I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about it, but today I was more than happy that I’d decided to settle for a flat-rate for my telephone and Internet access. We chatted online for over three hours, not just about our relationship – or, better, the end of it – but about everything that lovers could possibly want to talk about. Mostly the talking was done by V, usually reasonably quiet, she went overboard with her tales of the new life; of missing me and our time together; of getting into the new school life; of their new apartment; of the city and the chances she has of finding friends. To say that she is excited by the possibilities is, probably, an understatement: having been trapped inside a small town all of her life, having to travel many miles to see or experience anything, the city life seems to have done her good, even after only a couple of weeks. She doesn’t regret anything, aside from our parting so abruptly, and is looking forward to living the good life as best she can, and seeing me at Christmas if I can travel up to see her for a few days.
I don’t feel bad about the whole thing: she is still very young emotionally and, while the sudden move did throw her off the tracks a little bit, she has managed to adapt to the new way of life, rosily painted by her Dad, quickly. The school has everything that she missed here and, in their new apartment, she has room enough to do her schoolwork undisturbed, without distractions, and carry on what we began together. She has a new life, much the same as I did only a few months ago, and plans on enjoying it to the fullest extent possible.
And what of me? I am the rag doll: played with and discarded; a loved one who has been laid aside as the owner grows and matures; a toy for little girls, not grown women.
The thing is, our relationship was always one of teacher and pupil, as far as her family was concerned. She has never come out to them, nor to many of her friends – but the closest. Her Dad only saw me as a person who had helped her improve grades and bring her back on the straight and narrow, as it were, which he had never been able to do. The bits and pieces which go with it, the loving relationship, the overnight playing, all remain hidden from him. I can’t say that I blame her, I would probably have done the same in her situation in fact, when I think about it, I have done the same. I’ve never told my Dad that I am a lesbian, never discussed any form of sexual activity, aside from the birds and the bees very briefly, with him or anyone else.
Still, I will miss her and her special ways. Still, I will be sad for a while and wonder what to do with myself as winter draws in and the nights are colder. Still, I will wonder what she is doing in the evenings, and wonder whether she is thinking of me or whether I am now part and parcel of the life that was, a pleasant memory to be dredged up now and then, but no more than that.
But perhaps there will be a new toothbrush in her mug soon, and the nights will be not quite so cold as if I were completely alone.
Love & Kisses, Viki.