“Unhappiness is a Habit”- Eniktin

Liesl was the type of woman that was impossible to ignore. You probably know what I mean. When I met her, I was nervously self-conscious that I was staring at her too much. I was an acquaintance of her boyfriend, Kevin. It was complicated that way. Good things usually are for me. Kevin was the dangerous type. I met him through another friend of mine, Jessica, whom he was sleeping with (unbeknownst to Liesl). Jessica told me all about the tryst, since I was an “outside” friend, not amongst the circle that contained Kevin and Liesl. I had no ties to that part of her life. She confided in me about her and Kevin’s affair. I found it interesting at the time, not knowing Kevin or Liesl. Those things usually work that way. They remain vicariously exciting and interesting until you are involved. Kevin and I were similar in many respects. He was a bit of a bad seed. He could get himself into quite a bit of trouble. Jessica got him a job at the bar where she worked. Kevin was a reformed heavy drinker, and he had been in prison for accidentally killing someone. The story, as I remember it, is that Kevin was drunk one night and got in a fight with someone. He hit the guy in the head with a hammer. The kid was taken to the hospital where he later died and Kevin went to prison. Jessica had told me she thought Kevin and I would get along famously, you see, I had similar periods of darkness. I had been locked up when I was fourteen, and underwent psychiatric evaluation. I had also suffered from the drink. Kevin could relate to all of it. We did, in fact, get along famously, in the short time before I moved. I would visit Jessica at the bar occasionally and Kevin and I would chat. Nothing serious, but he and I were on a level. Jessica and Kevin’s tryst had run its course. Their secret lay dormant between the two of them – and me. On the eve of my move, I met a group of Jessica’s friends at a restaurant. That’s when I first saw Liesl. My heart stopped. I don’t remember anything about the night besides her. I was so nervous to be around her that it made me ill. That’s how she was. Kevin had suggested that he and I keep in touch. I was a bit of a letter writer then. I remember that I wrote him, once. I could not help from asking after Liesl. It was a simple inquiry (albeit obvious, I am sure), and even then, alone in my room with pen and paper, I felt myself flush at the sight of her name. It seemed as though it were obvious to everyone. He never replied. I never wrote again. My time in the north grew dim. I had been very isolated. I became depressed and stagnant. My choices grew slim, and after two years, I returned to my hometown. Upon my return, I worked for my father as a welder in his shop. The two of us had never gotten along very well. He left my mother for another woman when I was very young, taking with him the family savings and my mother’s car, and leaving a trail of bills and many regrets in my mother’s heart. This is how I grew up, in the shadow of my father’s absence. “Your father is an asshole,” my mother would often tell me. Being young and fragile, I had no choice but to believe. In the north, during my times alone, I would contemplate all that my mother told me. And I had questions. Finally, I wrote to my father, ending many years of silence. I asked him rather pointed questions, inquiring as to why he behaved as he did. I wanted his side of the story, you could say. His reply was puerile and strange, but we continued writing. He visited me up north, as he was traveling through the area, and encouraged me to “come home,” offering me a job. This was perhaps the worst decision I could have made. Initially, I thought that working with my father would provide some kind of bond, or camaraderie, between the two of us. It started that way, but slowly grew into a challenge – a power struggle. He began making fun of me, calling me a “pussy” when I couldn’t lift plates of steel, or couldn’t take the heat of welding sparks landing on my arms without flinching. It was around this time that my friendship with Jessica was rekindled. We would see one another on occasion, and our friendship slowly began to change. Jessica was the type of woman who acted as if she could casually date a few men without being significantly attached to any of them, while I was the type of person who acted as if I wasn’t as fucked up as I really was. Jessica and I became romantically involved. We carried on in this manner for a few months. During my time in the north, Jessica and Liesl became good friends. Jessica and Kevin never divulged their secret, and since their affair had ended, they thought it best to leave it in the past. Jessica told me of her friendship with Liesl, and my curiosity was piqued. You can understand. It all coalesced when I was invited to a Christmas potluck at Jessica’s house. Liesl was invited