Marriage. In these moderns times, it doesn’t seem like much. A formality of some sort, or a way to stick it to the man. When you decided to propose to me, it had been six years of deep friendship, a relationship unbroken. When we met, you were 20, I was 23. You were a golden boy with a Walton-like family and I was a nice girl with codependent tendencies and a healthy addiction to being in love. I think, you and I fell in love quite easily, but we had a few complications in that revelation. I want to proceed with this candidness with the complete and utter truth that I was incredibly in awe of you. I loved you til it hurt and it hurt a lot.

I had a reputation from the time I had my very first sexual encounter until well into my 20s. I was fully aware of the tools I was equipped with and did not hesitate to utilize them advantageously. You and I made no excuses for the intense passion we had for each other. It was just there, radiating, all the time. Maybe that was part of our attraction to one another — forbidden love. You had a girlfriend and I had just had my heart stomped on. In turn, I needed to have some man fulfill me in some way. It wasn’t healthy, I knew that and whispers around our circle always reminded me that it was looked down upon to be so easily taken with others. I was not the type of woman who would have one night stands, I was looking for THE ONE — at 23.

No matter who I got involved with, you were constantly with me, in my head and in my heart. I didn’t know why the universe decided to torture me with you, but it did and it was excruciating. A few attempts at other relationship material, turned out to be more of a “thanks for the hookup, I’ll see you next Tuesday” scenario. Yet it was I, who was the promiscuous one. I respected your relationship and our friendship was strong enough that we could hang out without damage. She was finally revealed to me at some point and I decided the best way to handle my feelings was to befriend her. I remember running up to your room one afternoon to hang out and heard the audible stirrings of two people not wanting to be disturbed. It had become real.

There were times when I would resist seeing you because it would mess me up inside. I didn’t like that feeling, and then you and I resisted no more. It was as though I was in that whole Pam and Jim scenario. Drunk and high and having a really fantastic night, we made a bad decision. There’s nothing worse than being a woman and waking up knowing you’ve done something wrong to someone else, but there’s nothing more humiliating than realizing that you didn’t win, that it wasn’t that sunshine of waking up to someone you’ve been in love with since the start. You were angry and upset when you woke up to find me there. “How could I have been so weak?” you said. I felt guilt and shame and that I had ruined our friendship. So, I sneaked out of the house and I cried the whole way home. I didn’t see you for a week or so. I did what I always did in those situations, I wrote a letter, apologizing.

I think we loved each other from the moment we met. I think we still love each other in some distant way that is buried deep in my heart, and lost forever. They don’t tell you what happens in a marriage. Marriages aren’t meant to be this fairytale thing, this untouchable magical love fountain. Marriage is hard. Marriage is work. Marriage is two different people coming together to be…two people coming together. See, this is where we had it right. We never believed that you had to become the other person. We were individuals who loved each other, but were unwilling to give up our identity in that union, in fact, we forbade it. I loved that about us, but it is what ultimately destroyed us too. Monogamy is man made, just as marriage is. Once you understand that, you can be comfortable with being with someone forever.

We both thought it was healthy that we found other people attractive. You were on tour constantly with many young women, but I never once thought you’d engage in anything suspicious and for all I know you didn’t. I was alone a lot, but I never wanted anyone else but you. And that’s how it was for a long time. Our emotional sides dealt with marriage very easily, it was the day-to-day that took its toll. The not having the dishes done when I came home from my crappy job, the never once in the years we were together did you clean a bathroom or fold clothes, and the inability to open your mail. Sure, they are little teeny stupid things, but they wore on me. Then came the late nights after your drum lessons, while I had dinner ready hours before. So I compensated and worked on my self-made webzine, I went to art shows, burlesque, theater, dance performances, I engulfed myself with these things to maintain my identity within our marriage. We balanced it all by spending the time we needed together, but for me the responsibility that began to shape while we were married and my expectations for a husband outweighed our blissful union and that is what began the fissure.

