I say that I’m friends with all my ex-girlfriends.
That’s basically the truth, but there’s a thick vein of bullshit in all that. Let me explain with an example. So, the other day I went to an event in which an ex of mine was one of the performers. After the conclusion of said event we all stood outside talking, smoking and generally enjoying the breeze coming in off the lake and curling its way through southern Chicago. We talked about this and that- friendly and comfortable. But the entire time I’m thinking “Damn. We used to date the shit out of each other and even though we’re totally cool and not reminiscing I can’t help but think on it because I REMEMBER EVERYTHING. I remember your awful cat. I remember all the books on your bookshelves. I remember making you laugh so hard you cried. I remember you having nightmares. I remember how you fit perfectly against me when we slept and how cold your hands always were. I remember you telling me secrets. I remember your family. I remember our relationship moving from a happy Belle and Sebastian song to a depressing The Elected song to a John Cage recording of cats fighting in an alleyway. The point is, I remember we were very much in love and now we’re talking about good Korean eateries like two schmucks who’ve met a couple times at a book club? What the cock is that shit?”
It’s not a big deal and I’ll be goddamned if I know what a better alternative is, but it’s strange. The fact is is that we’re still friends, but like “help you move-same yoga class” friends. Everything worth saying was said late at night in the stillness of her bedroom and now all that’s left is pleasantries and shared jokes. Friendliness, but no intimacy. But I can’t help but remember that shared history when we make eye contact when talking about the ecological implications of wind-farming. Weird. Not bad. Just weird.
I left out the memory of her farting on me one night as she slept, but I was trying to prove a point- so there you go.