Where am I?

I thought we were at the point where we at least understood where the other person was. Where we could joke about our differences and similarities because now we know them, know one from the other, and are even okay in those. We can joke about the hot-button issues as long as it's not a day when either one of us is a 'delicate flower.' We even have the overly cute code to make it okay and signal our own insecurities and sensitivities, yes, delicate flower.

But I was wrong. I thought we could joke and we were until it turned back into the the fight again. I know the ex and I had the re-occuring 'I want to be out, she doesn't' issue, but that's all it was, an issue. This, this pain, this fear, this fight, has so much more weight, so much more direct pain. I guess at the heart of it, so much more misunderstanding. The ex and I were never going to end over the Out Issue, even if we should have. This fight has relationship-ending power.

We were joking, in front of friends, making fun of each other in the way couples do once they've really gotten to know each other and have that bit of security, even that urge to show off: look we know each other this well now, and we still like each other!

She said I loved her at the table. In front of everyone. I'd already told them of course, I told them before I told her as is the way with best friends versus girlfriends, but I didn't want our first face to face, non-drunk admission to be at a table in Shakespeare's with four other people around us. So I made fun of her for it. I made fun of the whole table, but I made fun of her too. I joked about her inability to make things romantic, how she'd rather involve the whole table when we say we love each other, and hand me her key under the bar with all of her friends around so I couldn't react.

And it was fabulous. The shock on her face that I would accuse her of that, the joy at my challenge of her and her ways, even her own pride at her past actions caused not only a huge grin but the beginning of a friendly competition with words against each other and meaning absolutely tieing us to one another.

She quickly replied with my secret return of her key, the abandonment all alone on her empty kitchen counter while she walked out the door with me. Ah, but I had my come back prepared, and said--perhaps louder than I needed to because I wanted the whole table to take part and join in, I wanted the whole table to come back to us and take sides and laugh right along with us--"I only gave the key back because that very same night you said it wasn't over with another woman!"

Ha. And my argument was complete. I enjoyed reliving that painful time because it was over and I had won and she had won, I had a key and she had me and it was done.

But no. No. Where am I? Where am I in this relationship quickly being the largest part of at least my social life? I'm at a point where she didn't miss a beat and simply looked at me to state, getting a bit angry now it seemed, somewhere along the line the banter had become real, "It's not over." As if I knew and understood that. As if that statement was okay and didn't even count as an argument back.

And I don't believe there was a pause, I think there was no beat in her speech, but in my heart I felt a missed beat, I felt it lower as well, much deeper into my torso, the background noise faded away and I was in that hole again, alone. "It's not over, but it's not continuing." As if that was enough. As if that explained it all away and I can't be hurt anymore. Repeating those three words and adding four more. Seven little words to take away the first three. Still no.

I want my hope back. I want to argue with myself that it's just semantics and at least that way I can pretend that I have the hope. Perhaps this wounded heart is too smart for that.

All that statement says to me is that she's in love with the other woman and has hope at a someday, regardless of the improbability.

Even if I too have at least the whisps of a someday with another, floating around inside my head and more smoky and visible on some days and at some moments, I give that up to be committed. That's what commitment means.

I don't know where I am.
"She said she loves me."
Embarassed, "Well, that was romantic!"
Embarassed herself, "Whatev. I already knew."
"I know you knew. Besides, you're not one to be romantic. You're more the type to hand me a key underneath the bar when all your friends are there."
Shock. Laughter. "Well, you gave it back to me. Left it on my kitchen counter."
"Only because you said it wasn't over with another woman."
"It's not over."

The amazingly quick construction of whatever bits of wall around my heart had been broken down...

"It's not over and it's not continuing."

I ended the conversation by being overly dramatic, closing my eyes, going limp, and slumping/sliding all the way down my chair until there was nothing to do but laugh and change the subject. I was almost on the floor.

Maybe the question shouldn't be "where am I?" but "how did I get here?" or for the really confident moments "what am I doing here?"