By R. CHASE
Bachelor Behavior
In Chinua Achebe’s classic book, Things Fall Apart, a simple oversight becomes the progenitor of destruction for the African tribe of Ibo (usually spelled Igbo). The forgetfulness of Okonkwo, the protagonist, in cleaning his gun leads to an accidental death, which sets off a fictional seven-year chain of events leading to the (again, fictional) downfall of the tribe and his own suicide.
This narrative was floating through my mind as I sat at Heine Brothers, waiting for Sunshine. Once more, we were meeting to “discuss the relationship”. Once more, she had packed her things into garbage bags and walked out, in the rain, in the dark, wearily trudging down the street to her car in a forced and forlorn pace.
Seven times we had done this dance. Seven times she had left, crying in the cold light of the street lamp, and seven times I had chased her down, cajoled and caressed her, made new pledges, new starts, new plans, and new purposes. But the results were always the same. The arguments and never-ending strife between us would inevitably return to plague the relationship as it always had, and in some new fashion, from some new imagined insult. And every time the cycle repeated itself, another piece of my love was replaced with frustration and resentment.
It was beginning to look a lot like a hurdle race that simply never ended, an eternal test of patience and a task list that was constantly in a state of flux. There was no peace. There was no joy. It was an exhausting marathon of dramatics and unproductive argument.
And while I didn’t quite understand how we’d gotten to that point, I knew that it couldn’t go on. I had pushed through it all because of love, but as we all discover at one time or another in our life simply loving someone is not enough. The dichotomy of love is a hard burden to bear. What makes you intensely happy will also cause you pain and anguish in equal parts.
Our personalities had begun to clash, and in that clash we simply could not come to a compromise. She could not give me the space I needed, and I could not give her the constant attention and affection that she required. We could no longer pretend that it would just work itself out.
Our relationship, like Achebe’s tribe of Ibo, was doomed. Their way of life was an anachronism, they were torn apart by forces greater than their ability to control. No individual act could change the inevitable conclusion.
Some relationships are like this. The inevitability of the situation collapses, and love isn’t enough to hold the pieces together. It’s only enough to hurt very badly as they come crashing down around your head.
“You don’t want to try?” she asked, morosely stirring her coffee.
“We’ve been trying.” I said, staring down at the floor. And that was it. We’d tried as hard as we could. It couldn’t work and we both knew it.
I walked her to her car. We embraced underneath the streetlight for what would be the last time. The hardest moment in my life was that instant in which I had to end the embrace and turn my back on her. It required Herculean effort to trudge that fifty feet to the end of the block and turn away from what I know was her tearful gaze, lingering on the back of my head.
I’d seen her walking away like that, seven times. But she was only going to see me do it once.
There are times when I‘ve made the right choice about the wrong people, and times when I’ve made the wrong choice about the right people. But I never thought it was possible to make the right choice about the right person, and still end up without them. I still don’t know why it worked out that way. But dwelling on the purpose of the Divine is to deny your part in it. We both made our choices. The only adult thing to do was accept it and move on.
But it was the hardest choice I’ve ever made. And despite my utter conviction that it was the right choice, it didn’t feel good. I couldn’t point the finger at any one single event or person that caused our demise. I could only look up at the stars, like Okonkwo, and come the grim realization of this simple fact about all relationships:
Things fall apart.
And they will.
Contact R. Chase at YourVoice@voice-tribune.com.