Sleeping with the enemy. Is blood thicker than water?

Fool me once, shame on you.

Fool me twice, shame on me.

Once day, leaning over to read the fine print, one may find the self sensing something. Then, a head turn to the left,

And.

Bam.

Face to face.

With a person I used to know.

Thought I knew.

One of only two humans that I used to share a bed with.

(I continue to be of the kind required to look up the word “promiscuous” in Websters, Oxford, Colin’s and Cambridge.)

Why? So I would be certain to understand what it meant, it’s meanings. Explicitly and Implicitly.

The face to face was awkward, weird even. I hardly recognized the person standing in front of me. I felt a “flash” maybe even a “blip” of familiarity and then,

Bam.

A rush of mimicried emotions flooded my brainwaves and my hands froze, my arms stayed mummified. I couldn’t move… the experiences and memories came back too fast, too furious.

This person and I share a past.

Together we hid together in some close knit places, trying to block out noise and such. It was the worst of times, not quite the best of times. We look alike but we’re very different. In our cores. Core values, Core beliefs. What we shared, surely bonded us in ways unimaginably unfortunate. One would think that could or would bond for life.

Except of course.

Competition arose.

Opportunities presented themselves.

Battle lines drawn.

Boundary lines too.

The flood of memories rush in in the moment and the feelings of shrinking with the thoughts that you are “Just too easy.”

To put one over on.

Thus, my love affair with all things dictionary.

I think this person was down right thrilled to see me. To “catch up” on all things me and leave me down trodden and downcast in their dust.

Hope.

Is a four letter word.

Hope and change is make believe. A fantasy land of whodunnit or who will make the first move. A make you believe you are nuts, crazy, stupid and clueless.

Hope and cope rhyme. They sound alike.

But that is about all they have in common.

Kinda like my face to face “companion” and I.

Fool me once, shame on you.

Now.

Fool me twice, I take the high road outta there as fast as I can. I used to try to get outta there in the earlier days, however childhood has its ways of confusing the best of us.

Way back when, as fast as I could, when I had the opportunity to flee, I fled. Up a tree, down the street, wherever. Walking back in is oftentimes the hardest part.

In our small talk chat that day, there were the recognition that nothing had changed. Yet, everything had changed. In our polite conversation, there was the sensed expectation by me that I would once again “give it all up for free.” My life, my life story. Chewed up, spit out, back in my direction and a “see ya.” Thanks for the scoop.

I received a hearty hug, two actually. I froze in a fear of here we go again. Different person, same old same old. Heartbreaking. We used to be bonded by a mutual hate. Not of one another. Of situations and circumstances.

Hate. Another four letter word worth dissection—like the 8th grade science fair frog project. Bless frog for giving his life to science.

Hate is a necessary word in some instances—-so long as it is not acted upon.

Familial bonds are not always stronger than other relationships. Therein lies the competitive lesson of the day.

Or.

The competition question of the day.

Make friends with the enemy?

Make nice with the enemy?

Hang up on the enemy?

Sleep with the enemy?

Madly text to boot out the enemy?

Make beautiful music with the enemy?

What to do with the enemy?

When they are staring you in the face.

Make small talk, I guess.

After all, it is the only thoughtful and polite thing to do,

right?

Wouldn’t want to get a bad rep, a bad reputation at the hands of a person who I used to sleep with—one who enjoys the act of spreading and feeding the stories and bad reputations.

How well do we really know anybody anyway?

Even nowadays. With 24/7 surveillance of all things hanging out there for the world to see.

Hey.

If we are honest. We gotta admit it.

Oftentimes, we do it to ourselves🫢

Like most things in this crazy thing called life(another four letter word) it is complicated.

Doesn’t have to be.

But. It. Is.

Hanging on by a thread to that which may not be too good for you.

Why is it the negative takes the stronger hold of our good sense and our good graces?

Why is that the tearing up of another is to many, the best competitive edge?

Anybody?

Anybody?

I can’t hear you.

Maybe that is a good thing.

The drummer bangs and pounds even harder to get the gang, the band going sometimes.

To make beautiful music?

Together?

Apart?

Without you?

Instead of you?

Nature versus nurture and the sharing of the wrath.

The best we can hope for is for someone to stick it out with us.

The status quo?

May be the only prudent answer.

The only answer worth considering.

One day at a time.

One mind at a time.

Processing through the “meet and greet” that day, the sounds of what we used to hear came flooding into my mind. This person I thought I knew, reminded me that the foundation of our mutual life was largely founded on grief.

Stolen childhood.

A lousy way to live.

The similarities in the fearfilled eyes, the sadness, the wonders of they whys. The innocence of childhood can be so mistakenly thought of as innocent, naive. The evils of adulthood show us what we are all capable of when under the gun, the pressure to get ahead, get out— get better than another at all costs.

To prove we are better.

Less bad.

Than the one throwing the first proverbial fist, word and punch.

To succeed.

To excel.

To figure it all out.