Southern Hospitality

Southern Hospitality

I live with a Southern man who, along the years of past, has been trying to find his place, his worth. He tried to be everything to everyone at one point. Then, he tried to not be anything to anyone but himself. He hoarded material possessions because he believed that to elevate his worthiness and to satisfy his inner-fulfillment. His competitiveness for material gains made him distrusting of others, made him shed friends he once had, believing that they were only there to suck away the money he made by hard work.

But he knew that wasn't it.

That's why he moved westward to Bend, Oregon in search of inner-peace. He isolated himself, made himself the center of his drama, his universe, and shared it with no one else. He made very few friends in Bend; some people he distrusts, some, he feels are not "good enough" for him -- they are either too young or too angry or to materialistic or not spiritual enough. He feels that the only way not to waste his time was to be by himself.

Then, he met this girl. I don't personally know her, but I believe that she must have wanted to be part of his life. She must have wanted him to open his gate to his heart and mind, so that she could understand him, care about him and love him. Despite her own problems -- being in her 20s and all -- she must have tried, but to no avail. She must have become increasingly depressed. Four years, she was with him. Four years, she spent trying to fit in to his world while shaping her own. And finally, she broke.

He feels bad that he got her pregnant and caused her the pain of an abortion during a tough time in her life. He feels guilty. He also reminisces the four years spent with just one particular person so closely and intimately. What he doesn't realize, though, is that he is too enclosed to have felt anything for her that is beyond a friendship based on routine, on familiarity and being accustomed to a presence. What he reminisces is merely comfort in knowing that someone has been there with him for so long. He never trusted her to be "good enough" for him -- and he never trusted himself to let go of his pride, of his fear of putting his self-worth on the line.

During the time of the abortion, he also met another girl. As if by the hand of fate, the two of them met at a friend's doorway. The immediate attraction intrigued him. This girl intrigued him. She was nothing like anyone else he had met -- so level-headed, so mature for her age, so full of life and wisdom beyond her years, so cultured and intelligent, so refreshingly beautiful. She needed help getting settled in Bend, for, she, too, moved away to Bend for peace and exploration. So he invited her to be his roommate.

When she first moved in, they exchanged intellect and worldviews. They exchanged glances. They exchanged frequencies that made them feel close to each other, as if they could understand each other without words. Soon, they shared a bed, and they shared emotional attachments ... but no sooner than the news that his old girlfriend of four years, who moved 7 hours north, was now pregnant with his child.

What does one do at crossroads? What does one do with guilt and sadness?
And what does one do with newfound emotional attachments that are at risk of being torn apart?

He left his roommate and drove 7 hours north to his old girlfriend. He left his lovely roommate, who vowed to be there for him, with remarks of wanting and promises of return -- he left, almost certain that he had been waiting all his life for her. If he is a soldier, she is his princess. And she, after a string of disappointing and heartbreaking relationships, thought he just might be for her.

The abortion proved to be harder than expected. He didn't expect his emotions to react so strongly to the incident. After all, I suppose that 4 years is a long time to be committed to someone. He cried and cried and mourned for his old girlfriend's pain. The abortion seemed more like a death in many ways than the scientific medical procedure promised on the clinic's brochure. The abortion changed him -- and it changed his heart.

When he returned to Bend, all he could remember was the pain and the abortion. The soldier became frail from post-traumatic syndrome, and the princess, to him, became just someone. No, not someone else, but just someone. The two of them soon became nothing else but bedmates. She hoped that the person she first met would return; he ... well, he just didn't know what to hope for but peace and quiet. But she is slowly, but surely, becoming the obstacle between he and his peace and quiet.

He became colder and more like a stranger than when they first met. He told her, "I am not as certain about us as I was before." It knocked her heart and her hopes down an inch. But she tried to be patient -- after all, she realized he was going through rough times. What she did not realize was how these rough times truly affected him -- they put him in emotional solitary confinement, just like everything else in his life had affected him. The idea of bringing pain to others (particularly to someone he cared deeply about) made him question his self-worth once again: what's this life for? He's lost the answer he was once so content with 5 years ago when he moved west.

The day she finally understood what had happened to her soldier, the two of them were fishing for salmon on the river. She finally figured out why she couldn't get to him all this time since he came home: he's so content with being alone, that he has no room for her. In face of a setback, he recoiled and locked her out. She finally realized that she would never become a part of his universe. That hurt her. She felt guilty for allowing herself to dream with him, when he so easily awoke from the dream.

As quickly as the flip of a coin, he changed his mind.
One day, he told her that they don't communicate well, that she's too young, that he needed space, that she is crowding him, that her close proximity is too much for him to handle. He said that he's very independent; even when he had a girlfriend, she was independent, too. He told her that he would be moving in 30 days to the desert east of their residence. She went upstairs and cried silently and alone. For two months, he acted as if he wanted her to be there, as if he wanted her company in bed and on the river, told her that he was getting used to her presence and is liking it, now he made her sound as if she was following him around despite his dislike.

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And what do I do?
What do I do when I was a "princess," but now I am left feeling like nothing more than a hired escort, whose services are welcomed on his good days, but then becomes a nuisance on his bad days?
How do I collect my heart like this over and over again?
I don't know. Maybe this is just the way it is ... at least for me.