Sea Monsters from Tiny Mail-Order Seeds

People have always thought of me as such a good girl. When I was a kid, even though I hated the name "Goody Two Shoes", about the raciest thing I could come up with to buck it was playing with candy cigarettes in elementary (oh, the appearance of evil!) or attending the senior kegger when I was only a sophomore (albeit with the cleanest-cut, most respectable guy in the senior class--you know, the kind that leaves you wondering if they are gay or if you're really just that undesirable).

If I had a rebellious streak, it was always a very itty-bitty, tiny, little one--almost laughable as rebellion goes. Some would say my parents were lucky to have such a good little girl. And even as I grew up, my rebellion was a dwarf--the cute kind that you just want to dress up in tutus for your own amusement, not exploit in a politically incorrect side-show: I've still not done illegal drugs (although I do plan to give pot a try sometime in my late 90's) and I've only done one photo shoot in my lifetime that included nudity (and as long as I never get famous, those pictures won't likely ever show up on the internet). Of course, there was that one little incident that I try to block out of my memory (and yet ramble on about through the course of at least three blog entries http://mynamesnotbridget.blogspot.com/2010/04/secret.html), but mostly it's been small stuff.

The problem is, given room, small stuff can get bigger. In my last blog, I mentioned that

"...the gulf between Todd & I has only grown deeper and wider (and has been infested by more poisonous and man-eating sea monsters) over the past year."

Today, I thought about those "sea monsters" that I spoke of so metaphorically and nonspecifically yesterday. It started because I thought I maybe, just maybe, spotted a little tiny potential sea monster...

"Nah, it's nothing, really," I told myself. "More like a microscopic Sea Monkey (remember them?) -- anyone who ever hopefully sent off an order for Sea Monkeys knows that those little disappointments never amounted to anything."

But try as I might to downplay the significance, I couldn't shake the idea that this time, I just might be playing with the Sea Monkey that would turn into a Sea Monster.

I'd always wondered if I had just taken better care of my Sea Monkeys--used better water, regulated sunlight differently, etc.--if they just might have grown into the noble mythical creatures pictured in the cartoon ads. And now I also wondered if they could also mutate and grow into sinister man-eating, fire-breathing monsters of the deep.

I'm speaking metaphorically, of course, and perhaps even dragging my feet about getting to the meat of the monster because it's easier to hide behind a symbol. The symbols here, however, may contain more truth than I'm ready to face in reality, so bear with me and we might just discover depths I didn't even realize existed.

I'm looking at an image as I type these words... not an image in my mind, but a very real image in a separate browser window: a painting of a powerful sea monster with a penetrating gaze. I wish I could post that image here, to show how it's sliver eyes peer into my soul, but I would have to ask the artist's permission to post it... and it would not be proper for me to ask this particular artist anything. You see, the artist who painted this awesome creature is none other than Charlie...

Charlie, whom I have not spoken to in over a decade.

Charlie, whose memory lingers in a swampy mire of regret.

Charlie, whom I would still like to be friends with, but that would send Todd through the roof.

Charlie, who, if not for our "history" would likely have been my first choice to call in to work on several creative projects that have challenged me over the past few years. (By what I see in his online portfolio, he has grown artistically since I knew him.)

Charlie, who I believe I'm so "over" that if it weren't for Todd, I could probably have a successful platonic relationship with. I think I'm older & wiser and would see through his "lines" and be able to laugh them off, but then there is that tiny place of apprehension (fear?) that leaves me a slave to the common-sense decision to just stay away from him--the fear that if I looked into his eyes and heard his voice, he might melt through my resolve and get to me like he did when I was young and naive and vulnerable because of all the hurt and disappointment in my life (is the fact that I'm no longer young and much less naive enough to outweigh those other elements that are unchanged, if not teetering in a more precarious balance than before?)

Anyway, I guess just the fact that I've admitted that I'm looking at a painting that Charlie did after we parted ways is evidence that I've stooped to cyber-stalking.

I just wanted to know...

know what?

That's a good question. Now that I've gained a little glimpse, I find myself standing uncertain about what it is I want to know. I wanted to know that he's out there--that I didn't destroy him. I wanted to see if it's obvious that the child we conceived bears his genetic code. There have been so many times over the years that I've had to deny the reality of the time we had together, and thus even his existence, just to be able to carry on--I've come to feel somewhat disconnected from reality due to the lies that I've told myself. I guess catching a glimpse of Charlie now, Charlie in reality, is like an anchor to bring me up to deal with the real world. And that's something I think I need to do in order to heal and become a whole, independent, stable person. I can't face responsibility for the poor choices I have made if I remain in denial of their reality.

So, I come up from the murky waters of denial only to find myself face-to-face with this fearsome monster... It should be enough to remind me of a very vivid dream I had after we had parted ways and I was still missing him. I dreamt that I let him into my home only for him to become the prime suspect in the molestation of a neighborhood child. That dream was enough to scare me away from further contact with him. What if it was a supernatural warning? What if he really was a monster? As I looked once again at the piercing stare of the monster he had guided the brushes to paint--the monster that had grown out of his own imagination, I once again felt regret. This time it was regret for an action I took about a week ago.

Silly, silly, foolish girl. I just wanted to know...

So I looked. I saw evidence that he did indeed still exist, but it wasn't enough. I sent him a message--not from me, but from my fictitious persona. I sent him an email. The moment after I hit "send" I longed for an "unsend" button. Silly, silly fool! But then the days went by with no reply. Good. Perhaps the email from this fictitious stranger had landed in his junk mail folder and would be deleted before he even saw it.

As today's thoughts about little Sea Monkeys turning into Sea Monsters grabbed hold in my imagination, I was glad that Charlie had not answered my message. Better to be without another monster in my life when I'm trying to learn to be strong, take responsibility, and hold the reins of my out-of-control life. Such a relief. I know he's there, but I also know that I'm not in his thoughts, his life is going on--as it should.

Then I checked my alter ego's email, and there was a message...

from Charlie.

It wasn't to me, mind you. It was to my alter-ego who had just posed as a stranger admiring his artwork. He was replying out of professional courtesy--just a part of networking for the artist, I suppose.

Common sense tells me to leave it at that. Since my alter ego doesn't really exist, I don't have to worry about if it is discourteous for her to say nothing in reply to his message.

It's such a shame because, on a professional level, I would really like to work with him again. I blew it before, but given the distance of time and space, I've come to see what a mistake that was. We really could have done great things together.

HOWEVER, given the goal stated in my last blog of staying married to Todd, even toying with the idea of any contact with Charlie (even as a stranger) might be construed as inviting a pet Sea Monkey into the Gulf of Toddeni ("Todd and I", cute, huh?) It may just swim around for a few weeks, feeding on the bacteria in the water and growing to a mighty 1/18th of an inch; but then again, I guess it could find the right environment in the quagmire to grow into a ravenous, fire-breathing monster.

So, Sorry, Charlie!

For now, I must re-evaluate the wisdom of my alter-ego dialoging with you. I need to know you aren't a monster (and even more--to be perfectly honest--I need to know that you won't bring out the monster in me.)

[Note: the monster picture above is my quick rendition of a disguised version of Charlie's painting]