I hung out with men all the time. In fact I preferred it adamantly. I wanted men cutting my hair, serving my drinks, and engaging me in conversation. That does not mean I wanted to fuck other men. I’ve always had a “man” mind. This statement today would get me in a lot of deep shit. It is simply put that I found camaraderie and common interests with mostly men. I however, am a woman. A woman who enjoyed having intellectual conversation with attractive men who I secretly knew wanted to fuck me. When you were gone, it was nice being admired and appreciated for who I was, not for who I was married to. I always respected our marriage and what I was once comfortable with before, I became more suspicious of later. It is easy to spot issues in a marriage, even if you want to ignore them. Patterns began to break and the thread that once held us together began unraveling.

It was me who started getting curious. I began to peruse MySpace for old boyfriends and friends. I needed validation. I needed to know that I was worth being with and that sounds really stupid to say out loud, but I felt all I did at that time was take care of you, support you, and work. It became a trait in you I found unattractive, but what I became was worse.

I am a firm believer that men and women can be friends platonically. Do I believe in the ladder theory to some extent, most definitely. It’s funny, but somewhat true. A friend brought it up to me one day and after analyzing it and thinking about my own associations I gasped in revelation, but then again, I’m a lover. I swim in that initial placenta of romance. Besides, look at who we hung out with. Everyone was attractive. At some point, I’ve thought about having sex with all those guys. I’m not embarrassed by that, because to me it’s fact and human, we had hot friends. We’ve never been those people who were jealous. We were flattered by the attention the other got and in fact encouraged the boosts to our egos. There were some nights we would go out and you would go to one end of the bar and I the other and we didn’t come together until it was time to go home where we would exchange our stories. Dudes I talked to didn’t like that very much and women gave me some pretty disdained looks as we left together hand in hand, but we didn’t want our relationship to define us, when we were dating, engaged, or married.

Something people don’t tell you when you get married: At some point, if your spouse does not give you the essential attention you need, you may start to find it elsewhere. It has nothing to do with right or wrong, it has everything to do with feeling adequate and like you are part of that person’s life. That was the case with you. With me, it was more of a repressed hostility. You were not giving me the results I needed, not sexually or emotionally, but as a partner, as a responsible party to our union. You always had this thing about being a man, yet you found yourself doubting it constantly. I got blamed because I wanted “things”. Things like a house and children and you wanted to be able to play drums and sustain a cushy life, drinking top shelf liquor and playing with bands who lead you astray financially and to be quite frank, used you for your talent.

I encountered a lot of attractive men during that time. Men who bought me champagne and told me I was beautiful. Men who thought I was charming and intelligent. Men who thought I was destined for greater things. Famous men. Men on the street. Men in the subway. Men in the park. I’m not bragging here, I’m just putting it in context. I’m sure while you were on tour, girls had no issues giving you shoulder rubs after an all day gig or offering to sit with you while you told them stories of how much you missed your wife as they longingly comforted you. How I look back and think it was strange that people thought it was insane to surprise you across the country while you were on tour. “You should never surprise your man when he’s on the road,” someone told me. “Ludicrous,” I thought.

Who knows who was first in the sin. I knew before you did that you would betray me, what I wasn’t prepared for, was my betrayal. I felt empty inside after a few months of being back. I missed you desperately. It was as though someone took half my limbs and the other half were needless. I would sit on the couch wanting so much to have company in that beautiful loft I got us, yet the echoes of my talking to the television were all that kept me company…oh, and the cats. Here I thought having a pool would attract people. All the excitement of me moving “home”, all the hopes of settling, began to diminish. You would come to visit and soon it would be realized that you didn’t want to come back. You got a roommate and began traveling the world with a new band. You were out and about with new friends in the city. I thought, “Surely, he will run out of money soon and be home.” I ached for New York again because the acclimation back to Richmond was excruciating with curfewed walks and absent heels. I began to drink, alone, a lot. I’d also go to the Pub, a lot and fill my nights with smoke, music and conversation. My job was expecting more of me than I realized and meeting new people there was like wanting to be invited to the cool kids table and instead sitting outside by myself with a lonely sandwich. It was hard and I hated it.

