So this happens: Yesterday John spent a long afternoon and early evening here with what turned out to be an unexpected and lovingly appreciated reunion, of sorts, with my most immediate loves. MaryJean dropped in early afternoon and we began a program of beer drinking that lasted all day and into night. Allan, in a stew over his current love affair, stopped in and began a serious drinking regime. Wendy returned exhausted and ready for relief from a 12-hour driving trip from South Carolina. Chippy, of course, was here. And so, I found myself on a fuzzy afternoon with all the people who I admire most on earth in one room. With John. Suddenly, he seemed very stupid to me.
His comments were witless. His attempted conversations were dull and uninteresting. He was cliched and phony. I saw him in a very bad light. And spent the afternoon, literally, avoiding him. I made no attempt to come to his rescue at those odd, awkward moments in conversation when I realized that all the other people were finding him the same as myself. I watched, with a certain curiosity, the destruction that took place.
Everyone left wondering what was going on with Larry and John.
This major love of my life for the past two months turns out to be a huge embarrassment. How can I so easily negate the past two months of tenderness and lovemaking and intimacy…
How can I stop– full-fledged– what was intended to be a long-term relationship?
It’s so hard for me to cut ships loose that I have drawn so close to me.