as well. I was nervous, anxious at seeing her again. There were a few problems, of course. Liesl was still dating Kevin, and I was, ostensibly, dating Jessica. Kevin wasn’t at the party. As it turned out, he had temporarily moved to Colorado, under the guise of finding gainful employment and housing for he and Liesl, after which he would return to gather her and their things and move them to snow country. My stomach turned sour hours before the party; I was so sickened with nerves at seeing her again. Time proved to change her only for the better, as my sight of her after three years was stronger than the first. She was charming and graceful, everything she said rang truth in me, and her beauty was stunning. I, of course, was too nervous to speak much to her, and the party carried on as if I were hardly there. As the months wore on, Jessica and I continued to see one another, though we denied we were dating. My self-hatred, never tiring, usually sat at the forefront of our topics. Jessica photocopied information on depression, sending it to me by post, highlighting the information she thought I should pay critical attention to. My father’s harsh criticism sat at the front of my psyche most days. Burdened by the weight of his disappointment, I sought solace in women. Tender things appealed to me. Slowly, Jessica started inviting me around more. And slowly, I started suggesting to her that she also invite other people, like Liesl, “for the fun of it.” We carried on in this way for a few months, our small group gathering for the evening. Occasionally the party would dwindle down to just Jessica, Liesl, and I. These were the nights I longed for. Secretly, I would wish that Liesl would see me sitting there, and realize what I knew all along. It was painful. I spent months watching her from across the room, asking Jessica subtle questions, and daydreaming about her at work while my father berated me. Upon leaving Jessica’s house one night, I put a note on the windshield of Liesl’s car, simply telling her I wished to speak with her. The next day she called. We made plans for me to meet her after work, without Jessica. The stage was set. I was going to confess.   That day at work, my father’s hateful criticisms and biting stares were hardly effective against the sick nerves I had at the thought of meeting Liesl alone. I rushed home after work, showered, and drove to meet Liesl. She was a display coordinator for a large clothing store, her job was to drive from mall to mall and instruct the retail outlets as to how their window displays should be organized. I drove to the mall where she was working and found her smiling and ready to leave. We had dinner, and talked like old friends. The conversation was frank; we discussed Kevin, and my relationship with Jessica (among others). There were no subjects off limits. After dinner, we sat in her car for hours talking, and I could not bring myself to confess my crush, however painfully obvious it was making itself. Finally, in the middle of the night, we drove to a park, and sat on a bench overlooking the bay area. As it got colder, we sat closer. Finally, I explained my predicament. I told her I was vexed by my unwavering feelings for her, for my involvement with Jessica, for my respect for Kevin. I was even audacious enough to say I should confess my feelings to Kevin as well, out of chivalric commitment. As absurd as I was, Liesl was gracious, beautiful, and direct. She confessed as well. Telling me the attention I had been giving her was flattering. We held hands. I was shaking, only half from the cold.   We returned to where my car was parked, promised to talk the next day, and agreed to keep our meeting a secret. At the door of my car, she asked me to close my eyes. I obliged, and she kissed me full on the mouth. I drove the 40 miles home in sheer bliss. My whole body reeling in excitement, I was alive! And so it all began. We talked on the phone nearly every night, and we saw one another whenever our schedules permitted.   Jessica had grown suspicious. She would ask me very pointed questions. She sent me letters concerning our newfound distance. I confessed all this to Liesl, and in turn, Liesl confessed to me things that she knew about Jessica’s past lovers. There were times that the infidelity between Jessica and Kevin were burning on my tongue; I wanted to tell Liesl so bad. Liesl and I had discussed Kevin, and how his absence related to her and me. Eventually, she believed, he would return from Colorado, and they would be together again, but until then, she assured me, she wanted me. And even after his return, she confessed that while we shouldn’t be romantically involved, she couldn’t see how she could go on without my presence in her life. I asked her loaded hypothetical questions, like if she would want to know if Kevin were cheating on her while he was in Colorado. Her answers were all the same, an unwavering “yes.” She said it was only right, and she would act swiftly upon such news. I wanted so badly at these times to confess to her that years before, Kevin had wronged her with her now best friend, Jessica, but coming from my mouth, the intent seemed obvious. I couldn’t be sure whether my confession would push her away or pull her closer to me. I was certain that if Kevin had cheated on her before with Jessica, it was inevitable he was doing the same now. My own infidelities with her were different in my eyes, as we were madly in love with one another.   