You're Lucky

Yes.

Someone who fights for what he wants.

Someone who stops at no lengths to get what he believes he deserves.

Someone who takes matters into his own hands and achieves anything he sets his mind to.

How lucky I am.

That's what you said to me not once, but multiple times. And not immediately after committing the crime but weeks after committing the crime and fucking the ducks I worked so hard to have in line. How you were able to look me in the eyes while ripping it from my hands I'll ever understand. And still not a nickel paid back.

I can't even tell myself you were broke and desperate or on the verge of bankruptcy. I can't tell myself you had no other option, no assets or living assistance. I can't tell myself we were mid-fight and you were black-out irate or that this wasn't going anywhere anyway.

I can't tell myself you were drunk.

I can’t tell myself you mistook me for someone else.

I can't tell myself you were mid-midlife crisis or diagnosed with a mental illness or donating it to a charity or feeding the homeless.

I can't tell myself you made an impulsive, thoughtless decision that you immediately regretted and have worked hard to correct every day since.

"You’re lucky" is what you said to me as you parked outside my apartment in your newly refurbished jeep taking time out of your day and gas out of your tank for a bite to eat and a drive past the bank.

"You’re lucky" is what you said to provoke me, because provoked to you means invested. Invested in this; in us. Invested enough to be beside myself. Invested enough to invest effort into voicing the injustice of this, on the off chance you didn't know any better or forgot the rules or that life since we became "we" has been better for you.

Invested enough to hope you'll fix your mistake and hopeful enough to think we're even fixable.

"You’re lucky" and what a treat it must have been, hey? For the ego to feast off my utter shock and horror and for the temporary distraction from your desperate chronic boredom. It’s what you said to further fix my focus on you; to center my attention around the insanity that is this moment and the lack of words I had to describe you. When it comes to the spotlight what does it matter? Whether you're ahead or in red you'll take what you can get.

"You're lucky to get any of it back," is what you said as you handed me the remaining 74 fucking dollars crumpled up in the creases of your wallet and resentfully fished out the loonies and toonies from the cup holder to make sure I knew how selfish I am to completely clean you out.

I stare blankly at the notes in my hand. Shaking. Uncontrollably.

“Dom,” you say.

Did all the crickets die?

“Dom, look at me.”

I can’t speak. I can’t think. I can’t comprehend how this came to be my to-be. I can’t understand how you claim to be a human be.

Let’s get one thing straight, shall we?

You gave me nothing back. You let me retrieve what you didn't have time left to spend. You didn't give me a wiser, stronger you. You didn't give me reason to try to repair the respect I once had for you. You didn't give me something to believe in. You didn't give me remorse, futility or humility; justice, compassion or vulnerability. You didn’t make this a better world by being above the actions of your past. You didn't pose as an example for your kids or play a role for others to model or follow the arrow of the moral compass you yourself demands in your list of ever-changing ethical "standards." You didn't lose sleep over how this defines you and your future and the ironically karmic debt you’re now contracted to. You didn't run miles day in and day out doing everything you can and anything it takes to right the wrong you committed to.

"You’re lucky" is what you said to me the day I realized it's true. How lucky I am to be me instead of you and the catching up your forgotten conscience has to do. How lucky I am to be in the position I’m in to know I’m in line with justice while you struggle off grid; to both empathize with and admire the next who will leave you quicker than I did.

"You're lucky,” and you know better, O Narc of my Life-- I don't believe in luck. You were a choice, not a coin toss. I won’t win the lotto out of luck. I've already won the lotto out of loss.