2.23.2012

For Alan, On My Blogoversary.

from: ["m moure" m@mirandamoure.com]
sent --- 22:43:17, 02.22.12
to: ["Alan Stevenson" astevenson@sbcglobal.net]



A--


I know we talked recently, and I know I said we'd speak more, but I think it's time to let you go. I have other go-to devices now--some old like the lists, some new like the writing letters back to myself, but these email transactions, the interviews and this whole feigned relationship has got to be over. 


I'm not saying that you wont be missed; there are people and times that I can't remove you from being intertwined with and you were once even so real that Lisa asked if you were coming to my going away party. You are not real, Alan. You are more real than some other fake characters from IAAJD like Rather and Apollo Quite, Clever-Ann Rhymes and Audubon Poe (who's name I stole, by the way)--mainly because those people are expressly fake. You're not like them, and in print it seems almost as if you could be as real as anyone else but you're merely an invention of my blog, and you and your apartment on Russian Hill and your desk at the Guardian and your 415 that I would sometimes text and even your email address is all a clever device that I first toyed with five or six years ago. 


What's really weird Alan, is that if you read back over all of those posts, you change over the years. You got more and more demanding, less apologetic, more and more insistent that we continue a romantic relationship, increasingly pissed when I was seeing other people. Isn't that weird to you? I mean, you're essentially me, and I created you to be someone who slowly became less and less someone I even liked and yet more and more demanding about being with me. 


I have been going through my archives, Alan. I found a piece I wrote in an attempt to re-write the Pandora story except at the end what was in the box that I was forbidden to open was a letter from Lisa. I wrote it during NaNoWriMo 08, right after I broke up with Ben (who graces this story as Alex) and started earnestly dating Chase. This is that letter:



Miranda,
You are naturally curious, and perfect just the way you are. You need someone who will feed and fuel this curiosity, spark your interest, and reveal both their soul and their darkest mistakes to you as you are always willing to do unabashedly.

What I’m sure you’ve realized, a few sentences in, is that it’s just as crazy that you should want to stay with him as it would be putting your relationship in someone else’s hands.  Even if that person is your best girlfriend.

Do not ever, ever change yourself for a man.  Yes it’s true, you will garner less men—but the ones you find with be that much better.  Alex isn’t right for you.  Move on.  This is the truth you don’t want to but need to hear, and you will, I promise, be better off for having heard it.  Now that you know, I doubt you’ll ever be able to return to melding yourself to those who seem so good on paper.  I’m sorry.

I love you.
Lisa.

Now Alan, here's where we enter some sort of Meta-reality or some third deeper level of non-reality because I am relating a letter that I wrote as if I was Lisa, to you whom I invented. Regardless the point is the same: I knew all along what the consequences were of changing myself for someone.

It started so simply; easily, you know? That first little concession I made, and somehow it snowballed out of control--the exes I was forbidden to hang out with, then the secrets I had to keep, then time after time I let go of one of my dreams for promises that were never intended to be fulfilled and were in fact routinely broken in the day to day.

Hunts' told me a quote once: Who you are is the price you've paid for who you used to want to be.

On a side note, I think of that line often and wonder if he's ever sitting on a barstool nursing a whiskey neat, pondering whether or not his life now was worth paying for it with losing me. I know this never happens. I just wish that it did. But that, I think, is a story for a time that has already passed.

The point is that I created you to be someone I thought I wanted, but in the end the fantasy and the reality got all to similar. I don't know how it happened Alan, but you and Chase became the same person somehow and I don't know who came first or who followed who but I just don't want any of it anymore. I wanted you and I wanted him, but the price, in the end, is just too steep.

In the immediate aftermath, I tried reverting to exactly who I was the day before I met Chase; writing everyday, still in love with Wood, Camel Lights and black toenails and black coffee and you, too, were part of that. Now my toenails are pink, and I'm not exactly the girl who left you in San Francisco and I'm not exactly who I was on Christmas Eve--but I know, for sure, that I have to be without you.

I'm sorry. 
--M

from: ["Alan Stevenson" astevenson@sbcglobal.net]
sent --- 03:14:54, 02.23.12

to: ["m moure" m@mirandamoure.com]

Miranda,
I came in early to look over a piece I'm writing about cyclists in the Tenderloin, and there you were in my inbox, and I was just thinking about you and your little green Tenderloin apartment and now it's all I can think about. 

Do you still put flannel sheets on your bed in the winter? Have that same cast iron pancake griddle? I can't help but remember you just as you were, two M's on your right middle finger and 10 perfectly manicured black toes. I saw a picture of you with bangs on your Facebook, and it didn't click at first but you're right--of course you're different. I don't know why I ever thought that I could hole you up into an image of you at 27, swearing to me that you weren't going to leave, then hightailing it from the city in a rush so fast I didn't even get to say goodbye. 

I'm not going to lie, I'm sad to think I'll miss how this will all turn out--in a year, two, five. But I hope that you regain that Joie de Vivre you once had and although I never told you, I want you to know now that I love you. I was in love with you. And I will miss you, maybe forever.
Best,
Seriously,
Alan.

p.s.--Happy Blogoversary.

from: ["m moure" m@mirandamoure.com]
sent --- 04:48:36, 02.23.12
to: ["Alan Stevenson" astevenson@sbcglobal.net]

A--
I love you too, Alan. But I still don't speak french.
--M



The link above was the first one, I couldn't help but get in one final punchline. For those interested:
2345678910111213141516171819, and this very post makes 20. Goodbye, Alan.


1 comment:

Lisa said...

To one of my great loves, that is EXACTLY the letter I would have written. The rest is too personal, so a call is in order. And to Alan: fuck off. my girl is perfect just as she was and the woman she became. I'm sorry for the painful path, but "our girl" is just as she was meant to be. Nothing less and always will become "Moure." Glad you helped her on that journey/