Our time together, while secretive, was nothing short of true love. Still, we maintained a certain level of discretion. One evening, without any place to be alone, we found ourselves at a motel. This was perhaps the event that confirmed it for both of us. We were spontaneous, romantic, and completely in love with one another. In such a short time, we went from awkward acquaintances to lovers. My happiness was cursed however, for as soon as it had come, it was ending. Kevin had called, and told Liesl he was returning. He had gotten drunk, and found himself in trouble with the Colorado authorities. Their move to Colorado was on hold, until then, he was simply coming home. Our time was marked. The next few weeks found Liesl and me inseparable. She spent my birthday with me. She called in sick to work, drove to my house, and as a present she gave me herself, saying simply, “Take me.” She was dangerous that way. We ate cake that afternoon, and I took pictures of her. For the next few days, I found strands of her cranberry hair everywhere; in my bed, in my clothes, in my car, it was excruciating. Everything reminded me of her.   Upon Kevin’s return, we agreed to stop. And we did. At first it was harder on me that it was on her. Or so it appeared. I called, and at times she couldn’t talk. This crushed me. It would take me hours, sometimes days, to recover from the rejection. Before she would spend hours on the phone with me, but now she had to be with him. She assured me in secret that I was always on her mind. This only served to make the pain worse. Finally, we went out to dinner, all of us, Kevin, Liesl, Jessica, and me. It was a strange, sick, disturbing double date. Kevin and Liesl sat as a couple, with a secret wedged between them that only Liesl and I knew of. Likewise, Jessica and I sat, as a sort of couple (or so it was presented to Kevin), with a secret tryst only Liesl and I knew of. And then there was the past, smothering all of us. Liesl and I wondering if Kevin had been true while he was in Colorado, Kevin and Jessica wondering if Liesl knew about them, and Jessica knowing I knew about her and Kevin, and wondering if I had fallen in love with Liesl. I sank into a depression so deep I saw no way out. For weeks I agonized at the thought of losing Liesl to all this bullshit. In my mind, and in my heart, it was clear; she and I should be together. I knew what had to be done. I asked if I could see her in private. I was going to confess. I picked her up at her house. Kevin parted the blinds and looked out the window as she was getting into my car. He waved to me, and I waved back, everything in me sick with nerves and trepidation. My timing couldn’t have been worse. Liesl’s birthday was a few days away, and Kevin and Jessica were planning a party. The occasion was to also serve as a housewarming for Kevin and Liesl’s new apartment together. All of their friends were to be there. I was invited as well. I drove Liesl to the park and sat on the same bench where I made my first confession. I confessed my secret again. This time, I gave her a diary I had been keeping since we began seeing each other. (It should be noted that the diary was a gift from a friend. The sort of gift that only and old friend can give. It was a Hello Kitty diary, the type made for prepubescent girls. In a certain mood one night, and without any other reciprocal for my thoughts, I began using the diary to hold all my secrets about Liesl. I am aware at how silly it looks, and frankly, it doesn’t make me the least bit uncomfortable.) In it, my feelings were made clear. I told her I was absolutely in love with her, and I wanted nothing else. Nothing. She told me it was harder now, with Kevin home. I told her another secret, the one about Jessica and Kevin four years before. She was in disbelief. She cried, she got angry, she hugged me, and I assured her I wasn’t telling her only for selfish reasons, but because she deserved to know. She reassured me. All of a sudden she got angry, and asked me to drive her home immediately. She wanted to confront Kevin. When we pulled into the driveway, she told me she would call me later, and didn’t wait for me to stop the engine. As I backed out of the driveway, I saw Kevin looking out the window again. This time I didn’t wave.   