I told him it’s just edema.
He said that they’re dark blue.
I told him a different shade would better complement his natural coloring.
On the same day I didn’t have transportation, because my vehicle needed a new starter, soon after I’d bought a new battery: two things my body could use. Sometimes life’s events are like bouts of diarrhea.
So I didn’t see him until Saturday morning, and we both teared up when I said how scared we all were. He was too.
I love this guy. He’s a good person who brings out the best in me and sweetly, kindly encourages me to push myself to become better—to play piano better, to sing better, to play guitar better, to play golf better, to play tennis better. Note the word play. He works hard as a software engineer-consultant, and when the work is done, if he’s not in the bathtub, he’s playing (with) something.
As with any relationship, it isn’t perfect. We always do something that the other doesn’t like. He doesn’t like it that I have so many male friends, not noticing that I also have a lot of female friends and spend most of my time alone.
I never liked his smoking or his pitting me against another female—the mean, self-absorbed, controlling type. Fact is, in our 11 years of friendship, we’ve parted company several times for these two reasons. Bad stuff.
And once, after he said, “Huh?” for the eighty-sixth time in an evening, I said, “That’s it! Leave. And don’t come back till you have hearing aids!” A couple months later, he called to say he’d gotten hearing aids.
But he doesn’t wear them. Funny thing, though: his hearing has improved, especially around dinnertime.
I asked him yesterday, “Do you know how hard it is to love someone who smokes?” Watching someone you care about suffer through self-infliction is heartbreaking. Knowing that they will probably die a painful death is exhausting. Truth is, even though I’m quite an energetic person, I am physically, emotionally, and mentally drained from feeling my dear friend’s pain. I simply could not separate myself from being a part of him.
Meanwhile, his self-obsessed female constantly wore everyone down with her perpetual intrusions. My friend, who should have had a loving and calm environment to heal his mind and body, was inflicted with high blood pressure, trying to make peace between her and his 89-year-old mom and daughters. She sure kept me away until my friend requested my presence.
So here my friend and I go again, hanging around like his big balls. But time will tell how big they really are. Will he really stop emasculating himself by putting a cigarette to his lips? Can he grow with the positive? Will he notice all my girlfriends? Or will we be playing ping-pong with body parts?
copyright © 2009 by Auntie Eartha. All rights reserved.
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