Not Very Zen of Me

I admit it - I want to key Henry's new car.

You might remember Henry, he was my very first posting, as in, "Getting over Henry." In fact, I almost named the entire weblog that. The blog was created entirely BECAUSE of that. Then I thought it was stupid to color the future course of my life with an ending. So Henry was relegated to a mere posting, instead of an entire domain. He would be simultaneously mortified and entirely thrilled all at the same time if he knew about any of this. But he loves the drama, loves the ego stroking.

Anyway. I officially hate him (but not really). I stepped away when he refused me. I did it graciously. I was friendly. I didn't bother him with melodrama. Maybe that was the problem. He wanted me to continue to chase the dream so he would feel important. Stupid boy, he was important.

Why I am pissed is that for the last two and a half months, I have been living with the appalling information that he thinks I have been slandering him, that I hate him (which I didn't, but now I should), that I have somehow wronged him. If I had done something ignoble I would feel sorry for him. But I haven't, and this is nothing but an assault on my character.

I haven't uttered a peep.

He swore we'd always be friends, but he's barely extended a little finger in my direction since the Halloween party.
The party which he practically begged me to attend, sniped at me for leaving, despite my assurances to return, and then made out in the hallway with some girl. I found this out just as soon as I returned to his house. And again the next morning when the self-appointed town crier visited me on my front stoop. Yet again, when he made sure my friend Michael knew he had a date with her. Because he knew it would get back to me. It's not nice. It's really kind of cruel.

So I wrote him a little letter over the Holidays. Extended an olive branch, though I haven't had a hand in the war. I said I'd heard that he thought I'd done him wrong. I told him I hadn't, that if he'd paid attention to who I actually am, that would seem an impossibility. I'm not a mean person. I've only ever wanted the best for him. Etc.

Nothing. No reply.

Then this week, as I walked to my driveway, I heard a car pull up beside me. I look over, and Henry is peering out the window, looking at me. Just as I barely registered the who and the what of it, he drove off. No hello, no wave, no nothing. A year and a half as friends, five months of US, one month of us as just friends again, and then nothing.

There's nothing I hate more than nothing.

What the fuck?

1) Don't sleep with your neighbors (actually, I'm sure I'd do it all over again.)
2) He's insane. (I'd still do it all over again.)

In his driveway sit a 60s muscle car, a Range Rover, and a brand new Audi of some sporty sort.

The question is, which one?