From the Field

Today was the first day back at work with faculty and staff. This was also the first time I've seen Schitzo since the last day of school in May.

(All of my ex-whatevers have nicknames. Some are more creative like Schitzo, some are a little crude like Dipshit, and some are not-so-creative like Soldier Bill. His name is Bill and he's a soldier. I fail.)

Schitzo and I have a complicated but relatively short past. Some representative complications:

- He and I are co-workers, teachers at the same school.
- He has lots of baggage. Seriously, I have a carry on; he has a matching set on wheels.
- I am 26 years old.
- He is 50 years old. (So sue me, he's hot!)
- The first time we kissed was in his kitchen at 2am while a student was asleep on the sofa in the living room. Oh, and his son was asleep in the bedroom.
- I really like kissing him.
- On the last day of school, I told him to "fuck off" in a gloriously dramatic manner. I got applause from the geometry teacher down the hall.
- And oh yeah, he's schitzo! ("I want you, you're hot - nevermind you're a little girl - I mean let's have casual sex - I need to find myself - please don't give up on me!")

How short? We discovered mutual attraction in the vicinity of Superbowl, we weren't speaking by mid-May. And it stayed that way until today. I was so worried about seeing him. I don't want him anymore, he's far too broken to even attempt. Not to mention, he has brokenness that predates my existence. A lot, actually.

But the attraction was so strong, back in the Spring. We wanted nothing more than each other's company, nothing more than conversation that meandered for hours. Cigarettes and bottles of wine and guitar music and deep conversation and laughing and laughing and laughing. And it’s all gone now. Too much hurt to even attempt friendship.

And with a heavy heart and a distressed mind, I went into that school this morning knowing I would have to face him. Knowing he had intentionally ignored me for three months. Knowing he would look at me the way he always has, with lust and superiority. So what did I do?

I gave him markers. First thing, before he could even say hello.

So why give him markers? Simple - I disarmed him. My act of giving was neither contrition nor surrender. It was my way of establishing how the relationship was going to be defined. We are professionals (myself more so then he), and I can play nice. But my congeniality ends there, with school related needs. He will neither take advantage nor reap pleasure from me.

I gave markers with my boundaries. And he understood.