Why I Hate Field Trips -or- The Scariest Thing That Ever Happened to Me (Part Two)

Part One is here.

“They’re trying to take her!”

Lisa had tears and snot running down her face and really looked terrified.  Mike actually went pale.  Before I could ask her who was trying to take who, Lisa yelled “She’s locked in the bathroom!” and then took off back the way she came.  Very much the last thing I expected to hear while out at the movies.  We didn’t run, but Mike and I walked pretty quickly to follow Lisa.

We were in the long, wide hallway, with three or four theatre doors on each side. The hallway was pretty empty, there were some people lingering a bit after their movies had let out.  About halfway down the hall, Lisa was kneeling in front of the door to a washroom, crying.  There were two young manager-type-guys in suits standing about twelve feet away from her, looking concerned but unsure what to do.  Lisa saw me approaching and called out “He’s coming, Geoff’s coming.”  Here’s what I noticed, but didn’t register until much later:  One of the manager guys began to move towards me.  Mike hustled over to Lisa.  A guy, a large guy was leaning against the wall across from the washroom; as I approached, he gave a little wave to another large guy who was standing much farther into the hallway.  Both the big guys were gone before I got to Lisa, Mike and Penny.  I really had noticed them, but nothing about them was important enough to intrude into my brain at that moment.  Something about them did cause me notice them though, I don’t think that I’d remember their presence there at all if it hadn’t.  Manager guy asked me if I was with the kids and I told him that I was.  I went to the door of the bathroom and asked Penny if she was ok.  She was crying but said that she was and several times told me not to leave.  I assured her that I wouldn’t go anywhere without her.  Manager guy proceeded to tell me, occasionally being interrupted by Lisa, that several men had entered the theatre, while the movie was playing, and began looking for someone.  Apparently one of them approached Lisa and Penny and then began to lead Penny out of the theatre.  Lisa added that he’d been Penny’s friend but then other guys showed up.  Manager guy said that he saw Penny talking to one man and that she got upset when she saw the other guys come towards them.  He hear Penny tell Lisa to “Get Geoff!” Lisa ran towards the lobby and Penny ran to the handicapped washroom and locked herself in.  That was when I remembered the two guys who’d been hanging around when I arrived.

Mike managed to calm Lisa down and Penny agreed to open the door once I explained that there was no one else there other than her friends, me and the managers.  Penny was white as a sheet and clearly terrified.  She cried softly and said she wanted to go home but was scared to leave.  I told her that there was an exit that led to the side of the  cinema and that I could pull my car up and we could leave that way, avoiding anyone who might be waiting out front.  The manager guys agreed to stay with Penny and Lisa while I did this.  Lisa joined Penny in the washroom and they locked the door again.  Mike and I went to the parking lot and got my car (an old ’91 Cavalier).

So Mike and I hopped into my car.  I have to say that Mike was being really awesome.  He was clearly freaked out a bit but stayed calm the whole time.  I pulled the car up to the stairs at the side door to the theatre.  One of the manager guys was there, holding the door open.  I waved to him and he went back in.  I left Mike in the car and went to the door.  Penny and Lisa were there when the door opened again.  I walked them quickly to the car and made sure they got in and settled.  Mike was in the front passenger seat and the girls in the back.  I got in and started the car.  At this point I remembered that I’d probably have to write something down about all this so I figured I’d need the names of the manager guys.  I’ll admit that I was pretty relaxed at this point.  The big guys weren’t around, and I had all three kids in my car.  After telling the kids what I was going to do, and that they needed to make sure they kept the doors locked, I hopped out of the car and went to get the names of the manager guys.

So, what had I done up to this point?

• I’d made sure the kids in my care were accounted for and safe.
• I’d calmed and reassured those same kids.
• I spoken with the manager guys about what happened.
• I made a plan to get out of there.

Here’s what I hadn’t done:

• Called my supervisor for support or instructions.
• CALLED THE POLICE.