As promised, she called, and she told me all the details of her confrontation. Kevin was regretful, and begged her forgiveness. She inquired about Colorado, and he confessed of other infidelities. She kicked him out. We stayed up most of the night talking. She asked me to come over the next day and help her throw his shit away. And I did. We dumped his clothes, personal papers, and other random belongings in a dumpster behind a grocery. In my infinitely bad timing, I promised her I would do anything she needed. She said her birthday depressed her. She had confronted Jessica as well, and said she never wanted to see her again. Where two days ago she had been planning a wonderful party with all her friends, now she saw them all as conspirators in a lie against her. She was lonely. I vowed that she and I would spend her birthday together. That night I bought her several gifts, determined to cheer her up, and determined to be the right one. The next day I left work early to get ready. When I got out of the shower, my roommate said, “Liesl called, she has to cancel tonight, she’ll call you tomorrow.” I was stunned. I sat in quiet all night, wondering.   The next day I was sick with worry. My mind reeled with possibilities. I expected the worst. That evening I called, and after two rings, Kevin answered. I hung up, and cried. I cried all night. I could not understand. Nothing made sense. Nothing. I couldn’t understand how she could allow him in her house after everything, all his indiscretions. I blamed myself. I should have told her sooner. I should have been stronger. I should have stood up. Finally, a few days later, she called. She told me she loved Kevin, and while he had done wrong, so had she. She had confessed to him everything about her and me. They were going to start over. And she needed space. Her voice was guarded, and angry. For the first time, I felt completely abandoned by her. I wondered why what made me so happy must later become the source of my misery. I tried to stop thinking about her, but no matter where I went, she was always there. The following months found me worse by the day. Relations with my father were terrible. We were not even speaking to one another most days. Rather than working together on projects, he would bark instructions at me, often ordering me to work in the yard instead of the shop. It was summer, and the gravel yard was well over one hundred degrees. I would toil in the sun and heat, wishing myself dead, missing her. Father would often leave the shop for hours at a time, claiming he had a delivery. Those times, I would sit in the corner of the shop writing manic prose to Liesl. If, out of odd circumstances, I was asked to make the delivery, I would inevitably make the route lead through Liesl’s neighborhood. Some days after work, I would drive the fifty miles to their house simply to see if one of their cars were parked in the driveway. Crushed, I would turn around and drive home, in tears. I was suicidal, I was depressed, I was despondent. I was all things I would never have conceived just a few short months before. Every day I imagined Liesl coming to her senses and calling me, telling me she was wrong, and it was I who she was in love with. I waited and hoped each day, and each day ended without validation. I sank further each night. I began hurting myself. Taking razors across my wrists, cutting on my stomach, etc. For Christmas, and only for my closest friends, I created homemade cards. While I knew they were somewhat disturbing, I thought their self-defeating sentiment was worth a chuckle. Others however, were not as tickled. I suffered through days of phone calls of the wonderful holidays that were ruined by my disgusting cards. At work I would often daydream about clobbering my father with a sledgehammer, or exploding a bottle of acetylene, killing us both. One afternoon at work, while operating a two-ton drill press, I impulsively stuck my hand into the machinery as it bore through a piece of plate steel. Blood gushed everywhere, and my finger was mangled. My father told me what an idiot I was for making such a “mistake.” I was left with no choice but to believe him. One evening, after leaving a show, with a few friends in my car, I began speeding towards the onramp of the interstate. In my mind, I was thinking of nothing, and I lost track of the roadway, focusing on the oblivion beyond. The car careened off the road and into a shallow ditch. Jarred to attention by the scrapes, jostling, and commotion of my passengers, I realized what I had just done. Everyone in the car was safe, and I managed to maneuver out of the ditch, and back onto the interstate where the three-car convoy of our friends was waiting. Later that evening, I was asked to explain what happened. I had no answer. I told them, simply, that I wanted to see what it felt like. No one