At least, not yet.
Such a strong word ‘parting’ is. Almost unforgiving.
I did not think for once when I asked you to ‘not come with us’ (that’s literally how I said it) to the vacation that we would part ways. I did not think for once when you swore at me (‘Fuck you!’) that we would part ways.
But something was not right at my end. And no this isn’t me taking the blame. It isn’t. Something just wasn’t right. I never could tell if you meant all the nice things you’d say to me. I never could. I never was sure that you did consider me as close as you always said you did. Neither could I ever fully be sure that you were a faultless creature (who is?).
I meant all the things I said to you. I felt immensely, powerfully unsure of how the vacation would turn out to be — with your kid, with you, with Malu, with us. I wasn’t sure at all. I was afraid you’d hate them or they’d hate you. What one hears about one’s family ain’t always the hard truth. There’re sides to them that one choses not to talk about.
And then there’s all the history we have. All the things you said in college. History that still murmurs in my mind, taking long breaks, but returning in time, posing questions that leave me wondering if things will work out as I imagined.
But I am struggling to come to terms with what I did to you. Unforgivable. I can’t have shattered your dreams, your plans just like that.
I should have told you.
I should have told you on the very day you said to me that you would come too. I should have said ‘No way. I’m going with with my family. I can’t let you join us without asking them.’
But I waited. Like a miserable wretch. A pitiable, tongue-tied, confused wreck. I waited until you had booked your tickets. I waited until you were sure you would go on a vacation with all of us.
The spat was bound to happen. I knew you’d be furious. I knew I shouldn’t back down.
What was worse? That I stopped talking with you.
But there was reason in that. I want to heal. For real. I want to wake up and be sure that we can begin where we left off. As friends for life. (See. It doesn’t feel right.)
But I genuinely want to heal. You must be wounded too. I want to hear what you have to say. I want to know what you felt. No scenes cut. No pages missing. I want it all out and dissected. Will you try?
Can we try to understand what we understand of each other? Can we start there?