In my vengeful hours, I imagine all the men who I feel should beg for my forgiveness. I create dramatic scenarios. Either I’ve become a big star, or I’m on my deathbed, and the men wish they had valued me more when they had the chance.The hospital scene goes like this: I’m lying on a gurney hooked up to an IV with bandages covering my identity like in a soap opera. My long brown hair is fanned out on the pillow, so they know it’s me, and “he” (we can plug at least 4 men in here) comes to my bedside.
At this moment, he realizes how much he loves me. Will I EVER forgive him??? (If this ex-lover is Jewish, there’s usually a cousin of mine from Brooklyn praying by my bedside with a siddur. This evokes even harder pangs of guilt.)
The “star” scenario involves my looking beautiful and happy and doing an interview on David Letterman while the men watch from their miserable couches with their miserable wives. If the ex-lover is an artist, there’s a pathetic guitar or a crappy manuscript by his side, which he slams against the wall when we cut to a commercial.
If this all sounds sick to you, well, I’m sure you’ve had these thoughts before too. At least I’m admitting them. But after all this meticulous daydreaming, I usually end up feeling guilty. And then I need to forgive myself.
For my fantastic imagination;
For the sin of thinking of hospitals;
For loving men just too damn hard;
For being human.
Vanessa Hidary has been featured on “Russell Simmons’s Def Poetry Jam” and in her own solo show, “Culture Bandit.” www.hebrewmamita.com
