Your call is Important to me, Not really, Save your dime

The Green Eyed Monster lived in East Lansing.  There wasn't one, there were two. They both lived in the vicinity of one another and they both despised the other for reasons unknown except they were both trying to win the heart of a brown eyed girl.

Michael wanted me to stop seeing Killer.  Killer wanted me to stop seeing Michael.  No one asked me what I wanted.  I wanted to be left alone. I hated being pulled in opposite directions.  I hated the juggling of trying to please everyone.  Stepping on egg shells to not inflict more pain in their hearts. Trying to not show my own pain while spending time with them.  Why did they not understand that alone meant no Killer, no Michael.

I was furious after the incident on Killer's birthday. Not only was I dealing with Killer's insecurity that he had lost me and wanted me back, Michael had mimicked the one thing I detested the most about Killer, control over me.

How dare he follow me! He knew how much it bothered me that Killer hired a private eye to watch me. How dare he drive to my piece of heaven and wait in the darkness for my return. Had I not cut dinner short, how long would he have waited for my return? How dare he strike that button that opened up what little I had left of my own privacy. How dare he assume he could display such a childish prank and feel he was welcomed to stay in my little piece of heaven that was my safe haven from them, the stalkers.

He knew when he left that night that he had crossed a boundary with me.  If he had anything over and above Killer, he lost it in that moment that he violated my privacy.

I listened to all the messages that Killer had left that day.  The tape was full.  I removed it and threw it in a box with all the others and replaced it with a fresh tape.  I headed in to the shower with visions of washing my troubles down the drain, freeing my soul of this burden that weighed so heavy on my heart.

A shower.  How long does that take a normal person to accomplish?  From the moment you turn the water on to the moment you dry yourself off and exit that warmth of the room that you attempted to drown your sorrows in. Twenty minutes? I didn't linger in the shower. I didn't spend gobs of time cleaning every pore individually. I showered, dried off and walked out of the bathroom into my bedroom and my answering machine was full again.

Thirty minutes of tape and four messages. This only meant one of two things, someone left a long message or my machine was defective, burned up by the heated messages of the callers who refused to let me rest for one moment.

The first call was from Killer.  No surprise there. He had filled the tape up earlier in the day and had no opportunity to leave another message to tell me how pathetic I was.  But a new fresh tape laid in this box where others felt it was necessary to confess their sins without the willingness to do penance.

Killer didn't disappoint me. He knew when I walked out of that restaurant he had crossed the line that I had drawn the day I walked out of his home. His little girl had grown up. He could no longer expect me to sit there and listen to him belittle me and tell me how I had disappointed him with my behavior.

He apologized. He promised to work on himself if I would just give us a chance. He would change. Whatever I wanted all I had to do was tell him and I could consider it done. Please just call me. 

The sadness in his heart spoke louder than the actual words that he left on the tape that night. I knew he was sorry.  I knew that he loved me, but he continually tested me to see just what he could get away with. A sharp tongue lashing out to hurt, yet curbed quickly when it was ignored or snipped with words just as painful to hear in his own ears.

The next message was from Michael. He begged me to forgive him, but he loved me. He wanted to get married and he knew I would be happy if I left Killer and married him.  He promised to never follow me. He would never invade  my privacy but he was worried that I was in trouble when I did not return his call.

The next call was from Killer, begging me to call. Reiterating the previous message of how much he adored me and he knew we could be happy again, if I just gave us a chance.  He'd do anything to prove he loved me. 

How many times can you say this? How  many different ways can you deliver the same message? Are you talking from your heart or are you trying to soothe your own heart by claiming you screwed up and if you are not forgiven for your moment of stupidity, at least you can blame the other for not taking that bone you so willingly offered after you bit the hand that you fed your soul.

He apparently thought his fifteen minutes of fame was up and he hung  up.  He was expecting me to pick up the phone. He  knew I was home as his message was laced with, "Beadie? Are you there? Pick up...and  he'd continue his message.

Michael followed angered now that he had been trying to call and was getting the busy signal. Had I taken the phone off the hook?  Was I ignoring him? Oh you silly man, I have not hired a personal assistant just yet,  to put you on hold while so many of my other admirers proclaim their love for me. I am so sorry you had to wait. UGH!  I was at the end of my rope!

I shut the machine off.  If it was off, they could not leave a message and I could be alone, in silence, with my own thoughts. I needed to process every thing that had happened. What did I feel about the actions of these two men on that particular evening?  Why was I angry? Why did I feel time alone was the answer to my quandary? What did my heart say? What did my gut feel? I had so many questions of myself, yet I was expected to give answers to others who continually begged for my attention.