To go forward, I'm going backward -- to early 2012. I was facing a move. The house I'd been living in, in the rather nice basement suite, was sold and the new owners were replacing me with their mother-in-law. Despite the inevitable upheaval that would ensue, getting turfed for an in-law was actually not what I hated the most. Rather, I was upset because of the deteriorated relationship with my landlords. Specifically, the one who was my singing teacher. Several months before the move, I announced at the start of a lesson that I had been given a part in a play that would be traveling to New York City, so I had to decide what I was going to do about that and the fact that I had several pressing commitments at home, one of which involved looking after their beloved dog/child while they were away for their annual tropical vacation. Her response was a horrible, narcissistic tongue-lashing wherein, among other things, she reminded me that we had made a deal: I would occasionally look after things for them, dog included, in exchange for below-market rent. Selfishly, according to her, I was only thinking about my own interests and wasn't available when they needed me. On top of which, the play seemed dubious at best, and did I really want to waste my time on that (never mind the fact that it was the first role I'd been offered in six years)? Ultimately, I decided to stay in town, telling myself there were too many commitments (including the dog-walking) to shuck off. Fear of confrontation probably decided that one for me, but I don't get a re-do on it, so I have to move on.
During that angry and scathing tirade, and I felt like I was the one wearing the dog collar, which was repeatedly yanked to remind me of where my loyalties should lie. Although she was often a seemingly kind and generous woman, I now saw much of her generosity as self-serving, doled out when it would look good on her. What I still hate is that I left that relationship on bitter terms, and never expressed how deeply her vicious scold hurt me. I did write a long, detailed letter about it but, knowing that we would soon be parting ways and believing that it would only inflame her further, I chose not to send it.
Not the first time I've backed off. When the previous Boyfriend verbally abused me at the end of our relationship in an effort to force me out, I never told him how his words destroyed my self-esteem. After six years, I think I've processed his nasty behaviour and more-or-less forgiven him, but apparently I still haven't recovered from my teacher's more recent words. There were other incidents over the four years I lived in their house, but that was by far the worst and the one that still hangs in the air, begging for me to recover. In the past, I've mocked the value of resolution or closure, be it in relationships of my own, or the need for it that I have seen in others. I don't think I'll be making that mistake any more. Getting it off my chest would have been therapeutic in the long run.
One of the great ironies of the whole affair was that while I was looking after the dog, he was diagnosed with a probable case of cancer. He died about two months after their return from vacation. Whether it's karmic or not (I have my doubts), I still marvel at the timing…
Up next: The Long, Hot Summer of Discontent
