A Malika Kind of Weekend

This weekend was one of those "Malika" weekends that would have been wild for most people, but pretty par for the course for me. Early on, my plans were to make the 4 hour drive to see Luke on Friday night and return Sunday afternoon. I was looking forward to it. Things had been kind of strained since Easter and I needed some face to face time to figure out how to move forward. Thursday evening we talked, which had become increasingly rare. The conversation was pretty decent, a good catch up for the two of us. Then he goes on to tell me that he'd developed a strange rash. I asked him where it was located. His response? His balls. He had jock itch. Ew. My immediate thought was 'I'm still coming up but on Saturday instead of Friday, and we ain't fucking.'

He apologized and said that he'd been taking a cream and that he planned to go see his doctor about it. I was hoping to get a hotel for two nights, but needless to say, that put a bit of a kibosh on some of the romantic plans. I told him that I'd still roll up, just on Saturday morning instead. Friday night, I managed to get another text from him. This is after I'd made arrangements for my son, and combed the internet looking for the right hotel room. And less than 12 hours before I was set to hit the road, he comes with this foolishness. He said that his was uncomfortable (rightfully so) and didn't think this was a good time to visit. I sent back a text that roughly said "I wasn't coming up to fuck you. I can't do this anymore." I pulled the plug.

It wasn't so much the jock itch thing. I know he was pretty embarrassed about that. Its just that we've been talking for 3 months and I needed more. The first two months were amazing, I felt like I was talking to my other half. The last month, it was pulling teeth. He'd become a stranger. Only half of my texts were responded to, significant scaling back on the phone conversation. The distance is a strain in itself, but I'll be damned if I'll stick around for no seeing each other AND no talking. We talked and I pretty much laid it out for him- we don't talk anymore, and for the last three months, we've only seen one another in person one time for 30 minutes. There's pretty much nothing for me to hold on to. He admitted to being to blame for our lapse in connecting. We were silent. I said I had to go and we hung up.

It stung. On one hand, I was proud that I'd pulled the plug before this got painful. We had 2 months of a good run, and I gave it a decent amount of time (a month) before I pulled out. I was with it when it worked for me, and I gave it room to end, and an I ended it once it dragged on for a month. Shit, talk about progress. Old Malika would have dragged this shit on way longer than that, and waited for the Luke from the first two months to come back. But Malika at this age said "nah."

I awoke Saturday with nothing on my agenda. For the last two weeks I'd thought that this weekend would be booed up with Luke, chilling in a hotel, making love, and basking in whatever the hell middle-aged people bask in. I needed to clear my head. Sure, I was proud of myself. But I was disappointed and hurt that yet again what I thought I'd had was no longer the case. Yet again, slipping through my fingers. I got into my car and just drove. Wasn't quite sure where I was going, but I knew that I needed mountains. And that's where I went. I followed signs that continued to point north. I'd reach the end of one road, and again, just look for the next road that pointed north. Before I knew it, I'd made my way to a place called DeSoto Falls. I hiked a good 2 miles, was quite sore and sweaty, and hit the road again to keep going north. At some point, it occurred to me to hit Amicalola Falls, so I did.

Two water falls in one day. I was exhausted, but exhilarated. Plus I'm planning to go to California next month, so I'm doing everything in my power to get this beach body in line. I got home around the same time Davis did. He'd been drinking and we'd caught up with some things. I told him about how a few days ago I'd mentioned to a girlfriend of mine that she may want to try to delve into her reason for not liking to work for other people. That didn't go over well with her. Davis went on to tell me that I'm a bit insensitive when I talk to others. I assured him that was never my intention and that I simply tend to be blunt, due more so due to my own inability to pick up on small hints. So I have a tendency to talk to other people the way I'd need them to talk to me. And apparently that doesn't always go over well.

I'm not sure quite how it happened then, but I felt like while we were talking about who did what, I mentioned the fact that he lied about living with his girlfriend when we first met some years ago, and subsequently sat back quietly while she stalked me (I'm talking 30+ phone calls in a row on numerous occasions). I told him that I didn't deserve that and he should have at least told her to leave me out of it. But he didn't.

I didn't realize how much I'd still been hurt over that, until I mentioned it to him. He scoffed at the idea, as my mood deflated. He went to sleep shortly thereafter. The next morning, I was still raw at all of those feelings I thought I was past. I drove him to work, but in silence. I was still hurt, but I didn't want to be. I knew that I'd just need a moment, perhaps a few days to sort through it all. While driving, the song "Perfect" by Ed Sheeran came on. I began to weep silently. Not about Davis at all actually, about Pete. That song reminds me of him and its not uncommon for me to get emotional when it comes on. I stopped at a store while Davis ran in to get supplies.

I think I've mentioned it in past before, but I have the ability to talk to the departed. I respect them and they respect me. Pete talks to me often, offering a voice of wisdom when I feel at the end of my rope. As I sat in the warm car, with the sun beating down on me, he told me that I needed to let go. That Davis loves me as is, but he's doing the best he can. That I needed to forgive him, even if he isn't sorry. I related that same lesson to a few other friends that have done me wrong as well. That even if they didn't know or care to be sorry, I needed to forgive them. It was honestly a bit of a weight off of my shoulders. I'm not quite in that same space of forgiving my family for years of mental and emotional abuse, but at least the gate is open to the idea now. Pete mentioned a few other things about his life and childhood as well. It all gave me a greater understanding of people doing their best, even if it doesn't always look like it to the rest of the world.

Davis stepped back into the car moments later. He apologized for being in the store for so long, but little did he know that I'd needed that extra time. I drove him on to his work site. As he exited the car, I looked him in the eyes and I told him I forgive. "Huh?" was his response. I reminded him that he'd been drinking the night before and some old feelings came up, and that its cool. That even if he isn't or doesn't know to be sorry, I still forgive him. I was again a bit deflated, but I meant it. I forgave him.

Later that evening, he came back and I greeted him. Still not as warm as I normally do, but warm enough. He came over to me and said "that thing you were talking about last night? Yeah, I didn't mean that. I thought we were past it and I didn't know that it affected you like that. I'm sorry. I'm not always good with emotions." And that felt amazing. It felt amazing because I'd already forgiven him. But it felt nice to hear him say it. To own it. To validate my feelings.

My weekend was packed. It was busy, it was emotional, and it was healing. I love this journey. No one can work it like I can.