That last one turned out to be kind of important.  As I turned from the manager guys, I noticed seven large guys walking towards my car.  Were they all actually large?  Yes.  Fucking huge.  My recollection may be coloured by terror, but seriously, fucking huge.  Not one of them looked happy.  They were farther from my car than I was, not by a lot though.  I moved to the car, without running.  Part of me thought that if I ran, that would up the ante somehow.  When the kids in the home were having trouble, you always tried to not show your fear and frustration, but remained calm and basically lead by example.  I figured this applied.

It was close.  I sat in the car and started it.  Got my belt on and put it into drive.  I reached out and started to pull the door closed.  Unfortunately, the door wouldn’t close.  This was because a giant had stepped up and was leaning against the inside of the door.  My first thought was that I had the car in drive and that a little tap on the gas would get us out of this.  My second thought was, that if I hit the gas, I probably kill the two men who were standing with their knees at my front bumper.  I didn’t think I was ready for vehicular killing just yet.  But as I said, it was close.

The girls were screaming.  Screaming and crying.  Mike was silently looking around the car, no colour left in his face.  I took a moment (one of those endless moments, like a slow motion pan around a scene in an action movie) to look out the other windows.  There were two guys at my rear bumper.  There was a guy at the rear passenger side door and another on the other side, plus the guy almost standing inside the car, next to me.  The giant leaded back against my door and rested a foot just inside the car, next to my seat.  He started telling Penny to get out of the car.  He was very calm about it, but he wasn’t asking and seemed to firmly believe that he was going to be obeyed.  The guy at the rear driver side door began to tap on the window with a ring on one of his fingers.  The girls were in an absolute panic.  Mike leaned back towards them and took their hands.  He told them that they’d be alright and just generally made soothing shhhh noises.  This kid, who could be one of the most obnoxious little fuckers I’d ever met, became my favourite person of all time (for like 3 seconds).  I started telling the giant that no one was going to get out of the car.  I told him that we were expected back and would be missed.  I alternated with trying to help Penny and Lisa calm down (they were really, really loud).  The giant, in no way, acknowledged my presence, initially.  I have no idea how long this went on.  It was probably no more than a minute, maybe two.  Honestly, in my heart, it feels like it was an hour or two.

I’m a pretty calm person.  That calm and an ability to deal with crisis were valuable in the group homes and were skills that got a lot of practice.  What else got practice was a particular tone of voice.  You bust it out when you need to be heard, but aren’t going to yell.  The taping on the window became banging.  The guy on the other side of the car also began to bang on the windows.  One of the two from the front of the car moved around to the passenger side of the car and started trying the doors.  The giant raised his voice and began demanding that Penny get out of the car.  I wasn’t feeling calm, but I was trying.  To the giant, I said “Look man, you need to calm down.”

For the first time, the giant seemed to be aware that I was there.  He leaned down and brought his face down into my line of sight.  He brought his hand a couple of inches from my face and pointed at me.  “You don’t tell me to fucking calm down.”  That one sentence was dripping with menace.  I was pretty sure that I was going to die.  That seemed to break his calm as well.  He thumped the roof of my car and began to yell at Penny to get out of the car.

One of the guys moved to the giant and seemed to be trying to get him to calm down a bit.  I heard the guy tell the giant that maybe now wasn’t the best time.  The giant pushed his ‘friend’ away and then stepped towards him and began to argue.  He yelled “She needs to get out of the fucking car now!”  This was when I noticed a couple things.  The first was that I still had the car in drive and the second was that the voice-of-reason guy was no longer in front of the car.  So, I hit the gas.

I promptly got lost in the parking lot.  Seriously, you know when you think you can get through part of a parking lot, but there’s no exit and you have to backup to pick a different route?  That.  The whole time, I was convinced that I was about to take part in a real life dukes of hazard car chase.  It was while I was trying desperately to get out of the parking lot, that the adrenaline wore off and the panic kinda set in.  My knees went to jello and I felt like I had pins and needles in my hands and feet.  I’m pretty sure that I nearly killed us several times.  So convinced was I that we would be followed, I took a really long and circuitous route back to the home.

