Giddy

Ron figured out that sometimes, I get giddy when I’m upset about things.

He could be correct. After a trying late afternoon yesterday, I couldn’t stop laughing once we settled down for the night.

I imagined a scenario in which I was assembled of parts from his various girlfriends. As he’s been telling me more about his past life, I realized that I’m sleeping not only with one man but with the vestigial DNA of enough women to make up the starting lineup of a major league baseball team.

There was Suzanne, Melody, Benny, Judy, Jennifer, Annette, Susan, Linda, Jeanne.   I imagined having one person’s tiny body, another’s Asian eyes, the deep throat of a third and of course, the memorable vagina of the girl with whom he used to play “doctor”.

These were not one night stands but relationships lasting anywhere from several months to decades.  He still keeps in touch with some of these women and considers them valued friends.

Ron’s been telling me about his life over the last forty years, the hitchhiking trips, the Rainbow Gatherings, his careers as a lab tech, a bike messenger and finally as a stagehand, the bands he played with, the cross-country journeys to art shows, weddings and funerals.

It occurred to me that he could have done all of that, and possibly more, if he, Peter and I had been a family.   Well, maybe not the art shows, but certainly the rest of it.

The only thing that would have been missing were hallucinogenics and nukkie from any post-1969 members of the harem listed above.

Only Ron can tell me and Peter if it was worth it to give up a wife who was working steady and more importantly, helping his son grow up.

Myself, I can’t imagine that either the sex or the acid were that great.  But I could be wrong.

This past week has thrown me off balance.  Ron is thoughtful and easy to live with, but I need to adjust to another person in ways I hadn’t expected.  Like not driving myself and, thus, losing track of my keys because they are not in the ignition.  Like waking up with aches and pains because my legs and arms have been in awkward positions, making room for another person in bed.

These are things that no one tells you about, focusing instead on heavy issues like money, childrearing, religion.

All in all, though, I’m glad that we caught up with one another.

I do deeply and profoundly regret, though, that it took so long.  And it deeply hurts my heart that I have so little to offer compared to all the girls he’s loved before:  no artfully decorated house in a prestigious neighborhood, no 50-acre farm with a glorious barn, no tiny body, no exquisite face, no wealth, no worldly stories about international travel.

I feel like he cheated himself by marrying me.  I feel like he’s been ripped off yet one more time.  Poor fellow.

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