As I sat in front of my computer getting ready to write my column, I stared blankly at the screen for awhile, composing my thoughts. Where did I want to begin? There had been so many dates in the past few weeks that all of the men started to run together. I was having a hard time remembering who said what, who felt what and whose idiosyncrasies got on my nerves so badly that I knew I wouldn't be able to stomach a second date, let alone a lifetime of misery and torment.
Just before I started to whine to my readers for the umpteenth time about the hardships of being a thirtysomething single gal in the city of sin, my phone rang. I wasn't going to answer because I had to start my column, but at that moment I would have enjoyed a cold-cut sandwich made out of my own tongue more than the prospect of recalling the nightmare that had become my dating life.
"'Lo," I said, trying to sound like a deeply distracted writer.
"Son-Bear!" said the voice on the other end. It was the Turtle calling from Phoenix, the city that he fled to after he said I chased him out of town in an effort to escape my spell. Silly Turtle. He had been my first "victim"— his word, not mine—after my divorce seven years ago. We dated on and off for about a year and a half, mostly off for reasons I couldn't remember anymore, but we'd somehow made peace with the past and are now the best of friends.
"Turtle, how's your hammer hangin'?" I joked easily.
"Little to the left," he answered back, matching my wit.
"You ought to get that thing checked out. I think that's why I broke up with you, isn't it?" I said, chuckling.
No response.
Ouch. I'd hit a sore spot. And so early on; usually it took at least 10 minutes before I said something stupid. I could never understand why he was so sensitive whenever I joked about our parting of ways. I mean, it was a lifetime ago and the only thing I remember about Turtle and me is that our relationship put the "fun" in dysfunctional.
"So, um, I'm just writing about my experiences with a dating service. You ever thought about joining one?" I asked, hoping to change the subject.
"Yeah, I've thought about it, but never really got that desperate," he said. His tone made it difficult to differentiate between sarcasm and jest.
"Thanks a lot!" I chided.
"So, whom are you tearing apart this week?" he asked.
"What? Me? Tear a man apart? You've gone mad, Turtle. I only tell it like it is. I mean, it's not my fault that the majority of the single male population that somehow end up on a date with me are either too emotionally unavailable, too vain, too arrogant, too sappy or too miserable for me to ever continue seeing."
"Oh, I see, so it's all them?" He sounded serious. I was confused.
"What's up, Turtle? I'm sensing a hint of animosity. I mean, you and I weren't exactly a match made in heaven but we've managed to overcome our differences and become really good friends."
From our breakup until now, we'd managed to avoid this conversation and suddenly I was more than just a little uncomfortable.
"No, Sonja. We didn't recognize our differences and decide to part company—you cheated on me."
I did? What a bitch!
"The only thing I did wrong was to love you with all of my heart, but somehow you managed to find something wrong with that too. It seems to me that you manage to find something wrong with just about everyone who crosses your path. Don't you see a pattern here?"
Holy perturbed ex-boyfriend, Batman! Suddenly, my life was a really annoying reality television show and I wanted so badly to change the channel.
"Look, Turtle, I've got to finish my column ..." I said lamely. He cut me off.
"Good. Then finish it, but it would behoove you to put down the microscope and pick up a mirror. Maybe once you stop looking so hard for everyone else's downfalls, you can focus on your own. Do you realize that even after I caught you red-handed, you turned everything around to make it seem like you cheated on me because of my shortcomings? And to this day you've never even apologized."
I was speechless. His words resonating in my head turned my stomach.
"Sonja, I am sorry for being so harsh, that wasn't the reason for my call. It's just that I care about you and I'd hate to see you grow old all alone because you kept trying to find the next best thing. Maybe you've already found him and then carelessly discarded him for whatever reasons you could have come up with. Why did you leave Andy?"
Ouch. That stung.
"You were married to the man, he adored you and you left him. The funny thing is that after all these years, you're not even over him and you were the one who left! And Jay?"
Double ouch! Stop this crazy ride!
"And ..." He faltered. I could tell he was getting choked up. "Me?"
"OK!" I said. "I get the picture." Tears stung my eyes.
"Son-Bear," he said using the nickname he'd coined for me a lifetime ago. He was softening and I was grateful. "Don't be afraid to let somebody love you."
Before we hung up, I said the three little words that Turtle needed to hear. "I'm so sorry." Oddly, it was freeing.
Thanks to Turtle's tough love, I was able to learn a thing or three. One: People aren't trash that you just throw out when the relationship starts to stink. Two: I'm a bitch. And three: I have some serious amends to make before I can ever move on and break the cycle I created.
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?