By the time we got there, the kids were calm.  The other residents were already in bed, so I had them head up as well.  I went down to out little office.  My coworker, Steph and the house supervisor, Bill were chilling in there.  Bill asked why we had been gone so long.  I had to kneel on the floor.  I wanted to vomit.  I wanted to pass out.  I’d never felt so shaky before. Slowly I told them everything that had happened.  They were pretty good.  They listened without interrupting, through most of the story. When I was done, I kind of lay down on the floor.  After a couple of seconds of silence, and a couple of shared looks between them, Bill and Steph started to laugh.  They couldn’t stop.  I’m pretty sure that Bill had tears streaming down his face.  It was infectious.  I started to laugh and couldn’t stop either.

All in all, it could have been worse.  I got everyone home and no one got hurt or died.  But, fuck no, I don’t want to go on a field trip!

NO! I will not talk to your kid about it! You talk to your kid about it! -OR- How dress codes in school have very little to do with clothing.

So, this is a short and rather simple take on a complicated subject.  There are so many more factors at play than the ones I will mention.  The conversation I’m suggesting take place is much deeper that this post implies.  Basically I’m trying to highlight something that I see as the essence of the problem.  Thanks in advance for reading.

A dress code for students, both middle school and high school, is important.  As a parent and an educator, I really do see the need.  I will enforce the dress code as part of my job.  My job does not include explaining to the kid why there is a need for a dress code.  This is anathema to being an educator;  I really like explaining things and it’s a great opportunity for learning and debate.  The dress code conversation is way above my pay grade.  Would you like to know why?  Of course you do.  Let me explain, as best I can.

The reason that I’m not going to engage any student in the debate over dress code or try to explain to them the reasons behind it is, it’s not my job.  That lovely task falls to you, the parents.  But, Geoff, why should I have to defend the school’s policy?  It’s your policy, not mine.  Let me ask you something, dear parent:  Do you want me, an admittedly amazing person, talking to your preteen or teen about sex?  Your answer better be no.  Perhaps you’ll say that you don’t want me to talk to them about sex, but do want me to discuss the dress code.  Well, they are the same thing.  That’s why it’s difficult for any school to justify/explain/debate/enforce a dress code, and it’s also why a dress code is needed.  Your kids are changing in shape and hormone content.  They are also becoming more and more aware of their own bodies and the bodies of their peers. When it comes right down to it, puberty and all the changes that come with it are about reaching sexual maturity (not mental maturity). The changes are already screaming “Look at me! I’m fertile/virile! Let’s do it!” There’s a feeling if power that comes with these changes. You’re turning heads and having a visible effect on others. It’s about sex.

Your kids need be defined by more and noticed for more that long legs or cleavage.  The problem being that the media’s influence makes that harder and harder.  Peoples’ worth is so often and so unfairly tied to their appearance. This is not a new thing, but is so prevalent in our society that the battle against it is overwhelming.  It’s insidious and is present everywhere.  You don’t need me to point out to you all the ways that girls and women are told that their looks and attractiveness to others is the most important thing.

Fashion has always tried to test the limits of what society deems appropriate.  Teens are discovering themselves and the world around them and in the process they also want to test all boundaries.  I don’t want that to change.  That is innovation and is always needed.  This is not what we are talking about here.  We are talking about the broader lesson that our children need to be taught.  They are more than their physical appearance, more than the sex that will inevitably become a part of their lives, so much more.  As parents you can safely explain to your kid that they are beautiful and sexy and that they are also more than that.  There are times and places that are great for strutting your stuff and revelling in the physicality of being a teen.  Despite it being the most social place in a teen’s day, school just isn’t the place for that.  Some restraint is needed.  It’s up to you, the parent to explain this to your child. Please, please think about all of this before you complain about the school’s dress code or the enforcement of the dress code.
END OF PART ONE. Stay tuned.

If you’re not having, at least a little bit of, fun…

So, as I’ve mentioned, I used to work in a residential group home for teens. Most of the teens were there due to some sort of behaviour difficulty at home and in some cases (probably more than we ever knew at the time) for mental health problems.

