A Breakup Fit for a Technologically Savvy World

After the break-up it was difficult for me to go back to the grind of cooking, cleaning, grading papers , etc. —  and be acutely present and aware of any of it.  I had been in love for an entire year and during that time I was so lacking in committment to my day to day activities that going back to it all now seemed traumatizing and shocking — like being in a car accident, where you are suddenly jolted from the present into silence, chaos and pain.  Of course, I also had to reprogram and recalibrate normal sensations: the concrete felt too hard under my feet, and getting dressed for work felt overwhelmingly onerous.  Then, there was the constant heartache. It is a strange to feel heartsick while teaching college students American Literature, making chili for the kids, or laughing with friends when they talked about their dating woes (the only thing that was getting me through all this was the fact that some of my favorite American directors — Malick, Payne and Van Zandt had new movies coming out).  And, all this started after my lover broke up me with on the internet.

First,  he deleted his pictures from his Skydrive (since he lived in another continent the internet was the only way we kept in touch),  and then he put the name of another woman as a “Friend” in his Messenger profile (for six months we had been the only “friends” in the program).  And, as strange as that may be, I knew that this was his way of leaving me.  He was a bit of a coward but he was also highly creative, and he had left all his girlfriends and/or wives in backhanded ways.

When I saw “her” picture, I thought about that last line from the movie, “The Way We Were,” when Barbara Streisand’s Kathie ran into the love of her life and his new girl.  “Your girl is lovely, Hubbell,” she said as she surveyed a pretty, non-threatening wife.  But, sharing that line with my lover might not have worked since he might not be familiar with such a classic American movie line.  Besides,  I wasn’t “running” into his new girl. I simply saw her picture and read the profiles of a very pretty blone girl with Viking good looks and her 115 “friends” on MSN Messenger (strange the people we get to know on the internet without their permission).  Another thing the internet allowed me to do was stare and think about this new girl as much as I wanted (something Kathie could not do when she ran into the other woman).  After hours of clicking on her profile and returning to it now and again,  I concluded that she was young, popular, fun, and  closer to my lover’s home (I have now deleted all the triangle of profiles from my Messenger, even though they keep popping back up…. Oh, the woes of technology).

Afterwards, I wrestled for an entire day with a response to his actions. I thought about forgetting the whole thing (wasn’t it enough that I deleted my profile or at least tried to?) or sending him an angry message (a response he would have wanted).  In all actuality, I felt neither angry or vindicative, just sad.  In the end, I decided on emailing him one final letter, which after several revisions, I clicked on and sent:

I see you let me go. Thank you.  It was important that there be some sort of clear-cut ending to our intense connection.    There was hardly any communication between us after Amsterdam and your actions now make things very clear.

I  like your new girl, Hester X; she’s much more interesting than Hawthorne’s darkly dressed Hester Prynne who slept with the Puritan minister behind the congregation’s back. That “X” sounds both mysterious and pornographic — just up your alley.

Now, I need closure.  Once, when we started our affair,  I invited you back into my life after a misunderstanding.   At the time, I was overwhelmed by a feeling to set things straight with you – if only for my own peace of mind.  I feel the same way now:  I must let you go with grace because you were the real thing.  For  five months you gave me the most wonderful and real parts of you.  Things you never show anyone else and things that are close to your heart,  like your love of  Kipling; your favorite movies “Das Boot” “Before Sunset” and “Before Sunrise;”  your obsession with Roger Waters’ lyrics and songs; your incessant talk of past world wars;, guns and hunting; your ships that went awry; the MD80; and the state of  American and European politics.

I have to say that I still have regrets about that hotel room in Amsterdam. I would have liked to have been more wild with you.  To spend what Osama Bin Laden’s favorite wife called the “sleeping time”  (days and nights of savage exploration of the most physical and intimate parts of you).   But, I was frozen like a popsicle in that bed.   I am slow to open and slow to trust, and when you didn’t come I lost my bearings.   I say these things now because they don’t matter anymore.  Yet,  I will always remember how you smelled of the Scandinavian woods.  I especially loved the way your skin felt as rough as the branch of a tree. I love that I slept with the hunter part of you. (It will take me a long time to make these sensations a distant memory).

Recently, I was opening boxes of books from my move, and I came across Anais’s Nin book of her affair with Henry Miller.  I thought of you and me when I read this quote:

“You can play the game now and then, to heighten passion, but profound loves are the loves which suit your true self, and they alone will satisfy you. The more you act like yourself the nearer you come to a fulfillment of your real needs.  You are still terribly afraid to be hurt; your imaginary sadism shows that.  So afraid to be hurt that you want to take the lead and hurt first.  I did not despair of reconciling you to your own image.”

I wish us both — always and forever — profound loves. 

B