That dog gone trip to Texas did it January 6, 1985

 




Happy, Happy New, New Year, six days late.

My fate still hangs over me like a limp balloon (sexual metaphor, eh?” I wonder if I’ll even get into a relationship that doesn’t drag out?

The death of my relationship with Louise lasted for months, going through a number of phases of breaking up and getting back together only to break up again.

Suzanne suffered over me for more than a year – and at no time could I claim I’d found happiness.

Now, I’m in a relationship with Fran that has lasted more than two years. She looks back on the early days – before her trip to Austin – as something special, and I almost agree they might have been.

Her going to Texas ruined it all, making me aware of just how reckless Fran can be at times and how emotionally vulnerable I am to her mood swings.

I felt hurt at her leaving and by the fact that my total source of information about her comings and goings came by way of other people.

She claims she wrote me three times while she was away; I got two of those letters weeks after her return. For most of her time away, I sat at my job in the Clifton Fotomat booth, wondering about her affairs with Hardwood – the man she travelled with – and their doings in the string of motels they stayed in along the way.

Her father got the credit card bill that mapped out their trip in a string of motels and gave me the queasy feeling she felt no need to cover her tracks. Her silence, her lack of direct communication with me made it all the worse.

The whole thing stirred up in me a need to break free. Since meeting Fran, I’d felt crowded, unable to do what I wanted to do, jog, write, read, hangout. Hooking up with her felt like getting married, losing that freedom a small price I thought at the time for having someone to be with.

A different jealousy may have played a part as I look back at it now. Here, I felt trapped while Fran wandered freely across the country.

Anyway, everything changed after the trip. I struggled to compromise, finding a night job that allowed me freedom to write during the day – and gave me distance to keep Fran from swallowing me whole.

I know this sounds like I’m dumping everything on Fran’s shoulders when other fractures exist, other factors that had fuel to the fire which I won’t try to explain here.

 


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