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I've got a box full of loose ends under my bed and have long since figured that tieing them up into a neat little bow is like searching for the Yeti. More often than not it's futile and pointless. My attitude is pretty much as I put it yesterday, you shrug your shoulders and you move on. Why then did I contact Paige?
I'd heard over the preceding months that she had been in contact with two of our mutual friends. Both let me in on the secret, expressing their surprise at hearing from her. One had been in the bad books because of her allegiance to me. The other, more generally blunt with Paige, had suggested that I contact her myself.
I demurred. What was the point of raking over old coals? I was certain she wouldn't respond to me, and pretty sure in fact that she would take it badly. The last time we had any contact with each other I was someone akin the anti-christ in her eyes. She accused me of all sorts of dastardly acts. I felt sure she would interpret any contact as another sly scheme on my part, rather than a sincere attempt to let bygones be bygones.
I didn't write. I was urged to write once more and I still held off, though by now the seed had been planted. It began to play on my mind. I came to realise that I didn't really have anything to lose. And I wondered if my refusal to write was a kind of moral cowardice - the fear of being branded once more as some kind of undesirable. And so I sat down and wrote a short email to her.
I didn't say much. I told her how our friend had suggested I write by way of excuse. Then I told her what has been happening to me in the years since we last spoke, and mentioned my mum in passing. It was a simple, short email, no more than a paragraph. I concluded by noting it would be lovely to hear from her, and sent it off.
I heard nothing from her for more than 3 weeks. I was not surprised, and came to accept that my little message had disappeared into the void, never to be acknowledged. I was greatly surprised then to find one night that she had answered. It was typical Paige - polite, modulated, friendly, but withdrawn at the same time. She expressed sympathy at my mother's health and wrote that I was in her thoughts. It gave little away and, as Marty later said, had probably been slaved over word by word for weeks. That she responded at all however, was statement enough.
It's long since Paige or any of the others I 'miss' have been in my life, and whatever wound there was has long healed over. That's not say they have been replaced - it doesn't necessarily work like that. In the weeks after I wrote Paige was present in my mind. I had forgotten what I had lost with her passing, and remembered anew what I didn't have.
At the time of our rupture we were best friends, which is what made it so difficult. In time, had we had it, our relationship might have developed into other areas, or diminished with familiarity. Whatever was to come next was stillborn by her erratic behaviour, leaving me with what was rather than what might have been.
What I had in Paige was someone devoted in her belligerent way to every utterance and thought I had. Difficult as she could be, she was also a sympathetic and intelligent listener - as I was, I think, to her. I found myself opening up to her as I did no other. I trusted her, I liked her. In hindsight I think I was also a little cocky her feelings for me, but I was genuinely fond of her, and cherished our relationship. That it ended as it did was a shock. And, as I realised the other day, I have not found someone since I could speak to like I could to her. I miss that, and I need it.
You often find yourself defined by how people see you. People see me strong, reliable, a little arrogant, but kind too, organised, determined, trustworthy, friendly. You come to feel yourself in the perception of others, and sometimes it locks you into a place that feels false. That's how it feels to me right now. I might be all of those things, but I'm not 24/7. And I'm much more besides.
I might be strong in the resilient sense, but if I was stronger I would break free of this persona thrust upon me. Instead I feel the need to maintain a stoic silence as if that is what people expect and want from me. As if the earth would crumble if I were not. Look, I think I'm tough, but there's a good share of vulnerability there too - you can't stand tall without knowing the fragility it holds off.
I'm never vulnerable face to face with anyone. My closest friends have married, have families, have other priorities. Others are far away, or I feel too embarassed to open up. Donna is high-strung herself, and fragile - many a time I ring thinking I might share only for her to spend the next 30 minutes lamenting her situation. That's ok, that's who I am after all, the strong man, and it lets me off the hook. Women pass through my life and the tenderest I ever get is under the bedclothes. Of all the people in my life it is my sister strangely I am most likely to confide in. We are very different, but we are family and perhaps that's why. Even then it's very rare I open my heart to her.
That's what I lost with Paige - and with others before her. I remembered that the other day, and realised my loss. I replied to Paige yesterday and whether she chooses to write again I don't know. I expect little, and know what we had will never come again. I feel sad knowing that, and know I need to find someone with whom I can rectify that with.
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