Adulteress: Part Two

I’m not one to look for old friends on Facebook and I usually ignore those fake requests from LinkedIn. I don’t care about my ancestry and I’m not interested in friends from high school because for one thing, I didn’t go to high school. Mostly I’m content to just keep tabs on the Ex-wife, as I’ve mentioned before. If I need to feel smarter than somebody, she always delivers.

But a few weeks ago, I clicked on a LinkedIn notice, and while there, it occurred to me to look for the Tragedy. Something must have triggered this. Maybe something I watched on TV. So I typed in his name and there he was! No photo, and only one job listed, one that had ended. I sent a request to join his network and then returned to my regular programming.

It was a surprise when he responded with a long reply. It was great to hear from me! He had found my blog a few years ago, and had read the archives. He was so sorry about Max. He had thought of writing to me a thousand times. My writing was so good! He even read my stuff at Miista! As for him, he’d moved back to his hometown. He had never married.

My predominant feeling, my only feeling, was outrage.

WHAT?!? You read about the loss of my son and didn’t have the decency to express your condolences? How hard would that be? There’s the risk that I’d be annoyed, but please. I personally have written to strangers after reading about their loss. A senator, a governor, a regular person. I just want to offer sympathy and if possible, some words of comfort.

Then there’s the general feeling of being stalked. Stalked in the sense of reading all about my life and my thoughts without making a peep. It feels invasive. Even though I write for the entire world, I don’t expect the people I know to pore over my blog. It’s not a group letter about my vacation in Paris, France. I write from a need to express myself, to send a message in a bottle to someone who might relate or understand.

Okay, so there I am, fuming. I read the letter to my husband, who says Big deal, what’s so enraging? I read it to my sister, who says, Oh my god, what a fucker! This is one reason to have a sister. A huge reason.

I called a friend who I’d met at the bookstore, who had known the Tragedy and knew the whole story. His reaction was, Aw, how nice, and what a sweet guy. Ha. I reminded him of all the times we would argue about the best candidate to anally penetrate the Tragedy, thereby to teach him a thing or two. It came down to Vince Neil versus Steven Tyler. The debates were fierce, and accompanied by hysterical laughter.

Such was my bitterness at being rejected.

I could have ignored the letter but instead, I chose to reply and be direct. I wrote back:

But you broke my heart! So callously!

The last time we spoke, you looked me right in the eye and said, “I was never in love with you.” Said with no affect.

Would you like to moderate that in any way?

He did want to moderate it, in fact. And the whole affair came rushing back to me, a delirious mixture of bliss and despair.