A Woman's Survival Guide to Difficult Men: Sunflowers Are My Weakness
Chapter 6: Sunflowers Are My Weakness
It’s two weeks since the concert, and Dean and I are fighting again. I’m starting to think I’m no good at this.
“Maybe I’m just not meant to be in a relationship,” I tell Grace. “Am I sabotaging each and every one?”
“Look within,” she always tells me. “That said, Dean has his own mishegas.”
I’m proud of how much Yiddish she’s learned since we’ve met.
Is it possible that I’ve met Prince Charming seven or eight times already and turned each one into a frog? “Frog farming” they called it at a seminar I once attended called Understanding Men.
Yep. I’m an excellent Frog Farmer. Frogs all over the place. Like that scene from Paul Thomas Anderson’s film “Magnolia.” Do I not believe that I deserve love? Is that why I’m critical, pick a fight, become inexplicably exasperated at the slightest perceived infraction?
I think of Alex and our ill-fated Italy trip. My watercolor painting of sunflowers from the Piazza San Marco in Venice still hangs above my bed. I’ve always been drawn to sunflowers. They soothe my soul. A few years ago, a psychic told me – unprompted – that when I saw sunflowers, actual or animated, it meant my guardian angel was nearby. Gazing up at the little painting that I purchased amidst that dark time in Italy, I open my laptop and cyber stalk Alex to see what’s become of him. I see he’s now married to a woman whose name is at the top of the “45 most popular stripper names in the U.S.”
It never would have worked between us.
There’s something Alex said to me, though, back when we were breaking up that I’ve been wondering about recently. With that hateful expression on his face as he dressed in his hipster clothes over by the closet, he looked back and said, as if cursing me, “I hope you end up with an insecure man.” And I did. Why did he say that? I’d probably go another seventeen years asking myself this question if it weren’t for Facebook. Alex and I are not connected on Facebook, but I decide to shoot him a message through Facebook Messenger anyway.
“He’ll probably never get it,” says my friend Kelly, “since you’re not Facebook friends.”
“Maybe not. And even if he does, I doubt he’d respond,” I say, thinking of the last time I reached out to him many years ago. “Fuck it. I have nothing to lose.”
I’m curious to see if he remembers what sparked all that vitriol in the first place. At the very least, maybe he could help unlock the mystery of his comment.
Hey Alex. I know I’m not someone you want to hear from. I had a question for you though. There’s something you said to me years ago in Italy that has stuck with me all these years. I am still curious to know what it meant. As I am doing some introspection right now, thought maybe you would be willing to explain. You said, “I hope you end up with an insecure man.” What did you mean by that?
He responds two days later. This time his spellcheck is on:
That was a truly rotten thing to say to you, amongst many other rotten things I wish I had never said and did to you. You did not deserve to be treated like that. I am forever sorry and ashamed of my behavior. You were kind and sweet and wonderful – and I was angry and full of rage, my own rage. I hope you have found someone who loves and respects you. I am sorry for saying that to you.
Me:
Wow, thank you Alex. That really means a lot to me. It was traumatic, I’m not going to lie. But I’m not here to beat you up. I genuinely want to understand what happened. Do you even know? That particular comment didn’t feel cruel, it felt... mysterious. Because what does it mean? Reason I’m asking is that I did end up with an insecure man, so maybe you’re some kind of oracle! Ha. No seriously, I’m wondering what about me attracts that because that is a signal I’d like to change. My husband does treat me with love and kindness. I’m on my second marriage, the first was not so nice. He was the wrong guy to get the right kid. She is the love of my life. Anyway, as I said, I’m on a bit of an introspective journey and curious. Thank you for your thoughtful response. If anything springs to mind, I’m open to hearing it. I hope you are well and happy. Thank you again for the apology.
Alex:
Give me a min to give that a thoughtful response. I owe that to you.
I think I’ll never hear from him, but five days later he responds.
Alex:
Two questions
1. What happened?
2. What did I mean when I said I hope you marry an insecure man. What happened?...
It took me many years to come around to understanding I needed to start some serious self reflection. For me that has meant spending a lot of time thinking about how I could be so cruel, angry, and mean. I have always had a lot of anger inside of me, and my anger is triggered by closeness. This is a defense against my own deep insecurity. It has taken a lot of time and outside help to come to any understanding of this.
This is what happened too me during our time together. We got close very fast, that triggered me. I lost all reason, control, and of coarse - empathy. I sabotaged everything, like a bomb.
This is why I don’t think I could have had any insight when I said “ I hope you marry an insecure man”. That must have been something hurtful I came up with in an out of control moment. I don’t think their was anything more too it.
I am very sorry you had to go threw that traumatic time. My memory of you is of someone with a strong and considered sense of self, and a deep understanding and acceptance of who you are, and where you want to go. You were kind to me, and so very emotionally superior to me.
It’s wonderfull you have a daughter and she is a source of joy in your life! That’s so excellent. I hope you find love and acceptance and respect in you’re life.
Sincerely
Alex
Misspellings and typos notwithstanding, I felt a warm liquid light fill up my heart as I read Alex’s words. Something in me healed itself after years of thinking I was broken, that I was the problem.
Firstly, thank you, Alex. This was a tiny loose end for me, and your response went a long way toward healing that little piece of my heart. Of course, I’ve not been pining or anything but always just wondered, “what happened??” and “what did I do?” And if I did contribute to our meltdown, I definitely want to know that too. I assumed a lot of things about you in the absence of an explanation and also that maybe there is something wrong with me. Did I sabotage too?
I hope you are happy and at peace now. From the cyber stalking I’ve done (FB), I see you’re married and have a daughter too. I wish you well and again, thank you so much for taking the time. It goes a long way toward completing that chapter for me.
And I forgive you.
Feels weird to find a fitting close to this message - when “love” doesn’t feel appropriate to say to someone you once loved. I guess I’ll say love anyway, and I wish you all the best,
Pam
I look back up at the wall behind my bed. Beside the watercolor of sunflowers from Italy is a much larger photograph of a field of sunflowers with a farmhouse in the background. It looks almost identical to the painting. Dean took this picture himself, blew it up and framed it. With no knowledge of my predilection for sunflowers and never having seen my painting, he placed it above our bed. This confirmed to me that he’s the one I’d been waiting for, that we are meant to be.
I’d returned to Alex seeking answers for why I keep attracting inappropriate men and received an unexpected healing of my heart. Maybe nothing is wrong with me. Maybe Alex had just been worried that I’d leave him behind, and he pushed the eject button. Maybe Dean is exactly who I need. I look at the positives: we understand each other, there’s a comfort in having lived together all these years. He accepts my quirks, my inner control freak, he forgives easily. He knows I like to get up at the crack of dawn to write while everyone’s asleep. If he’s awake, he pretends not to be so I can have that peaceful time alone. He helps me with my daughter when I need it. He excels in the kitchen – and the bedroom. He’s intelligent and curious. He designed the interior of our home in an artful, bohemian style that I appreciate. He’s honest when I ask how my hair looks, or my body or my clothes. He always thinks I’m sexy and beautiful and tells me so. I rarely take a second to really let that seep in. My conscious mind brushes these compliments aside, wondering what it is he actually sees in me. Why does he find me so attractive? Would anyone else ever feel that way?
*This is a work of fiction loosely based on true events. Names and details have been changed.