The ghost
The ghost was one of the chuppah holders at our wedding; one half of a couple that were our closest, couple friends. M met T.M. and N at the symphony years before we'd started dating, a mutual friend introducing them.
The first time we all met was a sticky summer day; our destination Lollapalooza out on Randall's Island. 10 hours in the hot sun allows for a lot of time to get to know one another and we quickly began to spend time regularly with them, always as a couple.
T.M. was and probably still is, demonstrative; the hugger and kisser of both men and women. He was also an avid listener, always asking questions and really tuning in to what you were saying. And he was complimentary; always a kind word offered, always encouraging.
I don't even remember the first time I started feeling uncomfortable when T.M. and I would talk. We were always with his wife and the mister in the room or at the very least, within ear shot.
A comment. A remark. Here and there, words that made me uncomfortable, were slipped into seemingly innocent conversations. I'd mention it to M and he always defended T.M., believing he didn't mean to be anything but complimentary, because he was that touchy-feely kind of guy.
And, they were close friends.
Having been around the block, and back, I know when a man is making comments he shouldn't be. I've had a life time of 'comments' professionally, (a story for another time), and personally, and I think there's a huge karmic lesson in all of that that is being missed by me. Seriously.
Lest you think I might have been reading into what was being said, I'll share a couple of particularly awkward moments:
"you're going to be on the beach in italy, are you going to be topless? i never get to see anyone good topless, too bad we're not going."
So was this one, whispered across the dinner table with M sitting right by my side:
"you're an incredibly sexy pregnant woman"
um, ew.
I'm so lame in moments like this. I come up with the best comebacks after the fact. Instead I stand or sit in place, letting the crickets chirp while I try to get myself out of the hole.
Usually, I'd pretend as though I hadn't just heard what he said and I'd change the subject.
I know I should have said something, but the workings of his compliments were subtle and fucked with my head. What if I was just reading into his very metro-sexual way of talking to the ladies? Some men have the M.O. of 'sensitive, complimentary, listening guy'... It would have been a suck-ass situation to call a friend out like that and then be wrong, so I didn't.
I always felt a strain with N, like she knew her husband was saying things he shouldn't, and that I should have been standing up for myself, when I wasn't.
When we moved to Brooklyn we didn't see T.M. and N as much. Our lives didn't intersect once we moved across the river; the effort too great to be spontaneous.
Every summer, Brooklyn has a great movies series, a classic film shown outside under the stars. One such evening, N decided to come to Brooklyn on a whim.
On the walk over to the venue, she shared that she'd left T.M., divorce was imminent. She began a long story of T.M.'s alter-ego; a narcissist with a mission to seduce N's friends and any woman he crossed paths with. Apparently, T.M. had been dropping innuendos and whispered compliments all around town, finally finding a taker in a good friend of N's, finding out all the sordid details through gossip.
Vindication! Except I felt dirty afterwards. I did a lot of wondering about my own actions; what was it that gave him the idea that I might be interested? As I said before, this wasn't unfamiliar territory for me. I felt guilty and responsible.
You can imagine my reticence to engage in conversation, let alone the first conversation since the last time we'd seen one another, (the night of the sexy pregnant woman comment), when we ran into one another a few weeks ago.
A ghost from the past, reinvented. A new wife and name (he dropped the T), a new life. With enough of the narcissist intact, to reminisce about the past, while I cringed.
