Jack Knife, Portland, 8/26/18
"I was stuck here in the ground / Like a passion fruit til someone found me / Appetizing / Like candy."
I came here to break up with myself.
I am drinking tequila mixed with ginger ale and passion fruit juice. Vice device is the name of the drink. Seemed somehow to fit my current mood.
The quote is from a song I wrote called a long time ago, called "Candy". I still enjoy playing it, even though I hate remembering the time period that it's from. I purposefully wrote the line that way, to reflect a passive stance: I couldn't help it that I was always approached by vultures and vampires. I was just a girl stuck in the world, rooted and blooming, waiting to be plucked like a juicy fruit.
That's one of the aspects of myself that I want a divorce from.
So why did I come here, to this dimly lit lounge, to do the deed? Well, there is a story here, and like many stories, it has three acts.
Part 1:
"Well, the shark has pretty teeth, dear / And he keeps them pearly white."
Every time I passed Jack Knife, which is in my neighborhood, I thought I should come here. It looked sexy and reminded me of a speakeasy somehow. It also always made me hear the song "Mack the Knife" in my head, because it almost rhymes.
The first time I came here was on a Tinder date. It was a first date with a man I'll call Rodney.
Rodney was about my age and even more gorgeous than his pictures on Tinder. He was tall, dark and handsome, and from some foreign country that I found exotic at the time. In other words, I thought he was just my type.
We were here at Jack Knife for two hours. The first hour flew by, and was rife with pleasantly innocuous getting-to-know-you type questions. When he was about to excuse himself to go to the restroom, he leaned in for a kiss first, one that I was happy to accept. I texted half of my social circle while he was away from our table, to let them know that I was having a remarkable first date. "I love him!" I gushed to my friend, her husband, my ex-brother-in-law, and my attorney. (I'm just kidding. About the last two.)
When Rodney returned to the table, he asked me if I have any children. "Yes, one," I told him. He informed me that he has four children.
"Wow, that's great! Big family!" I raved.
"Yeah, it would be," he complained, "if my ex didn't make me pay child support!" He went on to explain that he was working two jobs and never got to see his kids. "I told her, 'Hey, either I can spend time with them, or I can work all the time and pay child support!'"
"Oh, I see," I responded, and then dove back into my drink.
Somehow he rapidly switched gears and asked me if I wouldn't mind letting him kiss my toes some time. It's not really my thing, but it also doesn't bother me, so I said "sure."
Rodney then asked me how I felt about rim jobs. I decided then to call it a night. Call me old-fashioned, but I just don't consider that first date talk.
Part 2:
Next, I came to Jack Knife on a second date with Jim, a local writer. I'd seen him around, heard things about him. His reputation proceeded him - but in a good way. I knew that he was tall, lanky, grungy, and kept busy with multiple creative projects - and multiple relationships. In other words, it sounded like he was just my type.
Our first date had been promising, as I had learned more about his polyamorous nature, and listened to him assert that he didn't like to go all the way on the first date. I appreciated that we shared the same values. However, I was eager to throw myself at him on our second date!
We had good drinks, food and conversation, until Jim slipped and mentioned an incident in his past that involved some domestic violence. To be fair, he did explain that there was violence coming from both parties in the relationship, but he was the only one who got caught, and subsequently, he went through a batterer's intervention program. As much as I appreciated his honesty, I had to end it there. Historically I've had a thing for abusers, and I have to protect myself, and my child, at all costs.
Part 3:
"Now my life is sweet like cinnamon / Like a fucking dream I'm living in / Baby, love me 'cos I'm playing on the radio."
My pen ran out of ink. What kind of a writer doesn't bring extra pens to a writing session?
I walked up to the bar to borrow a pen. Fuck this place, I thought: Lana del Rey is playing on their radio.
I love Lana but her music is inextricably tied to several memories of the love of my life. We spent many nights talking, dancing and listening to Lana all night.
The love of my life is tall, with long hair, glasses, and an encyclopedic memory regarding music, art, history ... in other words, he's just my type. We have been off and on and on and off for a long time.
After my date with Jim, I had begun to suspect that Jack Knife was cursed for me. Every time I brought someone I liked here, we never went out again.
But when I started dating my ex again, I thought for sure that our love could withstand a visit to Jack Knife.
My ex is sober so he drank ginger ale and ate French fries while I sipped on whiskey. Unexpectedly, he told me that he'd met someone else and that they were really hitting it off. He said that he wanted to keep seeing me, too, but somehow I sensed that he was moving away from me. The next time I saw him, he broke up with me. I had already started crying in my whiskey about it that night at my unlucky haunt.
Denouement:
I also like to date women, but I have never brought a woman to Jack Knife before. Until now.
Now that I'm done with my Vice Device, I'm imbibing my regular poison, whiskey, again. So that brings us up to speed. Somehow I thought that maybe it was myself that I really needed to break up with.
But I started thinking about some things that I've read, and some things that my therapist has told me. Integration, not abandonment, seems to be the only way to heal the wounded parts of ourselves.
So there is this woman inside of me who is drawn to anyone who will pay her attention. She is especially fond of people whose affection you really have to work for. Also partial to punishment, she feels that these things equal love.
She is impulsive, emotional, trusting, vulnerable and sweet.
Some men and women want to tame her. The real me is wild and free, but this girl inside of me thinks that it's love if someone wants to control her. That is how she was shown love for most of her life.
I don't think that I can help her by breaking up with her.
I am stronger now than that girl who I sometimes catch glimpses of in the mirror. Maybe if I hold her and show her compassion, she will grow up, too. Why should I kick her to the curb? Isn't she the kind the person that I've always had an affinity for: the walking wounded? I think that instead of dumping her, I could love her.
In fact, I think that she is just my type.
