The Exchange
You know those prisoner exchange scenes in the movies? The ones where two opposing factions are parked on either end of a bridge, guns drawn, high beams on, and it's midnight. At the appointed time a battered, shaken, and possibly bound individual emerges from each set of headlights and begins making his way to the opposite side. The two pass somewhere in the middle distance and finally make it into the waiting arms of their compatriots from whom they had been taken. Doesn't ring a bell? Go watch the the foreign exchange program episode of The Simpsons from Season 1 and you'll have an idea.
Anyway, I think the closest everyday people ever come to a situation like that is the post-breakup exchange of possessions. That fuzzy time when a sort of calm has settled in and everyone is trying to make a return to his or her antebellum way of life. I had my Exchange Moment on Monday night and it was as awkward as to be expected. She gave me back the book and DVD that had been left at her condo. I gave her the money that I owed her from a plane ticket she had bought for a trip that we were supposed to take before I rather abruptly ended things. It's pretty fucked up...
But the one outstanding possession that lingers in Limbo is my black t-shirt (I know, what a cliche), my black Jimmy Page "Zoso" t-shirt to be exact. The shirt I have owned for over 15 years. My first "band shirt." Do I really want it back? Kinda. Do I really need it back? I don't know. It barely, I mean barely, fits me and she looks 1000 times better in it than I ever did. Perhaps it is in better hands.
posted by Jason @ 7:52 AM
10 comments
10 Comments:
collateral damage, my dear. besides your heart, you have to leave behind something else that hurts.
It's like the Ben Folds Five song in real life!
Exactly...only I'm the bad guy.
Let her have your t-shirt. It will probably leave you with a better memory, in the end, than getting it back.
Lillith-Tenille
Men always seem to lose some article of clothing when a relationship ends...
Problem is you don’t have righteous indignation on your side, as the dumper. I hearken back to a period in my life I like to call the “Ty Offensive.” Plane tickets were purchased, and he forced me to go to a notary public post-breakup to sign something saying I didn’t want the tickets. It was totally unnecessary, but I would have done anything to appease my guilt over breaking up with him. I would have signed my firstborn away. So yeah, asking for a shirt back must be done delicately. Or not at all.
when you break a lease does that mean you have to leave your furniture behind in the old apartment? no. i feel the same way about a breakup- even if you are the dumper you should get your stuff back. i'm still mourning the loss of my favorite pennywise tshirt- i feel your pain.
I tend to look at such things as parting gifts :) 'thank you for playing the dating game - you've won two DVD's, 3 t-shirts and a pair of boxer shorts!'
Ah Pud, thank you for dredging up a memory that I had buried deep in the recesses of my mind. About a month after one such breakup of my own, I received a rather large package at work. My initial excitement and curiosity quickly turned to sheer horror as I opened a box full of undershirts (dirty), boxers (dirty), books, and CDs in front of several coworkers. It was quite a while before I stopped hearing about the day I received my Breakup Box.
Why is this the first time I am hearing about this? That is hilarious...go home and put on "My Michelle."
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