Ironclad

Things have just been absolutely crazy. I have no idea what I have done to have brought this onto myself, but people are just throwing tantrums right and left about things that I supposedly did or did not do.

On Sunday, I was originally going to see Chris and his family in his hometown, where they were having a party for Chris' brother-in-law. But, Chris was behaving badly, giving me a hard time about what time my train was to arrive, and insisting that I get up at the crack of dawn in order to take another one. The J. does not get up at the crack of dawn. I thought everyone, including my own Life Partner knew that…

So, I got up late an went, instead, to visit my friend Betsy in Wiesbaden. She had the day off...I would spend the night there and come back to Pforzheim on Monday morning. Cool. I haven't seen her in a while and she is probably my closest friend here.

Betsy has been going out with Mirko for about a year now (an estimation because I'm really not sure.) The both of them went with us on vacation to Mallorca in the fall. We had a few bumps here and there, but overall the trip was a good one.

When I arrived at Betsy's house, Mirko opened the door, showed me in, and then immediately retreated to the den, shut the door, and started listening to music. So Betsy and I sat around the table, eating chocolate and chatting. I started to feeling better and we had some fun making jokes and laughing. Then, I said "Do you remember when we took our trip to Mallorca." We started talking about it, reminiscing at the beautiful views we saw, the beaches, etc.

Then, in the greatest mistake possible, completely unbeknownst to me at the time, I got up and went to the den, to try to inspire Mirko to come out and share in the memories with us. I knocked, opened the door, looked at Mirko with a big smile on my face and said, "Do you remember our trip to Mallorca?"

Uncomfortable silence.

"And…" he said.
Stunned at his face, you know the kind that could stop a clock, I said,
"That's all," and closed the door and went back to the table.

I tried not to dwell on fussy pants, and just went back to the table and continued my conversation with Betsy. I figured, if he didn't want to come out and have fun with us, then there wasn't much I could do about it. At least he knew that he was invited.

About five minutes later, Mirko comes storming out of the den and says, in an extremely gruff and direct voice,
"I would like to know what you meant by that. I mean what in the world is the underlying meaning behind such a statement as that."
I was shocked, but absolutely determined to not let him get me angry, so I just smiled and said.
"None."
"Well, I don't know who you think you are coming into my house trying to provoke me like that" as he retreated to the den, slamming the door behind him.

Shock.

Bewilderment.

"Huh?" I said.
"What was THAT?" she said.

We try to ignore.

"He must just be in a bad mood," I said. "Just ignore it, I'm sure he'll come around," I said.

We tried to talk about other things, those things being punctuated every few minutes or so by a horribly pitiful look of Betsy's as she tried to grasp what in the world was going on in her boyfriend's mind.

"Just forget about it. Let's not let it ruin our day," I tried.

So, we go to the living room. I had some movies on my computer and Betsy and I started to watch Talladega Nights, a very, very funny movie. It really gets rednecks so precisely, yet so tongue and cheek. Beautiful.

About 20 minutes into the film, Mirko comes into the living room, having changed into his tracksuit.

"I'm going on a run, and when I get home, I had better hear an apology from you for your actions. I live here, too, you know, and what you did is just unacceptable," he growls at me.

Shock, again.

Guess we're not going to watch the movie. Betsy, poor Betsy, tells me about the problems that Mirko and she have been having, that her patience has been warring thin for quite a long time, that as Mirko was yelling at me, she looked into his face and didn't know who he was. What could he be thinking? In what way had he misinterpreted my meaning to think that it was something horribly rude? It was all beyond us. It was certainly beyond me.

He eventually comes back from his run, comes into the living room, and sits down.
"I am ready to hear what you will say to me," he says, in a very official-sounding German.
"Well, I think that you have misunderstood me…"
He interrupts, "No, I don't want to discuss it. You simply have to apologize." He begins to yell. "You either apologize or get out." He stands up and moves toward the door.
I finally lose my temper, "How dare you!?" my voice raises. "I am a guest in your home. You do not know me well enough to speak to me in such a way! I ask you if you 'Remember our trip to Mallorca' and from that you think that you have the ground to insult me like this? You are incredibly rude!"
"You didn't mean it that way. You need to leave."
Betsy loses it. "No, Mirko, YOU need to leave."
He walks out, she follows, they continue screaming at each other in the other room.


You know, it has been a long time since I believed in the devil. I don't think there is some little guy with a trident and a tail who lives somewhere in the burning netherworld, patiently chuckling to himself as he awaits my soul to roast over his ever-burning embers. I just don't believe it. I don't think there are evil spirits, demons or their minions who roam the world reeking havoc on the non-believers. It's just a bunch of scare-tactic hoopla, as far as I'm concerned.

But, so much negativity has been spilled on me over the past month, out of mouths that claim the title of "friend"; so much bile and hatred has been directed toward me, fired like a laser directed at my heart. And all of this at a time in my life when I am finally feeling at one with myself, a time when I am really able to delineate between what I need to care about and what can be left to the wayside. This is the first time in my life that I really love to sing, the first time that I am able to be calm in spite of the storm around me. I feel I am coming into my own, and for that I am eternally grateful.

After all this Sunday drama had happened, and I was finally able to come home, the shock wore off enough to consider what had happened, and I just couldn't help but think that someone was out to get me. Maybe it was my fire and brimstone childhood that inspired this thought, but a little, cackling Beelzebub popped into my mind. That's right. Whereas I never really believed in the devil before, I was sure that he was testing me, carrying me to the edge of a precipice, forcing me to look over the edge into the abyss: to test my faith, my inner strength.

I am not sure about the whole Satan thing. But, the fact that a rational person like myself would even consider it certainly paints these last weeks the color that they need be hued.


But, I am resilient. Even if I have fallen off the horse not by the horse's bucks, but by being pushed by those around me, I will still get back on, and waste no time doing it. I feel like looking circumstance in the face, raising my fist and saying "Is that all you got?"

I ain't no one's bitch, and I won't let this overwhelming negativity from the world stop me, dammit.

I continue on.