It tore us apart with such force that we frayed. I try to unwind. The hot tub lives up to its name. It's perfectly painfully hot. As I relax, I reflect. That argument. So revealing. Feelings shooting like bullets, hearts shattering like glass. I go to bed. I fall asleep broken.
The light of day brings the leprechaun to his feet. Happy. Productive. No apparent emotional remnants from last night’s unresolved anarchy. It felt like that. A war. Two souls in combat. A dual with no winner. But he’s happy. He’s just-short-of-humming-a-tune-from-the-sound-of-music happy. That’s some merry shit right there. All the happy, all the time.
First I was numb. Then, I was pissed. In between it all, there’s my merry little leprechaun scooting around, oblivious to the memory of the volley of words that pierced like knives last night. Resentment bubbles within me. I resent you, you privileged white man fuck face. I resent you and all your rich white friends who think they can act one way one moment, then move on like nothing happened. Words have consequences, and you can’t always spin your way out of it. You and your world of privilege and power and swagger. Your world of all the loftiness, all the pretense, all the presumptions. Well guess what? In case you haven’t noticed, I refuse to obey. I refuse to play this nicey-nice game. It’s not going to happen.
And then….I go for a walk with my four dogs.
With each step I take, I plot my revenge. I make a plan to transfer all of our money out of our bank account into my business account. The idea of potentially alerting the IRS to an audit reminds me this plot may backfire. I vow to unleash the Wrath of Kahn but Kahn's wrath became his undoing, and that's not quite how I want my story to end. I decide to get another dog. And, since five isn’t an even number, I decide to get two. Then I realize that the only one taking care of these dogs is me, and me alone, so I toss that idea into my pile of abandoned plots. I call a friend. He talks me off the ledge. I am grateful. And sustained. Friends have that affect on me. Why do I always forget to reach out? Note to self: when in pain, pick up the phone. I want to make that into a rhyming mantra but I’m all out of clever today.
I hear a golf cart pull up closely behind me, then a ‘oh heyyyyyyyyyy’ in a singsongy voice. A man and woman pull up beside me in a tiki bar on wheels. Every inch of this golf cart screams Polynesian Dream. Every inch of it is painstakingly decorated with bamboo shoots, tiki masks, palm trees and leis. Above their heads, I spot a shelf of tiki glasses grinning at me in unison. I'm almost certain I saw this scene once in a dream about heaven.
The man jumps out, turns on a blender, and while I'm in mid-laugh he hands me a freshly blended Mai Tai. Our dogs sniff each other as we clink our glasses together with a toast and a promise to be happy all of the time. There is lots of talk of God and angels and how this encounter is just like church. The man says to me, ‘Now go home and tell your husband you just had a threesome in a tiki bar, and you’re all good now.’ And you know what? I am good. We are good. It’s all going to be good I realize, as I walk home and begin to hum, ‘the hills are alive with the sound of music….’