On a fairly regularly basis some of the kids who lived there wanted to leave.  We used to work with a level system; if you had a high enough level, you could plan an outing and go out in the community.  Not high enough? No outing without supervision.  Not every one liked this little system and they would often choose to leave the house anyway.  We called this going AWOL (not like that fucking Project AWOL shit I’m sure you’ve all heard about/from.)

So, when a kid went AWOL, there was a fair amount of paper work involved and phone calls to make.  We needed to notify our supervisor, their social worker and in many cases their family.  If they didn’t return before curfew we needed to also notify the police and file a missing persons’ report (as well as fill out the police report which we had copies of, courtesy of the police).

So, generally, for the kids it was pretty simple.  They would let us know that they intended to leave, we’d try to talk them out of it, or at least find out why they wanted to leave.  Then, if they were calm, we’d open the shoe cupboard, give them their shoes and let them leave.  I loved the shoe cupboard.  You see, we needed to know when the kids went AWOL and if they needed to ask for their shoes before they left then we’d know about it.  The other thing that I loved was the need for the kids to be calm.  The idea was, we didn’t want to unleash angry teens, with behaviour issues, on the unsuspecting suburbs.  Calm can mean a great many things.  Mostly, as long as they weren’t being aggressive or overly abusive towards the staff or their peers, we would let them go.  Sometimes we’d really stretch the bounds of what it means to be calm.

A lot of times when working with kids and even parenting, you need to pick your battles.  You can push some kids pretty far before they snap and some you can look at funny and it’s over.  On one very memorable occasion  my coworker, Peaches, and I decided that we needed to make going AWOL a bit of a chore.  In this case and with that kid we were able to stretch things to ridiculous lengths without breaking anything.

Cody wanted to go AWOL.  He’d been doing it on a pretty regular basis recently and was never a problem about it.  He was good natured and generally a bit dim.  OK he was a lot dim.  His stand out quality was that he was pretty good natured and he had a pretty decent relationship with Peaches and I.  Peaches and I had talked about his inevitable request to leave and decided that we’d try very hard to keep him home.  It was a slow day and we had low numbers in the house and were pretty sure that the other kids wouldn’t interfere with our shenanigans.  When Cody asked to leave and wouldn’t be talked out of it, we told him that we were getting really tired of filling out all the paperwork for his AWOL’s and making all the phone calls we had to make.  We then informed him that he’d need to make the phone calls for us and would need to help us with our paper work.  He was not happy about this but remained pretty calm about it.  He did at one point loudly swear in frustration.  As soon as the lid “Fuck!” was out  of his mouth, Peaches casually informed him that he didn’t seem calm enough to go AWOL and as per our AWOL “routine” he’d need to go up to his room and remain calm for 30min (up to an hour depending on how upset or angry they were).  On his way up there was more swearing and he punched a wall, at which point the 30min became an hour.

An hour later, without incident, Cody asked to go AWOL and stated that he would call his mom and his social worker before he left.  We reminded him of the paper work too.  He told me to “Fuck the paperwork.”  Peaches let him know that swearing was not calm behaviour and he’d need to wait another 30min.  To his credit, Cody did not snap.  We were pretty sure, ahead of time, that he wouldn’t or we would never have pushed it as we did.  Cody managed to leave voice messages for his mom and for his social worker, letting them know that he was going AWOL but that he’d be back by curfew (11pm).  Once the calls were made, low on patience, Cody asked “Now can I have my fucking shoes?”

“Sure, once you wait 30min to calm down. If you’re swearing at us, you’re not calm.” I replied.  He hung his head and went to his room.  Most other kids would have tried to kill us by this point but Cody really did manage to stay calm and put up with our bullshit.

