• Becca

Sour Apples


I don’t really talk about the ongoing conflict with Noah and Mia here. I said pretty much all I needed to say when I published Candy Apple Butterscotch and I didn’t really feel the need to give them any more of my energy. Until now. Now, I have to say something because:


After decades of skating around the legal system by sheer luck, Noah has finally gotten caught and is awaiting his day in court. It’s not for anything that he SHOULD be facing prosecution mind you, no, it is the absolute most petty assinine crime someone could commit, and THAT is the one charge that seems to be stuck to him so far. Of course, he is innocent until proven guilty so I suppose I should say the alleged crime.

I’m not going into any details, both because I respect his privacy and the case is still open. The docket is public, but it’s not my place to air his dirty laundry. At least not in any amount of detail. The case doesn’t have anything to do with me. Aside from this one WTF post as I attempt to process all of the thoughts and emotions swirling around in my head, I won’t be following up.

How did I find out about it if it doesn’t have anything to do with me? Well back in November, Mia accused me of harassment. I guess she was receiving some nasty text messages and for some reason assumed it was me so when she finally called the police I was the first name she mentioned. It obviously wasn’t me, but I was contacted by the police and I decided to follow up a few weeks ago since I hadn’t heard anything for a while. First, I called the reporting officer but he neglected to call me back. Instead of playing an endless game of phone tag with a busy police officer I decided to sift through the county court records.

I didn’t find anything relating to the accusations Mia made against me, but I did find Noah’s ridiculous case docket. The entire thing just absolutely blows my mind. It’s definitely not out of character by any means. While I never mentioned it in my books, Noah has a sordid history with this particular offense. I knew exactly what happened when I saw the charge before I even looked through the docket. I just can’t believe after so many years of getting away with it, he finally got caught.

After the shock wore off and I stopped laughing at the absurdity of it all, my emotions began to cycle through the usual cycle of grief. Once I identified the fact that I was indeed grieving it made me frustrated and angry. I wasn’t angry at Noah for being Noah, I was angry at myself for caring about how his stupid choice affects him, his family, and Mia at all. Noah clearly doesn’t care since he made the choice to allegedly commit the crime in the first place, but I was deeply concerned for every single one of them.

For about… forty-eight hours, until I realized I was wasting my time and energy giving two thoughts about them at all. Since this is the first offense Noah has actually been prosecuted for if he’s found guilty the judge will probably give him a slap on the wrist. He won’t face any consequences really, other than the embarrassment of having it on his public record, but he’ll probably motion to have it sealed so the details won’t be relevant to anyone but himself. The man has not changed in over a decade, I highly doubt any level of punishment or consequence will change him now regardless of whether he’s found guilty or not.

This is the part I struggle with more than anything else in healing from the trainwreck that was our relationship. No matter what he does, anytime he gets in trouble and I happen to find out about it: I grieve for him even though he doesn’t care how his actions affect anyone else. In essence, it’s like watching Noah who can’t emotionally swim jump into a lake of emotional consequences. He knows he can’t swim. He knows that if he jumps in he’ll drown, and yet he ends up in the water every damn time. I don’t understand why he continues to do that and it’s so frustrating watching the same pattern repeat over and over and over again.

man wearing blue shorts about to dive on body of water

Photo by Oliver Sjöström on Pexels.com

The pure frustration is what’s motivated me to really keep Noah at a significant distance in recent years. It was quite literally killing me to watch him continue to make poor choices when the simple reality is that as soon as he takes responsibility for himself his pain will subside and things will improve. In keeping with my swimming metaphor, a friend rephrased his struggle like this: “He’s like a person who can’t swim who jumps in the shallow area of the lake and pretends to drown. He flails around and we certainly BELIEVE he needs to be saved. Even HE may believe it as he lays on his back and gurgles water. But all he has to do is stand up and walk out of the water. He CAN save himself, and until he makes that choice there’s nothing for you to do. Because every time you walk out into the water to try to help he slaps and kicks at you, sure you’re trying to push him under instead of helping him. So all you can do is walk away and know that his rescue is on him, not you, and it’s within his capacity.”

She’s right. I have to walk away and stop worrying about Noah so much. It’s been twelve years since our relationship ended. I haven’t directly spoken to him in almost three years, or indirectly bickered with him in nearly six months. Whenever I do reach out and offer a helping hand he flips the fuck out and lashes out at me and my family. He doesn’t want help in the capacity that he needs help. He wants someone to enable him. He wants validation for his poor behaviors. He wants to sit in the shallows and gurgle and flail, but I don’t have to witness it anymore. Someday my heart will be at peace with it too.

To read more about the relationship between Noah and Rebecca look for  Candy Apple Butterscotch: A Memoir on Amazon! Kindle and Paperback editions available. Audiobook coming soon!


Copyright R. MacCeile 2018

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