I was lonely. I was paying debt and trying to sustain bills in our old place and in our new place. It wasn’t easy, but the resentment was. I had decided to start a new zine with a good friend who also moved back to RVA. We found comfort in a friendship that was built since high school and it was great having a project! I kept myself busy to keep my mind off of you. Living in New York gave me confidence and helped me accomplish a lot of things I never dreamed of. Where else would I have been able to start a successful writing endeavor, host a happy hour every month, or sit down with prominent artists, designers, and Liam Neeson? You didn’t like that I was spending time with him, but I was adamant —you were absent. I was on the phone constantly with work and I hated it as much as you did, but you gave me shit about it and I felt guilty that I was living this other life. There were times you would come visit and wouldn’t even stay at the loft and I began to think that it was ok.

He was nice, tall, thin build, and had fantastic taste in music. He was new in town and came into the Pub one night. It was easy, talking with him, his blue eyes intent on what I had to say. We talked about all sorts of subjects and after a few weeks, it began to be our regular routine of meeting up and hanging out. I talked about you, he talked about his ex. It felt good to have someone understand and listen to what I was going through. I was so angry with you.

I had too many that night. I always walked to the Pub because it was so close, plus I got my exercise going up that steep hill. It was like a reward at the end! He decided he would walk me home safely and I let him. I just wanted to be in my bed and cry myself to sleep again. He walked me to the door and asked if I was going to be ok and I shrugged heavily with the air of apathy. He looked at me deeply and said, “I’m sorry you are so sad.” I retaliated angrily and said, “Why, I’m not sad, I’m pissed! Pissed I have to be alone all the time! Pissed he’s not here with me! Pissed he’s probably fucking someone else at this point!” And then he gently grabbed the nape of my neck and kissed me, deeply, passionately and I kissed him back. I felt it in my bones. It didn’t feel wrong, I could have just been drunk, but that kiss was the end for me. For the years we had been together, I only wanted you, I only needed you. You were my end all be all and in that very moment, right outside that beautiful loft I thought we would be building a future in, you disappeared.

He said he wasn’t sorry for kissing me, that I needed it and I almost looked offended, but realized he was right. I asked him to come in and he refused. He said, “Know your worth girl, I’m not one to break up marriages, I just thought you needed to feel something.” And I did. And I was sadder and hated myself for wanting more. If he hadn’t refused me, I would have very much ravaged him. I never told you. I tried to work it all out with you. I never told you because it wasn’t for you, it was what I needed. It was also the catalyst for an ultimatum. An ultimatum, I thought I could play to make you get up and fight. I’m haunted to this day by the phone call that said you would be coming home to be with me, to make it all work out, the way we had done for so many years. I wanted to be absolved. I wanted my other limbs back, but that is not how this story plays out, is it?

I’m sitting here drinking my whiskey recalling that last year, sobbing at times, smiling to myself thinking how much you would like this Oban. There are many nights I wonder what if it all hadn’t have happened, but isn’t that just torture in itself? I don’t regret my indiscretions. I feel as though these things are put in front of us in order to learn the bigger picture. I used to be one of those people who would look down at others for cheating, but I feel that sometimes it is more complicated than you know. Unless you’ve been there, you couldn’t possibly empathize. I wasn’t trying to fall in love with someone else, I was trying to fall back in love with you.

I remember the day your mom yelled at me in the hospital, “Why did you have to leave him!” I looked at her with so much guilt and sorrow. What if I hadn’t? Would you be ok now? Round and round that goes and where it stops nobody would know. She may have thought I left you alone in that big city to fend for yourself, but the truth is, it was you who left me in that big, beautiful loft with nothing but the echoes of our sins.

If there is something to desire,
there will be something to regret.
If there is something to regret,
there will be something to recall.
If there is something to recall,
there was nothing to regret.
If there was nothing to regret,
there was nothing to desire. - Vera Pavlov