When Cody came back downstairs we began a sort of interview process with him, asking him questions so that we could fill out the various bits of paperwork for his AWOL.  When we asked him what he was wearing, so that we could write it down on the missing persons’ report, Cody loudly asked “Do you want me to draw you a fucking picture?! You can see what I’m wearing!”  Without being asked to, he went back to his room to wait 30min because swearing is not calm.  He left with a bit of a smile on his face, realizing how funny this really was and that we were basically fucking with him because we didn’t want him to leave.  We’d told him as much several times, but no it was sinking in.

When he was allowed back down, Peaches had lain out a huge length  of brown paper, the kind that comes in huge rolls and gets used for arts and crafts in schools.  When he asked what it was for, Peaches explained that it was for the picture he was going to draw, to be included with the missing persons’ report. We told him that the bigger the picture, the more detailed it would be and the better it would be for the police. One of the girls who lived in the house had been sort of watching everything burst out laughing and couldn’t stop.  This got Cody going as well.  Through her laughter she told Cody that if he laid down she would trace his outline so that it would be easier to draw himself.  He agreed.  This sent Peaches and I over the edge and laughter ensued.  We tried to point out to Cody that he was not going to have this much fun wherever he was going and that he should just stay home.  He politely declined.

As Cody finished colouring in his self portrait, he began to pick at a scad on one of his knuckles.  He’d skinned it earlier when he punched the wall.  He then smeared a bit of blood on the drawing, on the hand that he’d hurt.  He told us that if the police wanted a description they’d want to know about any injuries as well.  He said this in the most sincere manner ever.  At that, we asked again if he’d reconsider, and of course he declined.  I unlocked the cupboard and gave him his shoes.  As he left he assured us that we didn’t need to worry about him and that he’d be home before curfew.

Peaches and I had incredible amounts of fun together, but this one stands out in the top five.

An encounter with crazy (part two)

So, Timmy is in the closet.  Ferb has suggested that I head over there and check on him.

I knock on the closet door.  Nothing.  I knock again, “Timmy?  You good buddy?”  Nothing.  As I look over at Ferb and Peaches and shrug, the closet door opens.

Timmy is sitting cross-legged on the floor.  “FUCK OFF!  GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!  GEOFF!  FUCK! OFF!  MY OFFICE!”  His face turned beet red and spittle flew from his mouth.  Ferb stepped in the room.  “Timmy, Timmy.  It’s ok, Geoff isn’t in your office.  You’re in your office.  Geoff is in reception.  He’s your receptionist, so he’s where he needs to be.”  It was like an off switch.

“Oh. OK.  Good.”

After a moment of thought, “Geoff.  Would you show my first patient in please?”  What?  I don’t know what I was expecting, but that was not it.  I looked to the doorway.  Peaches looked as confused as I was.  Ferb shrugged  and gave me a big thumbs up.

“Uh… Ok Timmy, hang on.”  Ferb is now giggling his ass off in the hallway.

“Right this way sir…”  From the closet “Ma’am.”  “OK, right this way ma’am.  Timmy will see you now.”

I walked “her” over to the door and Timmy closed it.

Silence. Ten seconds.  Fifteen.  Thirty.  The blitz was not over.  Timmy is screaming “I’m gonna fucking kill you!”  He’s banging the walls.  I swear to god it sounded like there were four people in there with him.  A stream of swearing could be heard.  It felt like minutes had gone by, but was more like 20-30 seconds.  Then silence.

The closet door opens.  Timmy is sitting cross legged on the floor.  “Thank you ma’am.  Geoff could you show in the next patient?”  “Uh…”  Ferb, still grinning, gives me another thumbs up. “Sure Timmy.”  Timmy then tells me that it’s a male patient.

“Right this way sir.  Timmy here’s your next appointment.”  “Thank you Geoff.”  Silence.

The bombs fell again.  An almost exact copy of his first appointment.  “I HATE YOU!  I’LL KILL YOU! MOTHERFUCKER!”  There was a brawl going on in that closet.  Twelve large men were pounding on each other.  About thirty seconds after it started, silence.  The only sound was Timmy, breathing a little heavier than before.  Throughout I’m looking from the closet to Ferb and Peaches.  Mouthing “What the fuck?”  Ferb is shaking his head and shrugging.  “I don’t know.”  The door opens.  “Thank you sir.  Have a good day.”  “Geoff can you show the next patient in?  It’s a new patient.”

