the rix mix

When I got rid of my bed in 2002, replacing it with a futon, I found under the bed, dead center, a box left there by lover who went away in 1996. There were other boxes under the bed, books & such that I'd pulled out occasionally looking for something, or pushed around with the vacuum on the rare occasions I stuck the nozzle under there. Somehow I'd always overlooked the other box. It contained a few sketchbooks, some art supplies, a couple of inexpensive collections of artist drawings that she'd played with as coloring books - the Paul Klee was interestingly colored, Most importantly, it held several diaries dating back to high school. I flipped through the diaries, not much of interest in there to me, a few sexual encounters she didn't describe in detail; parties, college ruminations, I stopped reading before they reached my era of her life, if they went that far. I thought they should have been of interest to Megan. But in six years, she had not missed this stuff, or if she had she didn't care enough to call & ask if I had it. I tucked in the flaps of the box, brought it outside & placed it in the curbside trash. I told someone about it at the time, & she said I should have made an effort to return the box's contents. I disagreed. Megan knew where I lived. She had married & dropped out of sight. I knew she was in Jersey City somewhere but I didn't know her name, & I certainly wasn't contacting her family. It was personal history she didn't want, & I had become a nobody in that history.

Labels: home furnishings, love