I’m Trying to be a Grown-up

I’m trying to be a grown-up.

Your words were awful.  They flew through my scuffed up cellphone and into my ear, but it felt like you slapped me.  I don’t mean to use an overused, clichéd metaphor, but that’s actually what it felt like.  I recoiled from the imagined physical blow and blinked into the emptiness of my bedroom.

I’m trying to be a grown-up.

Initially I wanted to correct what you got wrong, but it didn’t seem worth it.  Just like Carol Gilligan said women are apt to do, I backed down because I was already certain that you wouldn’t understand.  Your directness and your steely tone told me that you would not waver anyways.  Why start an argument that couldn’t be won?  Carol Gilligan would be mad at me.

I’m trying to be a grown-up.

I fixed by face into a grin you couldn’t see and told ou that if that was the way you felt it was find and hoped that the incredulous laughter lurking beneath it carried over to your end of the conversation.

I’m trying to be a grown-up.

We hung up.  As soon as the connection was broken I called you a mean name.  It wasn’t very original.

I’m trying to be a grown-up.

Instantly I started going over the story in my head and I tried to paint you as the villain.  I could have easily been successful , but the situation was so clearly a misunderstanding that I honestly didn’t want to.

I’m trying to be a grown-up.

I deleted your phone number, your emails.

I’m trying to be a grown-up.

This is very definitely your loss and not mine.  You chose to burn a bridge and that’s fine.  It was a non-essential bridge for my journey.  In a way, I guess it was a toll bridge of sorts.  As its owner you had everything and a half to gain from my passage, but it’s ash now.  Your money has turned to dust.

I’m really trying to be a grown-up here.


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