Lilith Fair is Dead

I’ll call her Hannah. That is not her real name, and most women would agree that I have every reason to shout it from the rooftops. I could do so without impunity, for what she did I have accurately portrayed, in fact, I have been generous. I choose not to identify her, because I’m not sure I’m completely over my anger. Because my judgment might still be clouded by it. Because I want to tell my story and leave it to the reader to decide if this person, this woman called Hannah, truly exists outside of tired, cliched stories of love and betrayal.

I never knew Hannah well at all, not even well enough to call her an acquaintance. That's what makes my story particularly odd. When she came into our lives, I knew only what he -- my significant other -- told me about her. I knew that when she lived up north, where she’d organized a lot of Lilith Fair-ish, all-women arts, crafts and music events, an interest that had been parlayed into our tightly-knit community. She did good things, like using her talent to benefit the locally-owned women’s bookstore, which was in danger of being co-opted by corporate boutiques. Sisterhood forever. I had no complaint with the way she appeared to live her life. She was talented, intelligent and driven. I had no reason to dislike her.

Hannah, however, made it clear from the start that she disliked me intensely. Sometimes that happens in life, you can't drive yourself crazy bowing and scraping to someone who doesn't want to be your friend. He had brought her on board as a sort of freelance to his organization, where her talents meshed well. As she was an ancillary part of the organization, I came face to face with her maybe seven, eight times during the course of about two-and-a-half years. Each time, she was increasingly snide. I never mentioned it to him because I’m not a whiner, and secondly, her relationship with me was irrelevant. She had a professional relationship with him, not me, and I respected that. Even when I had just cause not to.

I remember the first incident. He came to me, rattled. Hannah tried to kiss him, he told me. She was drunk. He was confused; she’d told him she was a lesbian. So why would she do that? We both decided booze had something to do with it. We were still in the formative stages of our relationship; I did not love him then like I eventually came to love him, living together, planning our future. It’s fair to say the first incident was no harm, no foul. But as our relationship deepened and similar instances occurred, Hannah became cause for alarm. I always believed his version of the story, because I was a fool for him. That is what we do when we choose to love someone -- we trust that they are telling the truth.

And here’s the weird thing: I trusted Hannah, too. I do that a lot, filter things through my own moral bias, and often come up with flawed conclusions. Maybe she had been drunk and grabby on occasion, maybe she was confused about her sexual identify, maybe she was rude to me at every turn. But as a woman, I always trusted her, instinctively, never to cross the line.

Then everything blew to hell. The pivotal incident seemed to be centered around an extended business trip he was planning. Many people would have considered it a brass ring. He told me that Hannah was extremely keen on going, but she wasn’t a part of his core group, and besides, he lost money with each additional person signing on. Also, others in the group weren’t wild about the idea. I never asked any of the others why they felt this way, but now I can guess. There was a flurry of calls and emails going back and forth as to how to handle the situation, a lot of weirdness. Because I’d come to associate a inherent degree of weirdness with Hannah, I paid little attention, enjoying what was left of our sojourn. Then one day, shortly before he was to leave, I found an email from Hannah festering in my in-box. I’m not even sure how she even got my email address. What I write now, Hannah’s message to me, while redacted and considerably shortened, is not too different from the original:

“... Just so you’ll know, I’ve been sleeping with (insert my significant other’s name) for two years. One time we checked into a motel, did a bunch of (insert name of white powdery substance here) and fucked all day. We fucked on your pretty red couch, on your soft sheets, while your cat was meowing at us. In (City X), we fucked in a hot tub, and he fell asleep with his (insert body part here) in my mouth. We were together after (Event X), and you never knew it. I just wanted you to know because love doesn’t have to hurt, once you see what’s been going on in front of you ... ”

These were the least hurtful things Hannah wrote me, this woman I'd spoken to only a few times. There were other things, far, far worse things, things that I don't even think about much less rehash, because it takes me back to the most painful time of my life ...

Needless to say, if there was any wavering on his part about the business trip, that put the kibosh on it. And she would never work with him again, the shithead. But still, you can't really blame him, can you.

Was all of what she wrote true? Was only some of it true? How did he explain himself? What became of him and me? It would be interesting to find out, but this blog isn’t about a man doing his woman wrong; it is about a woman fucking over another woman -- a woman she barely knew -- spitefully, with malice. Hannah behaved unprofessionally, Hannah hurt multiple people; yet Hannah was the only one to cry foul, knowing there was little chance the truth would prevail. I made a feeble attempt to disclose; in a classically ironic gesture, Hannah’s female amigas rapidly defended her. Poor, poor Hannah, so betrayed.

There is something particularly vile about a hypocrite who plays the victim. It’s not just the people they blatantly screw over, it’s the people like me who're inadvertently along for the ride. I’ve wondered what Hannah’s friends would think about the truth -- would they still trust her? What about her parents? And the participants in the events she organized? I don’t claim to be a poster child for sisterhood. In my life, I’ve thought mean thoughts about other women, I've gossiped (just yesterday in fact), I’ve been envious of other women's lives, and I’ve become self-absorbed and let precious friendships slide. But there are certain instances in which I walk the walk. I have never insinuated myself in another woman’s relationship or marriage; I could never cause that kind of harm to another. I believe that the covenants of sisterhood are ultimately abided by in the way one chooses to behave. Not by what one professes. And certainly not by what one advertises themselves to be.

Throughout history, Lilith has been portrayed as a less than savory sort. Legend has it that unlike Adam, who was formed from pure dust, Lilith was formed from sediment and murk, and because of this, was a lesser being. A flagrant adulteress, she also wanted to wear the pants in the family; after bickering with Adam over who was going to be on top, she uttered the secret name of God in a fit of rage and was immediately transformed into a hideous she-devil with wings who preyed on men as they dreamed and darkened the doorstep of young mothers, who in turn waved all kinds of dead chickens to protect their offspring from becoming Lilith’s feast. Lilith is revered by feminists, but ironically, Lilith is the woman who lost the most through her many betrayals of her own gender. Utter the secret name, and be banished from the garden. That’s how it still works today.

I never considered Hannah as an evil Lilith; I believe all humans can be redeemed. I know that I have done my best to forgive Hannah, and I will keep forgiving her for as long as it takes for me to forget her. I think that she was probably screwed over, and inappropriately took it out on the wrong people. I definitely think she failed to take responsibility for her role in all of it. I think she might have done unsavory things, hoping this might buy allegiance, and felt humiliated when it didn't. I can’t say I know what that feels like. I’ve been betrayed, I've suffered heartache, and yes, I might look like a fool, but I have harmed no one.

Remember what it's like, to be betrayed by your sisters. And become a better woman for it.