Thursday night I had been itching for a break after spending the last four days with my father. Just as I was dreaming of what the sun would feel like on my face, while I sat cold in a hospital, my cell phone rang. It was J.
“Do you have time to get away for a little while?”
“Your timing couldn’t be more perfect!”
So he picked me up and we went to the Shrine. “You want to climb the rock and sit at the statues feet? For old time’s sakes?” He’d asked. I smiled at him, and started climbing without saying a word. And he climbed right beside me.
As we sat the foot of a stone statue some 20 feet taller than I and some 20 feet off of the ground, J put his arm around me as we sat Indian style next to each other.
“Want to play a game?”
I just looked at him. One eyebrow raised and half a smirk on my face. “What kind of game are we talking?”
“One of your favorites. We used to play this all the time.”
“Small words?” I asked. He smiled. “You start.” I said.
[This a game we used to play when we were dating and going through a rough patch. When we would fight a lot, this always helped. We would each just say short words and short sentences, which made it harder to be mean. And it ALWAYS put a smile on our faces.]
J – “You’ve changed.”
D – “I’m ever changing.”
J – “I like it.”
D – “What?”
J – “The new you.”
D – “I miss this.”
J – “Me too.”
D – “I love you.”
J – “I love you too.”
D – “IN love with you.”
He didn’t say anything.
D – “Always have been.”
D – “Always will be.”
He just looked at me.
D – “I’m sorry.”
J – “Don’t be.”
And we sat in silence for a few hours together watching the sun set over the tree tops. He just held me and didn’t say a word. And then he took me home where he hugged me tight, kissed my forehead, said good night, said he loved me, and said he’d call me later.
Which he did. He asked me if I wanted to go to the beach with him that night to talk some more. But I was tired and knew that I still had things to do for my father the next day and needed to be in the best shape I could be to take care of him. So I declined.
So things didn’t turn out the way I would have liked. But I tried. And that’s a lot. Especially for me. (Remember my previous post? “Hi! My name is… Coward!”) I still love him. And I still always will. And it still hurts. And it might forever. But that was a risk I had to take.
But here I am. Letting go. Of both my secrets and my responsibilities.
I am sitting in a very [uncomfortable] chair in a large, empty, cold, white hospital room. My father sleeps peacefully with the aid of medication. I listen to him breathe steadily at a much slower rythm than the keys of my laptop.
We will call him J.
**************************************
J and I have been through a lot together. We had dated on and off all through out high school. And shortly thereafter. He went away to college while I stayed home. I broke up with him before he left and demanded that he have fun at college without having to worry about me at home and how I would feel about the things he was doing. We agreed to stay friends, and we have.
Other than my sister, J is my best friend. We don’t always talk, and we see each other about once a year these days, but when we do, we pick up right where we left off. I know that he would be there for me if I ever needed him for anything, any time, anywhere in the world. And vice versa.
J and I will always have a special bond.
At a Christmas party this past winter we had chatted with each other for the first time in person in over a year. He introduced me to his live-in girlfriend of a year and I introduced him to the new crush in my life (you remember him? Mr. Perfect). Things were very nice. We caught up on what was new with each other, how our families had been, and places/bands/movies we had seen. We laughed about old times and hugged each other goodnight for what felt like eternity.
I got to see J again this past weekend. He drove down to attend a graduation party for a mutual friend of ours’. Him and his live-in girlfriend. She is very sweet, she’s pretty and smart, funny, and most importantly she adores him and treats him good.
*******************************************
But this isn’t about them. It’s about me. And my secret.
I have earlier mentioned that J was my first true love. So for that, he will always hold a special place in my heart. But what I neglected to mention was that I am still in love with J. That I might always be in love with J. And I have been lying to myself about that for years.
Even when I was with the Ex (the loser one) and all the other guys in between I would still think of J though we don’t talk often anymore. (Our schedules conflict. But we try to make it work!) And when I haven’t thought of him for a long time, I convince myself that I am not in love with him anymore.
…Until I see him.
Or hear is voice.
And I fall…
Head over heels.
All. Over. Again.
Such as this weekend. I like to think that I hide it well, that not even my best friends who know me better than anybody know my true feelings for him.
J pulls me aside.
“Dean. I heard about your father. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call me? I would have come down!” He’s referring to the Father’s Day weekend disaster.
“Don’t worry about it. He’s fine now. But I’m sure he’d love to see you. If you have time before you head home, you should stop over there.”
“Yea I will. But you really should have called me. Is there anything you need?”
“No. I’ve got it all under control. But thanks.”
We hug. And we walk back to the table to engage in some more drinking, reminiscing and chain smoking on the patio by the pool.
Sitting at a round table is me, six high school classmates I was very close with at one point, their significant others, and a mutual friend of all of our’s whom is a few years older than we are. Sitting across from me is J and his girlfriend.
Just as the sun is setting, the firepit is getting started and the candles are being lit, one of my best friends from high school (we will call her B) and someone who is very close with J as well, pulls me aside.
“Dean. I’m not crazy. I swear. But I think J is still in love with you.”
“WHAT?!” Im genuinely shocked.
“I’m serious. You should see the way he looks at you. You were talking before to S and he was staring at you… adoringly.”
“B, have you lost your mind?! He has a girlfriend, that he lives with, for almost TWO years now!”
“Yea, but… Didn’t he ask you to move in with him?”
