The Eternal Struggle

A dull rainy day to suit my mood. Carol’s email, two days ago now, and still squeezing my heart. Stark and final, bulldozing its way through my fond plans, long sunny afternoons with a beautiful naked woman in a sunny riverside apartment. The secret chamber in my mind casually ransacked.

How to respond to her? Rather, whether to respond? She wants it final and forever, how does a response fit into that?

Besides, pointless to share my actual thoughts. Sacrificing herself to some religious conviction, what is she, some medieval martyr? Which religion I wonder? Could be Catholic, but maybe I think that just because she’s come back from Ireland. Maybe she’s Protestant. Maybe. Could be Jewish or Islamic for all I know or care.

One way or another, trapped by rustic, patriarchal, misogynistic, authoritarian, primogeniture-protecting, enslaving claptrap. Pre-industrial, pre-emancipation, pre-internet, pre-smartphone, pre-contraception and pre-affluence. How can such prescriptions still be valid?

Still, no point telling her this, she can probably guess it’s what I’d think, and she could trump any ace with the remark, you live your life by your lights, I’ll do same.

The unsummery English weather dripping outside the window. Maybe I should go out for a long bicycle ride, get wet and cold, compound the misery. No, maybe not. Can’t bear being stuck indoors, though. Maybe go to the gym, push some weights.

Pounding the rowing machine, overdoing it, slowing down. Thinking about Carol. Her reaching toward freedom, held back by tradition. Excitement versus security, the eternal struggle.

But thinking, however it works out, I’m the lucky one, shared the moments of blossoming as she let go. Just a shame it didn’t last.

The rowing machine now going too slow, never mind, a new thought occurring. That eternal struggle, it doesn’t just disappear, she doesn’t actually have the power just to decide it away. She’ll have her midnight terrors, wake up, think, here I am in this airless cage, what have I done?, help, let me out.

Finishing the rowing, quickly working through my weights routine. Thinking, besides, my job as her lover, it’s not just to be pleasant when things are pleasant, I have to be on her side now too. And that’s just how I feel. If this is what she wants to do, I’m not getting in her way.

Getting home, emailing her. Sure Honey, I understand. I’ll miss you, sweetheart. Not just the sex either, sensational though that was. I think it’s when your face looks puzzled, like a schoolgirl, then breaks out into a smile, that’s what I’ll miss most. If you ever want to meet up again, just for a coffee’s fine, email me. All the best, sweetheart. Rxxx