the safety of the tree swing

Ask me if I care. Ask me if I care. When I have to listen to the self important bs about how the sky is crashing down over the simplest things. Simplest things. I say often in my head or aloud if you want real problems I can give you some of mine. It’s the people who talk too loud, loud enough for you to hear, how they are experiencing the biggest problem of their lives. But when you are finally prompted to listen, listen to the words, ready for something big, something worth hearing. Ears perked, my own inner dialogue on pause. Then with the wonderful climax, kind of nothing, like I don’t know how to deal with my roommate who eats my food or deal with my insurance for my dog or something kind of vanilla and not so exciting.

Once someone told me I didn’t understand, that this woman, this woman he had been involved with has ruined his life. Ruined his life. I guess what struck me then, as it strikes me now, is how can you let someone ruin your life. How melodramatic, how not grounded in reality. Ask me if I care. Because I have had people who I could sit and say have ruined my life. No, you don’t understand. But these people, these people didn’t ruin my life because I wouldn’t let them. Not my mother, not my brother, not my former loves or former friends. Because you decide what will kill you and the imperfection of these people and relationships have not led to my own feelings of a complete ending. The feeling someone is ruining your life.

I guess I decided a long time ago, that I would never let anyone ruin my life. Maybe when I was 5 or 6 and my parents amidst one of the legendary battles- I decided, I decided to not sit on the sidelines, but stand up, stand up, and get involved. Stand in the middle between the two halves of me, me standing in the middle of the two parts coming together into me. Their everlasting connection, their child, their kindergarten child begging from them to stop. Ask me if I care. I guess I decided that I could let them ruin their relationship. But they wouldn’t ruin me. I would stand there and not let us, let our family be ruined. Because be ruined, ruined would mean the end.

As I stood there, all those times, pleading for the hope and desire of us to stay as one. I watched as my dream fell away, as I found safety on my tree swing in my front yard, or looking out my picture window my dad had made me in my closet because I was scared, scared of witches late at night. As I watched the dream fall away, I knew it was okay, I wasn’t ruined. If I could survive the ruin of my family, I could survive anything. Anything at all. Ask me if I care. I do. I still do.