his car, and I’m starting to wonder if I should be afraid of him. Wherever he is, whether it’s outside my house or not, I’m sure he’s drunk, and I’m sick of his bullshit where he only wants a relationship with me when he’s drunk – conveniently the time that I LEAST want a relationship with him. I refuse to acknowledge his “I miss you” text, and tell him instead that his friends, the host and hostess of the party, wish he could have been at their party, and that I hope his shows went well. Hours later, he will send me a text message that reads, “Whatever. Goodnight.” followed by an incredibly shitty, “That was a wonderfully diplomatic reply, by the way.” It may not seem shitty to the casual observer, but trust me when I say that it was veritably dripping with sarcasm. TLTL is a depressed, nasty drunk. And while I’m willing to forgive all the shitty remarks he’s made over the years, I’m not willing to forget, because every comment is another reminder that he hasn’t changed in all these years. Another empty apology isn’t going to make everything all better anymore.

I hear an engine turn over outside my house, but I don’t hear a car pull away. I know that TLTL’s new car is virtually silent. When I finally look out my window, I see that there is no car idling, which makes me all the more suspicious. I never heard a car pull up, and now the car I heard is gone. I have to be out of my fucking mind. TLTL is many things, but a stalker isn’t one of them. But since he drives a particularly quiet car, and there’s no reason for a car to be sitting in front of my house in the middle of the night, and since I know TLTL is awake out there somewhere in the night, I double check to make sure my windows and doors are locked.

I don’t know what to think anymore, and so I crawl into bed, and pull the blankets over my head. I’m not coming out until FastCar is at my door and in my arms. It’s going to be a very long month.

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