Private journal entry
Nov. 24th, 2009 05:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
needsmoregun... Shit.
I ain't stupid. I know I came down hard on the fella. Just - Jesus, did he have to bring that up right there like that? I didn' do a goddamn thing out of the ordinary - made sure of that, I always do. Who the hell's he think he is, makin' assumptions like that?
Then again... hell, why's it matter? He already coulda figured I was queer. Didn't push 'im away hard enough when he got close. Some kinda nasty habit, I guess; easier to trust people you got somethin' in common with. Same effect got me back in Chicago. 'N here you'd think somebody with that many papers published would be capable of learnin' a thing or two...
No, that ain't even it. I just can't stand seein' Rich dragged into all this, 's all. Ain't right. He got well clear of this place, 'n there's no reason any of it oughta follow him.
And the kid... I ain't proud of it, but... well, just hearin' him talk about it like that. So goddamn easy. Like I didn' spend half my goddamn life hidin' the fact that Richard Bennett existed. I could hate him for just that much - just reducin' a lifetime of work to nothin'. Lesser'n the meanest atom... for what? For him to sit there 'n look smug while my heart's knockin' up against my ribs at the thought of bein' found out, again? Havin' Rich suffer for my mistakes, again?
I didn't push him away, when it came to that. Why didn't I do that? Guess I was just weak. I got used to havin' somebody around I could count on, 'n I got soft. I wanted - hell. I don't know. A fallback, or a contingency plan, or... just to be able to go over to that shop again, maybe. Pretend like...
... Hell, I need a drink 'f I'm gonna be thinkin' about this. To hell with it. Ain't important what I wanted. I did what I did, 'n then I left that poor son of a bitch standin' there like a fool, and for what? 'Cuz I wasn't man enough to quit thinkin' when I should've. Ever since that dummy left, I've been sittin' here worryin' over the space he left like a bad tooth, 'n Tom's the one payin' the price. Whatever the kid might've done, I got no right to put him through that on my account.
Rich still hasn't written back yet. Been over two weeks now. Either I'm gonna assume somethin' went wrong with the mail, or that he's been meanin' to write and can't, or that he's out there dead someplace... or, if all that ain't true, s'far as I can tell, it follows logically that he might just not give a shit. And that's natural and healthy, him not givin' a shit.
... any rate, I owe the kid an apology of some sort. Gonna have to think carefully about how to handle that one. I know he probably wants some kinda explanation, but he's just gonna have to deal with the fact that he ain't gonna get one so long as Rich's name's still in the company records. Nah, I'll have to think up somethin' else.
I ain't stupid. I know I came down hard on the fella. Just - Jesus, did he have to bring that up right there like that? I didn' do a goddamn thing out of the ordinary - made sure of that, I always do. Who the hell's he think he is, makin' assumptions like that?
Then again... hell, why's it matter? He already coulda figured I was queer. Didn't push 'im away hard enough when he got close. Some kinda nasty habit, I guess; easier to trust people you got somethin' in common with. Same effect got me back in Chicago. 'N here you'd think somebody with that many papers published would be capable of learnin' a thing or two...
No, that ain't even it. I just can't stand seein' Rich dragged into all this, 's all. Ain't right. He got well clear of this place, 'n there's no reason any of it oughta follow him.
And the kid... I ain't proud of it, but... well, just hearin' him talk about it like that. So goddamn easy. Like I didn' spend half my goddamn life hidin' the fact that Richard Bennett existed. I could hate him for just that much - just reducin' a lifetime of work to nothin'. Lesser'n the meanest atom... for what? For him to sit there 'n look smug while my heart's knockin' up against my ribs at the thought of bein' found out, again? Havin' Rich suffer for my mistakes, again?
I didn't push him away, when it came to that. Why didn't I do that? Guess I was just weak. I got used to havin' somebody around I could count on, 'n I got soft. I wanted - hell. I don't know. A fallback, or a contingency plan, or... just to be able to go over to that shop again, maybe. Pretend like...
... Hell, I need a drink 'f I'm gonna be thinkin' about this. To hell with it. Ain't important what I wanted. I did what I did, 'n then I left that poor son of a bitch standin' there like a fool, and for what? 'Cuz I wasn't man enough to quit thinkin' when I should've. Ever since that dummy left, I've been sittin' here worryin' over the space he left like a bad tooth, 'n Tom's the one payin' the price. Whatever the kid might've done, I got no right to put him through that on my account.
Rich still hasn't written back yet. Been over two weeks now. Either I'm gonna assume somethin' went wrong with the mail, or that he's been meanin' to write and can't, or that he's out there dead someplace... or, if all that ain't true, s'far as I can tell, it follows logically that he might just not give a shit. And that's natural and healthy, him not givin' a shit.
... any rate, I owe the kid an apology of some sort. Gonna have to think carefully about how to handle that one. I know he probably wants some kinda explanation, but he's just gonna have to deal with the fact that he ain't gonna get one so long as Rich's name's still in the company records. Nah, I'll have to think up somethin' else.
