Funeral for an Ex-Lover, Part 1

In the movie Crazy in Alabama, Lucille, played by Melanie Griffith, kills her abusive husband and gets rid of the body, but saves the head. She carries this head around in a big hatbox purse for the longest time, until one day, when it feels right, she dumps the head into the Pacific.

Actually, she gets stopped by police right before being able to complete the act, but the intention was there.

I’m ditching the head. The head is my stupidity. My guilt. Jess. I have no ocean to do that with, but I do have a patch of woods by my parents’ house. I often take Blue to play there and it’s a beautiful place for an everyday walk, or an impromptu funeral.

For this, there are two mourners: me and Blue; the ex-girlfriend and the dog. I never wanted to be the demented ex-girlfriend but here I am, might as well play the part. Blue is mine, bought with my dollars, but Jess and I lived together when he came home. In effect Jess was the closest thing to being Blue’s Daddy, and so he gets his chance to say goodbye too. If he even knew what was going on, that is.

There are some ingredients as well: a garden trowel, an effigy, a list, a poem, some seeds, a bottle of water and finally, an Ipod, bundled up in my backpack and ready to go.

I leash Blue up and we’re off. It’s a short walk, only 10 minutes or so, and Blue is very happy to go there. The minute we turn that corner he knows the woods are in sight, and plows me the last few yards. I unclip the leash from his collar – he’s a very good dog and never strays too far – and we make our way to a quiet little place where the sunlight streams through the trees, and the ground isn’t too thick with clover. I need some clear space to dig, after all.

I pull out the trowel and do dig, but not the traditional six feet. Could you imagine? I’d be there all day. I may not consider myself a girly girl, but serious digging ain’t my thing. Besides, I don’t need six feet, I need just enough to cover a few small things. Before long I have my hole, so I set the trowel aside to begin the ceremony.

I’d call Blue to sit beside me, but I think he’s happier mourning in his own way: sniffing around and chasing squirrels. Hey, he’s a dog. Follow your nose, right? We should all be so lucky to learn from that.

So I’m in the forest, I’ve dug my hole, and I can do what I came here for. From my backpack I pull out the effigy, a picture of Jess.

I took this picture when he came to visit for a couple of weeks for my 26th birthday. He’s sitting in a deck chair on my apartment balcony, wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt. He’s barefoot, his legs are loosely crossed, and his arms are folded over behind his head. Wisps of his wavy brown hair frame his face, and there’s a slow smile playing on his lips. He’s relaxed. He’s happy.

My heart pangs a bit when I see this. Does that make me a terrible person? I’m not sorry things are over and I know I don’t even remotely love him anymore, but I am sorry for the bad, awful turn we took. Not sorry enough to stop what I’m doing, though. The picture goes into the grave.

What do we do during funerals? We remember the good times. Even though I don’t want to remember the good times, any of them, I make myself do so. After all, I devoted years of my life to this man. I like to think I wasn’t completely devoid of reason.

Jess, Jess, Jess. When two people like each other it seems they have everything in common, and our attraction quickly turned to more when we realized that. We’d come from similar places in life, similar backgrounds, and had a world to conquer. We wanted to do that together.

I remember the first time you kissed me, and how that turned into a steamy, five-hour makeout. My face was red from your stubble, and lips pouty and swollen. I couldn’t stop smiling. I remember how my heart pulled every time you e-mailed me, called me, or picked me up at the airport with arms outstretched for me to jump into. You always lifted me up off the ground when you were extra glad to see me.

I remember traveling Europe with you, cooking all those dinners with you, and visiting you in LA, where we locked ourselves up in your apartment for days at a time. We couldn’t get enough of each other.

I truly did love you, with all my heart. No one can ever tell me that I didn’t. Maybe I didn’t always make the best decisions, but during our time together, I always put you first.

I don’t have to cry now because I’ve done enough of that, I’ve done more than my fair share of it. Besides, I don’t want to. What I do want to do is say goodbye.

That’s where the Ipod comes in and with it, some Madonna.

Your heart is not open, so I must go
The spell has been broken, I loved you so
Freedom comes when you learn to let go
Creation comes when you learn to say no

Man, could it get any cheesier? But cheesy songs often contain the messages we need, and this is one such time. All I have to say is, I did and I hope so. I really, really hope so.

You were my lesson I had to learn
I was your fortress you had to burn
Pain is a warming that something’s wrong
I pray to God that it won’t be long

Sometimes, lessons are too hard to learn.

There’s nothing left to try
There’s no place left to hide
There’s no greater power than the power of goodbye

But if they bring us to places like this, there has to be some value to them. I take my bow.