was amused. A few weeks later, while driving to work one morning, I was overcome with the feeling once again. This time I was coming down the summit of a mountain pass, and all I could see was the car being free of the white lines. I was shaken with fear at my utter commitment to this mortal pursuit. I pulled over, sick to my stomach, and got out of my car for air. In all coincidence, I was at the mall where I met Liesl for our first “date.” I cried. I started back to the car, then thought of the day ahead, and what father would say to me if he saw me crying. It was too much; I found a payphone and called his shop, leaving a message that I would not make it to work. I went home and got in bed. The next morning I got out of bed, called my father’s shop again, and left another message. I went back to bed. The next morning I didn’t bother to call. I remained in bed for another day. The next morning the phone rang, beyond hope of waiting for Liesl’s call, I listened for the answering machine. It was my father, he yelled into the machine, “Where the fuck are you!” It was obvious to me. I would never return. I eventually went to work in a factory, working the graveyard shift. I remained utterly depressed, sleeping my days away, occasionally noting in my diary how sick I was. I finally broke down and wrote Liesl, addressing the letter to her mother’s house, assuming it safer for her to receive word from me there.   A reply came some time later. She had moved to Utah with Kevin. They were making a life together. She told me my letters created “reactions,” and if I intended to write again, I should know it caused problems. I had no prayers left, except prayers for her. I took refuge in Goethe’s Werther, and in the solitude depression provides. In a disturbing effort to find relief, I went to visit Jessica. Her anger was much stronger than Liesl’s. She begrudgingly told me she knew I would do what I did, and accused me of using her to get closer to Liesl. I had no other choice but to agree. We talked for a few hours, and the tension never cleared. I left feeling worse than when I came.   For the next few years I wandered. I spent some time in Canada, some time being homeless, and time in relationships, trying to act as if I were worth something. All the while my self-loathing remained. Every time I drove by the motel where Liesl and I spent our night, I could not help but remember. I wrote constantly. When I exhausted all sets of private note keeping, I began writing to outsiders. Having distanced myself from several of my friends, I found refuge in my dead heroes. I began writing to the widow of a poet whom I had all but memorized every published work. I think, by sheer volume of letters, his widow finally sent me copies of all his out of print books, as well as a cassette recording of him reading poems entitled, “The Sad Bag”. This proved to be perhaps the most telling piece of material I have ever heard. One poem in particular, “Strip Poker,” proved to put into words, more eloquently than I ever could, the complicated and confused nature of Liesl in my life. His sickly disturbing stream of consciousness seemed to resemble the never-ending rambling of my mind. For one year, I held on to the idea that she would return to me. Finally, I conceded. All was lost. I made a final entry into the diary I kept for her, asking her what I did wrong. I sent a letter to her mother’s house, for no good reason, telling her I was done.   Months later a reply came. She confirmed that there was no hope, and that she still needed time. I found solace in others, and continued on my path of failed relationships. I wrote less and less about her each day. Hindsight has proven many things. Foremost, that I walked into an impossible situation expecting possibilities to arise. Looking back at myself staggering through benign delusions, it is clear that I set myself upon loving people who I know have either no capacity, or no chance of loving me. I wish for impossible things. It is easier that way. As painful as it was to admit, her decision confirmed that, perhaps, she found it easier to be different with me. But different doesn’t always last. Was she fed more by my flatteries that by my sincerities? She could do no wrong, and maybe that made it easier for her to do right. I was, in all probability, her chance to try something new, to be something she wanted to be, if only temporarily. The time was so short, I wonder if she ever really had a chance. Perhaps she only needed someone to be with in her time of indecision.   Bathing in the few blissful moments of those happy and irretrievable days, I found myself struck by the memories of what I thought it could all be rather than what it was. She was so beautiful when she was a crime, and I didn’t notice until just now….   Listen to Eniktin’s “You Were So Beautiful When You Were a Crime.” (for Liesl)