june 24

jenn

Have I ever mentioned that when I was 18 and lived in Chicago that I was in love with a woman named Jenn? (Funny, I can't remember if she spelled it "Jenn" or "Jen"). Well, I was. It wasn't really love; I even knew that then. And I knew it was an incredibly unhealthy relationship. She took advantage of my feelings and I completely let her. Knowingly. When I moved back to Portland, and she sensed I was moving on with my life she started to play manipulative mind games, trying to get me to stay with her. It didn't work and after the last incident of "you're so mean to me" I cut her off. And haven't spoken to her since. So it's been over 10 years.

I remember the first time I saw her. Her then-roommate came to my door to introduce her to me. We lived in an old building in Chicago's Gold Coast for women studying in the arts. It happened instantly. I don't know what to call it. Recognition? I suppose it was just lust. She was my ideal: androgynous but with a feminine face, slight build, boyish hair. Shy. Flirty.

Let me just tell you that in those days, I lacked tack. That may be an understatement. I was always saying things that should not be said outloud. If I had a question I just asked it. If someone pissed me off, I told them. It was a problem. My close friends put up with it but it made a lot of people uncomfortable. It's probably the number one thing I've worked on over the years. Tact. Discretion. Sensitivity.

I flat out asked Jenn if she was gay. She was just coming out and it was too much for her. But really, it was obvious, and once I put it out there I could pursue her. I think that was my motive. Me, I had a boyfriend who lived in New York. I'd never kissed a girl. I wasn't sure what I was. At the time I just identified as bi because it was the easiest thing to do. (It wasn't really, which I would later learn when men really just wanted to date me so they could watch me fuck a woman and women wouldn't date me because they assumed I'd leave them for a man). But really I just wanted her. No other woman really interested me. I knew I would never have her, and if I ever did have her it would be a disaster. And when I say I knew this I don't mean "deep down I knew." I mean, I knew and told myself over and over. And then I'd tell myself I didn't care. And I still pursued her.

Eventually Jenn moved in with my roommate, Monica, and me. Long story, but it happened. I remember not being able to breathe at first. She was so close. All the time. And I felt completely powerless.

My attraction to her was obvious to everyone around us. And her constant toying with me was, too. People asked me about it. I was as obtuse as I could be, but, like I said, that wasn't my strong point. And at some level, we were good friends. We had fun together. And then we started fooling around. And that was the beginning of the end.

I decided, independently of my feelings for her, that I needed to leave Chicago. I knew I didn't belong there, I was miserable, and I wasn't going to find what I wanted there. I still didn't know what it was that I was looking for, I just knew it wasn't here. A few months after I moved back to Portland, she and a mutual friend, Josh, visited me. Josh was in love with me and I toyed with him. (Revenge?) Jenn and I fooled around some more but by then, I already knew this was going no where, would end soon, and just took what I could while I could.

A few months later I started dating Molly. Jenn played jealous. She'd write to me and tell me I'd been mean to her when she was depressed. Actually, I'd taken her to the emergency room several times when she had alcohol poisoning and her enlarged spleen, a result of an attempted OD in high school, pained her. So, I cut her off. It was a relief. Molly and I didn't last very long. Then I met A*. And all my lesbian friends dumped me.

Years later, this must have been in '97 or '98, Josh called me out of the blue. To tell me he and Jenn were getting married. Besides the fact that his family are Zionist Jews and hers are Catholic, I thought the fact that she was gay and he was a man would get in the way. I really thought he was joking. But he insisted. So I did the only thing I could and congratulated him. I was promised an invitation, but, not surprisingly, one never came. I don't think they ever got married. But I could be wrong about that.

My memories of her are getting fuzzy. I know I can go back and read the volumes of journals where I wrote about her. Even though I cut her off I wrote about her for years after that last contact. In fact, for a while she was all I wrote about. I had to write her out of me. And, eventually, I did.

I don't think it's coincidental that she was a writer, too. A poet. It was one of the main things we had in common. I Google her sometimes, late at night when I should be working (like tonight), and see what she's up to. I usually find references to poetry readings, the place where she teaches kids ( I *cannot* picture her teaching kids), and gushing references to her in teeny-bopper journals at Diaryland. Those are hilarious. I imagine they're students with crushes. One time I emailed a young woman who referenced one of Jenn's chapbooks. I wanted to get a copy of one and told the woman I'd been Jenn's roommate in Chicago. Later, in another Google search, I found that this woman, who was getting published, referenced our conversation in an interview with a magazine. Yikes. I decided to lay low. I really don't want to have contact with her.

But I did once, about 2 years ago. Sort of. I found her email address. It was certainly her. I sent what I thought was a friendly "remember me?" email. No response. I looked back a few weeks later to see what I wrote and I was horrified. I sounded like a stalker. I made reference to her perfume (then it was Benetton Colors), and intimate moments, and I don't know what else but it was definitely psycho language. I had known for some time that I couldn't be trusted with her and this was further proof. I thought about apologizing but I decided it was pointless. I should never speak to this woman again. Ever.

When I first met A* the connections between he and Jenn were eerie. They're from the same town in Michigan. They have the same birthday. Well, I guess that's the end of the connection, but the birthday one really startled me. It's as if he's the male, healthy version of Jenn. That's a pathetic stretch, but I could never right it off as just a cooincidence.

She's on my mind right now because we're headed back to Michigan this weekend. I have this feeling I'll see her. Or maybe it's a fantasy. My fantasy is that I will see her with my husband and my six-months-pregnant belly and know for sure that I have moved on. Why is there any question? I have moved on. Perhaps it's because I realize I'm letting go of so many things now, with this baby coming. Accepting that my life is changing and I am starting down a new path and forever closing the door on others. You'd think that I would have gone through all of this when I got married, but I didn't. And just having a baby certainly doesn't preclude me from ever being with a woman again (not that I have any desire to be in a relationship other than the one I've got, I'm just pointing out that these feelings aren't logical).

Or maybe there's a part of me that wants to know this talented woman apart from my obsession with her. I really am curious. Did she marry Josh? Were they ever together? How did she start teaching kids? Does she have any of her own? (This just occurred to me.) And what is she writing? I can't get my hands on any of it. But none of this would ever happen without some discussion of the past and I would never go there with her. It would be pointless. We'd never see it the same way. And I don't want to explain myself to her.

There's no ending to this story. This is just what I'm thinking about tonight. Do you think I'll run in to her in Michigan?

- june 24