Other than staying relatively quiet for the last year, I did get myself involved with one woman. If you’ve read anything else about her this year, you will be able to confirm what kind of treat it has been and wonder why I am unable to say no to such craziness.
Just after my birthday, I get a phone call asking if said ‘moon water spell casting witchcraft lover’ could come over. She was sobbing and I could feel the angle of being worked over emotionally by a pro through the phone.
“I just need to see you. I miss you. There’s a problem and I just wanted you to be involved.”
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure this one out - she was most definitely going to tell me that she currently is cooking a baby in that meat sack filled with crazy. How does one go about kindly telling this mentally unstable woman that just before my birthday that I had a checkup confirming I was still sterile (from all the radiation doses I had had in the last five years for everything cancer related)
“Alright Teenage Witch, I’ll be over in a bit.”
The assumption was that I’d be in for a lengthy trip of batshit insaneness and, oh boy, was I not off. I showed up to her place and walked right into tears and hugs.
“I’m so sorry, I just didn’t know how to tell you I’m pregnant any sooner than this,” she sobbed.
“There is no chance that this is my kid, even if you’re pregnant. I’m telling you right now, I cannot possibly have kids right now. It’s not scientifically possible.”
That wasn’t enough for her by far. We went into the bathroom, and she insisted on peeing on a few sticks, in front of me, like I would question her pee validity (the thought hadn’t crossed my mind until later) but of course, both of the pregnancy tests came back positive. What she saw in me shaking my head, which I was doing out of pure shock that this was even a question of validity for me being a father, she misconstrued as me doubting her even further.
“It’s a miracle though!” she exclaimed. “Why can’t you just be happy? This is great for us!”
My mouth just dropped. How do you explain science to someone that already understands it exists but is in complete denial and apparently developed a tremendous case of overnight baby fever? The problem I have, and always have had, is that underneath the core of sarcasm, coldness, irony, and multiple body ticks and facial gestures, I am incapable of not being kind. It is what consistently gets me into trouble with women that are always looking for attention - my brain can’t say no to the drug being a woman’s compassion and attention. So, being the complete idiotic pushover, I told miss witch that we could go to my doctor together, and I would get retested for fertility/sterility. What ensued was the longest two days of one word answers to texts professing her love and desire for me and how we would make such great parents and that we were ready to make a new life with what we had. (I have never typed ‘Mmm,’ ‘Sure,’ ‘Yup,’ and ‘Mehhh’ so many times in a 48 hour period in my life.)
You know those situations where you’re in a place, with someone, and you know that no matter how drunk you might get at a point, how light headed you may feel, how hard you tell yourself to forget the moment you’re in, but you know you’re destined to burn the setting into your already idiosyncratic filled brain? Short form - Something that you’ll never forget?
The waiting room was filled with ‘regulars’ for me - people I’ve seen for five years off and on, cancer patients, recovering and in treatment, having prostate exams, penile cancer checkups - people I feel for as it’s hard enough to talk about your junk but when you believe you’re ‘broken’ and ‘undesirable’ but you make a silent, common, and meaningful bond of strength and support amongst everyone sitting there while you wait for whatever news awaits you beyond those doors. This was nothing like almost every time I have sat there before; alone. Besides my parents, my ex Heather, and a few close friends, I never let anyone sit there with me. I hated feeling shitty and sad and the last thing I wanted anyone else seeing was through the facade of invincibility and clearly how vulnerable I really was. As sick as this sounds, I wanted her to really see what I had to deal with each time I sat in this waiting room and I wanted her to feel how tremendously terrible she should feel for just blatantly lying to my face. To feel the pain, shame, loneliness I had every single time I sat there, knowing she was too clueless and blind to the feeling. The thing I won’t ever, ever forget was when she grabbed my hand and interlocked our fingers and gave the most longing look into my pained eyes and said, “I’m so excited to do this with you.”
I have never been more angry at anyone other than myself at that point in my entire life.
After sitting with my urologist, I just said, “I know we just did this, but I literally have the craziest, moonlight driven, starry eyed, bag of fucking insane out in the lobby thinking that we are the next immaculate conception. Please, just tell me I’m still broken.”
The ride home to her place was the eeriest silence I’ve ever encountered in my many times of fucked up situations. After about 20 minutes, I mustered up the courage to not scream at the top of my lungs and force a growl through my clenched jaw;
“Were you ever just going to tell me you slept with someone else and that it was theirs?”
Quiet sobbing. No response.
“I don’t think this even needs to be vocalized, but I cannot ever see you again. This was wrong on so many levels. No fucking tarot card reading or fucking Aries star chart or house of Venus and ascendant sign could ever tell you that this was ever appropriate. I could never have a child with someone so clueless to the world. I would rather go through the last five years of cancers and treatments and depression on an endless cycle over doing anything with you again,” I uttered, barely able to keep my composure.
The tears started heavily, and at that point in my brain, a car crash wouldn’t have been the worst result for the choose your own adventure I was in.
Finally, as I was getting out of her car to walk back to mine, she grabbed my arm and without making eye contact, mumbled at the lowest she could without whispering;
“I really just wanted this to be yours. I slept with this guy once and I didn’t want to wreck his life because you’re just so much better to me. I’m so sorry that I ruined us, I just didn’t want to lose you like that.”
And that, everyone, is the last thing I ever have heard or want to ever hear from Sabrina, the teenage witch.
Even when I’m sober, my life isn’t as boring as I make it out to be. I think that’s the problem.