The new patient was not killed right away.  Timmy spent about five minutes getting to know him.  He asked questions and appeared to listen to the “responses”.  After he was done, Timmy thanked him.  After a minute of silence, Timmy killed the new patient, or at least beat the hell out of him.  Timmy again thanked the patient and asked me to see him out. “Uh… sure Timmy.”

We were baffled.  This was so far out of our experience.  Ferb was rolling with it, but he admitted that he’d never seen anything like it.  There were longer gaps between patients.  We talked about possibly not bringing him any more patients.  Ferb really wanted to see where it would go, if anywhere.  Over the next hour I brought four more patients to Timmy.  He screamed at, threatened them and sounded like he and many others beat them up.

After the last patient, Timmy stayed in the empty closet for about 10min.  He opened the door and exited, into his equally empty room. He turned to Peahes and I and said “Hey guys, I’m tired.  Can I have my bed back?”  Before we could answer he added “I’m really going to go to sleep.  I’m not going to block the door.”  Once he had his bed back and had taken his evening meds, Timmy was asleep in minutes.

About the only thing that we could agree on afterwards was that Timmy did not belong in our care.  As wonderful as he could be, this was not the placement for him.

He did get to the placement he needed and years later I heard that he was doing very well.  I never did find out if there was ever an actual diagnosis for Timmy, but he certainly provided me with some of the best stories I have about the time I spent working in group homes.

G.

This post (including part one) was inspired by another blogger’s encounters with crazy and the prompt they gave to tell our own story.

 

An encounter with crazy (part one)

This is not a recent encounter with crazy.  It’s one of those stories that I tell when I want to highlight the absurdity of some of my past employment.  As much as I’d like to jump straight to the story itself, some context is needed, so please bear with me.

I spent about 7 years working in group homes for teens with behaviour issues.  Yes, this is a very broad term and these days there would be so many different labels and diagnoses for the kids that I worked with.  Back then they simply had behaviour issues.  The 7 years was spread out through four different homes and 3 different companies.  The four best years were spent working in what was referred to as an emergency home.  The home was a short-term placement and it was co-ed.

Part of what made the 4 years I spent at that home amazing was the staff team.  There was a core made up of about four of us who had been working together for most of that four years.  We got really good at reading the kids and each other.  If the house went nuts, which it did with surprising regularity, we could deal with most of what was thrown our way (including chairs and lamps and shoes).  Basically we’d been working with the same types of kids for long enough that we got a pretty good idea of how and when to intervene.  We were greatly  aided in this by the house supervisor.  On the surface he appeared to be a guy who’d spend his off time drinking mass quantities of alcohol and living at a strip club.  Once you got to know him you found out that he absolutely spent all of his off time drinking and living at a strip club.  He was fucking awesome.  Not for his lifestyle but for his intuition with teenagers.  I can safely say that I never saw him stumped when confronted with a behaviour.  I realize now that what he had, was the confidence to try anything and to bend instead of break.  He taught me an amazing amount about how to work with kids.  I’ll call him Ferb for this post.  Anyway, on to the crazy.

So, Timmy was admitted to the house and we were told up front that he may be difficult.  I really don’t remember if we were told of any particular diagnoses or just that Timmy was not the most stable of kids and that he might show some odd behaviour.  Timmy was pretty pleasant and likeable but it was clear that he was not wired up the same way that most people are.  This post started so that I could relay a particular incident that always stands out in my mind, but I started remembering all sorts of things about Timmy.  There was the time that he pulled the cushions off the couch and upon seeing that the fabric underneath was torn, proceeded to stick his head into the hole and got stuck.  He spent an hour running around a hospital parking lot, to get away from the staff member chasing him.  He wouldn’t let her catch him, but when, out of ideas and willing to try anything, she simply asked him to stop because she was tired, he did.  One night he stayed up for hours, meaning that I needed to stay up with him.  When I explained to him that one of the consequences of him staying awake was that I too would have to stay awake, he stopped moving and in the most sincere tone I’ve ever heard said “Oh, Geoff.  You can’t stay up.  You need your rest too.  I’ll be ok, you don’t need to stay up with me.”  Timmy also spent several hours on the roof of the house one day.  If memory serves, he spent a lot of that time swearing at the police, who responded to a neighbour’s call, and telling the “coppers” that they’d never catch him.  Truly one of the neatest kids I’ve ever met.

