Paul didn't have school yesterday, so Tabbatha asked if I could watch him, since I had the day off. Sure. Mostly, we had a great time, as we always do, but he'd start to tell me how his mom has apparently gotten back together with this one guy, then he'd stop and say, "She doesn't want me to talk about this."
Crap. Fine. Whatever.
I don't know if Tabbatha ever realized just how far I'd fallen for her. We'd talked of cohabitation and marriage and even children down the road. Paul started calling me Dad. Then...dolly out, slow fade, credits. The whole thing ended just as I settled in to enjoy.
Since she broke up with me, I've been so morose, so shaken by the whole situation, I never think about the end of my marriage to Sue Ellen--which is ironic, of course, since Tabbatha claimed my inability to get over that as one of the reasons for breaking up with me. I'd probably find humor in it, if not for the tears.
Some of those old feelings came pouring back yesterday morning. Thanks to the miracle of cable, I watched Annie Hall for the first time in at least twenty years. It's one of my favorite movies, but I've been avoiding it recently for fear it would hit a little too close to home:
That's the first scene, and yeah, I know--it sounds like I wrote it. And sure, I stammer when I talk, and gesture frantically. And yes, those two jokes pretty much sum up my philosophy of life and love. So?
(For what it's worth, I'll likely age into the guy carrying the shopping bag and screaming about socialism. Yesterday, as Paul and I sat in Taco John's, I tried explaining the failure of democracy by filtering it through the Star Wars universe, pointing out that all it takes is one Quisling like Jar Jar to hand the reins of absolute power to Palpatine. I'm not sure if this little interlude qualifies as kinda cute or sorta sad.)
The film continued, and I cringed repeatedly. Scenes would begin as comedy, and spiral into unbearable sorrow, and as Alvy and Annie continued their fragile romance, they kept doing unbelievably stupid, small, cruel things, things I've seen myself do, things that have been done to me. By the final scene, tears flowed uncontrollably.
Last night I had separate dreams about Sue Ellen (hanging out and talking...until we fought) and Tabbatha (an awkward birthday dinner for Paul, with me pretending to be nice to the new boyfriend...until we fought). In both cases, I left, and it was hard to do but finally liberating, and no regrets or sorrows followed.
Because, after all, they were only dreams.
