The Golden Second Fiddle

There is a time when life is grand and gold and all things are possible. Youth has brass balls and no one can break them. In youth we think we’re the epitome of golden gods. No one can take away the certainty that we are young and immortal.

Immortality fades away taking youth with it. Caressing carefree uncertainty is replaced only by the responsibilities in adulthood.

The brass will tarnish and years go by. We tuck old loves away into memories. Once a boy haunted my parents’ driveway. He slipped hands under blouses and I imagined our forever. We named our babies and I scribbled my first name with his last name. Drew hearts on chalkboards. Carved names into wooden benches. Kept journals recording our happy prom night and the disappointing homecoming dance where my eyes were stained with tears. In every picture is a forced smile. I found out at dinner he had kissed another girl. We went to the dance and I tried to shimmer in my gold, off-the-rack-clearance dress from an old department store. They call it Macy’s today, it was Lazarus in those golden days.

When we finally broke-up, I cried. I sang my sad songs.

Sappy pathetic little me
That was the girl I used to be
You had me on my knees
I’d trade you places any day
I’d never thought you could be that way
But you looked like me on Sunday
You came in with the breeze
On Sunday morning…

-No Doubt, Sunday Morning

I wondered if any man could replace the only love I had known. I found others after him and I made them shine golden on their pedestals. But when my first marriage failed, I crawled back into that old teenage boyfriend’s lap and sobbed. He was no longer my love. He was my friend. Until he met his love, his real love, his forever love, his marrying love. We said our goodbyes and I truly hoped him and his forever would make it. Because he deserved to be loved. I knew in our departing days, before I ran off and got married, that I wasn’t his forever place. I couldn’t be the place he called “home”.

We were too young, too different, that first love and me. Gemini and Pisces can court a great friendship, but not a romance. The bad fish and the bad twin will clash making Titans tremble in fear. To this day, I never wish to pit myself against a Gemini. We know how to hurt each other too much with our duality.

A scorpion came and stung my heart, grasped me in his pinchers and seductively charmed me in only a way that a Scorpio can. Hooked a fish with a great whale of a tale. I’ve never been able to resist the pleasantry this mysterious sign will weave with lures glittering in the water. I see the bait and I open my mouth to swallow his offer to settle with me.

Bitten. Stung. Grasped tightly and squeezed for fifteen years. Playing second fiddle to his first love. In some ways we are all second fiddles to someone else’s love.

Competing with the sirens and tritons who came before us. Each love we hold in our hearts are placed on some kind of pedestal. There is a dangerous discord that happens when we fail to let go of a past that never happened. A dream that could never be achieved.

I took my Gemini off his pedestal when his love was no longer my love. I wished him the best because I only wanted him to have the best in life and love and marriage. Because I loved him. He was not meant to be my immortal beloved.

I’ve placed several men on his pedestal since we ended. The last being my married love.

Maybe all this time, I’ve placed the wrong person on a pedestal.

I am a mere mortal to the god he originally loved. I am a creature born with enormous flowing flaws. Born with an ocean in my heart and on my sleeve. I need to take a hook out of my mouth and spit out the blood it left. As a woman, I need to climb out of the depths and remember I am no man’s second fiddle.

Remember to climb tall, and while my youth may be wasted and lines are forever forming around my eyes and mouth, beauty hasn’t disappeared entirely. There’s still a glittering person inside my skin. There is a softness in my touch. There are elongated legs which can rise up and meet passion, wrapping the deserving in lust and love. There are lips which do not need to lie, but can kiss away every bad moment a mind tries to recall. There is still a beating heart in my heaving chest.

There’s still a person in this body.

Living.  Breathing.  Seeing.  Smelling.  Touching. 

There’s always second chances to be the only fiddle a man wishes to play.

We are the golden tarnished brass youth. Once a long time ago, I became the settlement provided to a man who didn’t desire my beauty sitting in front of him. I’ve learned I am still beautiful. I’ve learned men were never meant to be worshipped as gods. I’ve learned the only pedestal I wish to place someone on is reserved for myself.

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1 Comment on "The Golden Second Fiddle"

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I loved reading this, just to learn a life so very different from my own, so vastly, wonderfully, compellingly alien to me, yet I’m sure very recognisable to many.

I really like your sentiment though, that the pedestal should be for you. Because I totally get it, that those we pedestal rarely love us the same in return.

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