Our staff were awesome, but not trained  for true mental illness, which Timmy had.  He was having a really rough night.  Over the course of the evening we had removed everything from his room.  If it had been small enough to throw, he’d thrown it; if it was too big to throw he’d tried to barricade his door with it.  So we took everything out and tried to weather the storm.

I was on shift with my fave coworker of all time (we’ll call her Peaches).  Ferb was also nearby because of the escalating behaviours.  Timmy was sort of spinning around his room and doing a lot of barking.  He had a tendency, when worked up, to yell out nonsense and make sudden exclaiming noises “Boop!” “Waaa!”, you get the idea.  Although we were concerned for Tim, he was also highly entertaining at times.  Peaches and I were in the hall/doorway talking to Ferb when things became suddenly quiet.  We turned and saw Timmy go into his closet (also empty of everything).  It was a very heavy silence.  I imagine it’s how things felt during the blitz, when suddenly the bombs stopped; you couldn’t be sure if there’d be more or if it was done for the night.  After about ten minutes, Ferb tapped me on the shoulder and with a gleam in his eye, suggested I check on Timmy.

Stay tuned.

G.

Dear smoking…

Fuck you. Seriously. You suck.

I really did think that we’d be together forever.  You used to be so wonderful.  We knew and hung out with the same people.  The cool people.  I think common interests and common friends is very important in a relationship.  Sure I knew that you were seeing other people all over the place, but I was oh so faithful to you.  Even when the others in my life would tell me that you were no good to me; no good for me, I stuck by you.  Committed.

Even when I started to notice the little things we notice, in a long term relationship.  Your breath wasn’t always that great.  You left traces of yourself everywhere, leaving me to clean up after you.  I never complained.  You’d always been with me, it seems, and I’d tough it out.  You always seemed to be costing me money along the way.  But that’s what you do in a relationship, right?  Sometimes things feel one sided but in the end they even out, don’t they?  I’ll admit that I rarely thought about what you were costing me, even when others made sure to point it out.

You became a firm and entrenched part of my life.  There was no aspect of my life that you didn’t enter and leave your mark on.  Now, there are so many things that bring you to mind.  I see you out there everyday, with whoever will pay attention to you.

What I need to know, is why you won’t leave me alone now?  It’s been three months.  Yeah, I know I saw you that one time, but New Year’s Eve is special.  Can’t you move on?  I’m trying to and you’re just making it so hard.  You make me angry, and guess what… even that makes me think of you.  You were always there for me when I was angry.  Who do I turn to now?

You need to stop calling me.  No more reminders of our time together.  We don’t hang out with the same people anymore.  I can even enjoy a cup of coffee without you; at least that’s what I tell myself.  Can’t you let me go?  The first two months apart were so much easier and now it’s getting harder because of your texts and calls.

Enough!  You are no good for me.  I have nothing left to give you and yet you still beg and plead.  In fact, I’m better than you and I don’t need you.  That’s what’s killing you, isn’t it?  Well fuck you.  We’re done.  And no, I don’t care what your doing when I’m not around.  Sure I’ve seen you going all Cougar on the teenagers at the mall.  Being with you makes them look so stupid, but they just don’t realize it yet.

I’m sorry.  That was harsh.  I don’t mean to be that way, but you’ve made this so hard (ha ha, yes that is what she said).  You are tired and old, like your jokes.  I enjoyed them back in the day, but no more.  I’ve grown up and I’m moving on.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to bring myself to take you number out of my cell, but I’m not going to call you anymore.

G.