The other day I found a picture of my ex-lover’s
current girlfriend. In my Google search, I
ended up with more information than I bargained for. (I marvel at how much lack
of privacy there is on the internet regardless of privacy settings.) In one link, I clicked on his name until I found his “Hangout” page–an instant message board connected to his list of community contacts-and the
picture of the only woman he was “hanging out with.”
He hadn’t changed: he still lived in Scandinavia and still
entertained love from faraway-on the computer, that is; this time in Brazil. Even
his mode operandi was similar: after meeting me on an international dating
site we "hung out" on an instant message board for six months before meeting in
Amsterdam. After meeting in real time, I fell in love, but he didn’t- or at least I
thought he didn’t. Eventually, I got
over him but occasionally felt the pang of his loss, Googling him every so often.
What was surprising about my former lover’s new girl was how
much she looked like me: the blown-out, straight, dark hair, prominent nose,
almond-shaped brown eyes, and full lips. My exuberance, innocence and reticence-as he once described me-evident in her coy smile. "Oh my god," I thought, "she was me." I stared confounded by the similarities. Clicked on her profile and learned that,
like me, she was a college instructor; like me, she taught American
Literature; and, like me, she was a film buff. What was he up to?
At first, I was thrilled by her resemblance and similar bio. Hoped he suffered my loss as much as I had suffered his. But then I
realized I had been the ghost of the woman he loved before he met me, even though I was not a blue-eyed, red-headed Scandinavian woman. In Amsterdam, he tried to relive her memories-through me. At the bar he started a fight with another man, the way his ex-girlfriend
once did to incite his passions, and in bed he called out her name.
This haunting of past lovers was familiar: After our divorce, my ex-husband dated women with my smile, hair, eyes. Our friends marveled at the similarities. It's you, Bette, they said. I realized later that
my ex-husband’s girlfriends’ striking resemblances to me was correlated to
his guilt of cheating and our difficult relationship ending, which I worked through for several years to become his friend once again.
What was even more interesting was that my ex-husband's lover had been the spitting image of Priscilla, the first girl he loved, who danced a mean Prince and who his mother rejected because she was "too dark and too wild." (This went beyond being a type for him because there were no physical similarities between me and his first love). I never mentioned the similarities between his first love and the woman from his affair, who was also dark, wild, and danced a mean Prince; I thought it obvious. It was just as obvious he never forgave himself his indiscretion during our marriage, eventually remarrying a woman who could double as my twin.
My stories of love's haunting didn't end there: My last lover, reminded me of my European father-short stature, frenetic energy, love of women and travel, grey eyes, and Parson's nose. Similarities that were uncanny and, initially, disturbing. Was I trying to revisit my relationship past? Subconsciously, the draw, was a return to the tumultuous relationship I had with my father, a man I stopped talking to when I was 15 because he was too violent and mean. When I turned 18, he died suddenly and our relationship died with him, or so I thought. Was my ex-lover the ghost of my father? Yes and no. In a strange way, I dug beyond childhood insecurities stemming from my relationship with my father, including his constant riding of my looks, which he chided for not being white enough (my father was white and my mother was Caribbean), to love a man who had the same prejudices. Still, here was a familiar ending-a disappearance and no love in return.
What was even more interesting was that my ex-husband's lover had been the spitting image of Priscilla, the first girl he loved, who danced a mean Prince and who his mother rejected because she was "too dark and too wild." (This went beyond being a type for him because there were no physical similarities between me and his first love). I never mentioned the similarities between his first love and the woman from his affair, who was also dark, wild, and danced a mean Prince; I thought it obvious. It was just as obvious he never forgave himself his indiscretion during our marriage, eventually remarrying a woman who could double as my twin.
My stories of love's haunting didn't end there: My last lover, reminded me of my European father-short stature, frenetic energy, love of women and travel, grey eyes, and Parson's nose. Similarities that were uncanny and, initially, disturbing. Was I trying to revisit my relationship past? Subconsciously, the draw, was a return to the tumultuous relationship I had with my father, a man I stopped talking to when I was 15 because he was too violent and mean. When I turned 18, he died suddenly and our relationship died with him, or so I thought. Was my ex-lover the ghost of my father? Yes and no. In a strange way, I dug beyond childhood insecurities stemming from my relationship with my father, including his constant riding of my looks, which he chided for not being white enough (my father was white and my mother was Caribbean), to love a man who had the same prejudices. Still, here was a familiar ending-a disappearance and no love in return.
But after Googling him, I realized he had loved me-deeply, truly,
and madly-and it was an epiphany, surprise, and clearly evident in the woman he was now with. I thought about his love ghosts and how he could never come to terms with a relationship when it was most vital:
the moment he loved a woman, and she loved him in return. His fear of
loss of control permeated his relationship until he found a way
of ending it. The story was the same: a past lover trailed him as the ghost of
great love in another woman who could never take her place. The new woman never had a fair chance to love and be loved; that is until the relationship was over, and she became the ghost of love past.
Even though life happened at the speed of light, love didn't. It seemed the same for all us, the ghosts of great loves lingering about, demanding we be present, courageous, forgiving, joyful, loyal, and grateful when they appeared, even if they didn't stick around. Mostly, love demanded we let it go to rebirth when and how it saw fit and with whomever it chose, even if in its smile, gesture, eyes, we saw a ghost of love past... Memoir, "The Continent of Ruby," available at: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TT5DDWO
Even though life happened at the speed of light, love didn't. It seemed the same for all us, the ghosts of great loves lingering about, demanding we be present, courageous, forgiving, joyful, loyal, and grateful when they appeared, even if they didn't stick around. Mostly, love demanded we let it go to rebirth when and how it saw fit and with whomever it chose, even if in its smile, gesture, eyes, we saw a ghost of love past... Memoir, "The Continent of Ruby," available at: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TT5DDWO
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