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July 07, 2008

of apples and trees

Sarah remains a popular topic of conversation in my circle. The nickname situation has yet to resolve itself. "Poor Sarah" has been around over a year, and I suppose it remains my favorite. "Triple Dipper" has gained some traction, though, in honor of her comparison-shopping three guys at once early this year. Perhaps the most obscure is "White Strips," in honor of her asking me to use them on my teeth—then dumping me four days later, while I was wearing them.

Lately friends have speculated about how she reconciles history with mythology. Specifically, how does she reconcile the idyllic romance of new love with the deceitful creepiness of how she got there? Alas, there's no mystery. I've seen her do it too many times. She has chucked me under the bus. And she didn't hesitate.

Yes, I can say with certainty that I've joined every other person she's wronged. First we're diminished in importance, and then we're vilified. Her first affair, for instance, was dismissed as an "out of body experience." A nine-month out of body experience, as it turns out. And he was reviled as a scary psycho for infractions like e-mailing her once in eight months, to wish her a happy birthday.

Yeah, a complete psycho.

Her traditional stratagem does double-duty: it excuses whatever drastic measures Sarah had to undertake to defend herself (typically, inserting a new penis inside her), and it's a tremendous source of new pity. Poor Sarah. Victim of so many unsavory characters. She deserves better. Poor, poor Sarah.

• • •

I've written before about the Poor Sarah effect. If Seatards introduce themselves by ticking off the trends they're into, Sarah introduces herself by ticking off the abuses she's suffered at others' hands. Extorting pity works for her. It's all she knows.

Two stories.

Poor Sarah

A few days after I posted this and told a mutual friend that I was seethingly angry, Sarah showed up. She had dumped me on the phone, so I hadn't seen her for two months, since the last time she dropped by and had me buy her dinner.

Anyway, she took me on my deck and held my hand and told me about her new life of integrity and honesty. There was simply no place there for me, and now she has to work on her. Sounds like a great plan, I thought sarcastically. "I have a new therapist." Yeah, you probably don't wanna tell the old one that you're still up to your old tricks. Or did you just sleep with the old one's husband? She talked for a half hour and took no questions before bolting. She didn't admit to Rich, who I already knew about. Nope, she just wanted to play her victim card and get out.

"And John," she said meaningfully, her voice cracking and her eyes trying but failing to well with tears, "There's more sexual abuse stuff. In my past. That I never even told you about."

She offered no further detail. This latest seemed unlikely, as I already didn't believe half of what she had told me about. But I appreciated her Poor Sarahing me one last time. Most girls just give you a goodbye boink. This was more personal.

Poor Deb

Not two weeks after the breakup, with Sarah leaving me no explanation and ignoring my calls and emails, I was desperate for a little insight. So I wrote my predecessor, who was actually far more honest and helpful than Sarah has ever been. Sarah found out. My desperate search for answers persecuted her, of course. And soon my phone rang. It was Deb, her mother. I liked Deb.

Sarah doesn't know I'm calling you, she lied. I just want to ask you not to hurt my daughter.

I asked what the hell she was talking about, so she changed tactics furiously.

I'm afraid that she might harm herself. John, you've never met my daughter. She's mentally ill. I've begged her to get on medication. You're older than her; you should know better than to think this would have worked. And on and on. And then, without warning, she uttered a sentence that would, like a switch was thrown, make sense out of everything for me. "John," her voiced cracked. "I just can't handle this. I mean, John, do you know...about...how I was abused during childhood?"

"Holy shit," I said to the friend next to me. "I just got Poor Debbed."

posted by john at 06:21 AM  •  solamente