Let's talk of exes, you and I, beneath the pale and treacherous sky.

Not all fish swim in water.

So an ex, or rather the long-distance-correspondence-ex who did his best but failed to sweep me off my email ten (? yowza) years ago when I lived with another fellow (who in hindsight hated me), long before I ever met the good man I married, that ex wrote to me in form of an invitation to join this exclusive type of regional friendster thing. I responded and said no thanks but feel free to write, and what have you been doing with your bad self these long years between? This penpal-ex of mine was considerate and gave me hope and courage when I felt particularly lost; his words helped me through a troubled time and as I told him, I was glad he contacted me.

He wrote back to me and I recalled his propensity for long-windedness, comparable to Henry James or James Fenimore Cooper. Blah blah blahhhhh. "Prolific" is an appropriate definition. Brevity never was his style. He told me his tale and asked how am I, how is life, etc etc.

I responded that things are going well. I then mapped out my concerns for starting up a correspondence with him. I know exactly how I would feel if my husband got in contact with and began writing regularly to his ex-girlfriend; I trust him enough so I wouldn't demand he stop, but, well, it would not please me. I would wonder at the content of their discussions, and the curiosity would ache in all the wrong places. My husband's trust in me is of utmost importance, and I expect any friend, former love interest or not, to respect my marriage. I was tactful and considerate but made it clear that flirtation was unacceptable.

Ex wrote back to this response, pissed off about my "pre-emptive smack-down," that I would presume the only reason he had contacted me was to pursue me again, derisive that I dare assume after all was said and done and hindsight being what it is that he was capable of falling in love with me again, yadda yadda yadda. He then proceeded to tell me off, that what I had done ten years ago, living with one man and carrying on a romantic correspondence with another, even though both were aware of the situation, was a rotten, terrible thing to do.

Since the only regret I have from that time of madness and unhappiness was my unfairness to them both, I wrote back and apologized, reminding him about the passage of years, and how young we all were, but essentially telling him I am sorry, because I am, that I lived two separate, incomplete lives, and that yes, he got the short end of the stick. I would not relive those two long fucked-up years for anything. I'm older and better now. I also apologized (although I have my doubts, especially given his vehement denial, for "presuming" he had contacted me because he still views me as a love interest, if only just as "the one that got away") for the "pre-emptive smack-down" and tried to explain it in a way he might not misconstrue, but just the brief reunion with him via email also reminded me how much he likes to read into words. I closed my missive by saying I hope for his sake he can forgive me for something I did so long ago.

But what I didn't say to him, and maybe I should have, is that he was not totally faultless in the situation, nor was he ignorant of the situation, nor is he above being asked his current intention or purpose for contacting me. I have a policy of forgetting the name of every man as I shake his hand and make his acquaintance; not because I don't trust myself, but because it completely eliminates any chance of distraction. My marriage is happy and healthy and focused, and as I am inclined to tell my sweet spouse, "'Us' is my favorite thing." I have no room for the emotional blathering of someone who still, after nearly ten years, carries around memories of a failed relationship with me in a big black bag.

There are so many more important things to do, and see, and feel, and consider.