“About 100 years ago! Seriously, I was dating ‘The Ex’ and he wanted me to move hundreds of miles from home and work. We were just kids!”
“But that didn’t stop you from moving in with The Ex.”
“That was different.”
“I’m just saying. I think there’s a good chance he’s still in love with you.”
“Alright. And what am I supposed to do about it?”
“Go after him! I always said you guys were meant to be together!!”
“We did nothing but fight when were together! We’re much better off as friends.”
“You were kids!”
“Didn’t I just say that?”
“Whatever. I’m just saying…”
Is she right? I have no clue. And I will most likely never know. Because I will never ask him. And I will never admit to B that I still love him whether he loves me or not, because what J and I have is very special. It’s something most people will never experience in their entire lives, and we are so very lucky for that. And because of the great bond that we share, I will never risk making things weird between us.
…Unless of course he admits it first.
Then, all bets are off.
My Dearest J,
I thought it important to express how deep my love is for you. That the air would not smell as sweet should it not blow through your hair. That the sun is only warm when I think of it kissing your cheeks and then I become envious, for I long to kiss those cheeks myself. That the night time sky wouldn’t be as beautiful if glistening stars didn’t remind me of the twinkle in your beautiful, brown eyes.
I should tell you that the crashing waves and the towering buildings no longer scare me. Nor do I fear the howling wind of a thundering storm, the cold lonely nights, the thick haunted woods. I don’t even fear the distance between us. For I know that our hearts will one day bring us together and we will share the rest of our days cherishing one another.
My love for you, sweet J, is infinite and immortal. It is what keeps me going in these times when I cannot see your face, hear your voice, or be held in your arms. The love I hold so tight is strong and it’s pure, but mostly it’s beautiful. It is so exquisite that William Shakespeare himself could not find words to express its full splendor.
Tonight, handsome J, dream of me as I dream of you. And know that soon we will be together for all time.
Thinking of you always with more love than I could express in ten thousand lifetimes,
Dean.
But we live in 2008. And I would not dare share such a letter. But, perhaps it will go a little like this instead,
“I wanted to tell you that I love you. That I’ve loved you all along. And I’ll always love you.”
And I’ll leave it at that. Because while sonnets and melodies are gorgeous, sometimes just the straightforward, reader’s digest version is all that’s needed. (And easier for me to spit out before I throw up all over him from being so nervous.)
I’m not yet sure when this will take place. But we are supposed to be getting together either tonight or tomorrow night (depending on the condition of my dad after some more testing today). Of course I will report back…
So here I am. Back in New York. Back to my old life. And I mean my OLD life. The one where I was single. Yea… you remember that, don’t you? I do. Clear as day.
Bonnaroo.
I’m in Manchester, Tennessee. Sitting on the side of some highway which number I can’t remember. 40? 76? Beats the hell out of me. There were a dozen of them. Anyway, we’re sitting on the side of the highway in the blazing sun with a few thousand other cars waiting on line to get in to the field and prepared to do so for at least four more hours. “Crack me open a beer?” I ask Bill who is barely awake in the back seat. A lot of the cars around us are unoccupied. It’s passengers are roaming in the grass, throwing footballs, shotgunning beers, and here I am… hippie at heart… picking wild flowers on the side of the highway and placing them behind my ear. We get back in the car to move it. A whopping 35 feet. That was worth the gas. At $4.Something a gallon. While still sitting in the car, I notice the two guys in the car in front of us.
“I like that one. The taller one with the light hair. He’s cute. It’s a doofy sort of way.”
“You think?” Asks Tiff (who’s driving).
“Yea. He’s alright.”
Not even two seconds later, taller guy and shorter guy are headed toward the car. I roll down my window, light up a camel non-filter and take a giant swig of Amstel Light.
We share a few minutes of small talk before it’s time to move the car again. This time, a whole 50 feet. That’s when Tiff looks over at me. “You know they only came over here because they didn’t see Bill in the back seat, right?”
“Oh yea. I know.” And we laugh.
We bullshit the whole five hours waiting on line to get into the place. We make an agreement to share a campsite, share beer, food, etc.
After spending the entire first day with Taller, Lighter haired guy and his buddy, TG (taller guy) and I decide we’re headed over to the staging area. Yea, there’s no bands we want to see the first night, but we want to check out the place too. We head back to the campsite an hour or so later and find we’re alone.
“Want to see my tent?”
Now, I’m not that easy a sale. I can promise you that. But I’m drunk. I’m single. And hadn’t gotten laid in I don’t even know how long. Alright, I do know how long. And it was too long.
So I slept with him.
Things would have been fine after that. I was totally content with just hanging all weekend and not even aknowledging the situation, but he got clingy. Sure he wanted to get laid again. Simple as that.
But we live states away.
And he’s still clingy.
So sorry I gave the kid my number.
[He] and I grew up together. Well, we didn’t really grow up together. [He] is two years older than me and we didn’t have any classes together in school. [He] lived a few short blocks away from my father’s house and played hockey with my older brother as kids. I always knew who [He] was, but never really talked to [Him]. Until last year….
We ran into each other at one of Long Island’s famous St. Patrick’s Day parades. It had been years since we had even seen each other. We enthusiastically said hello, hugged one another, and shared a green beer. In ten minutes we managed to catch up with each other on our living situations, work standings, and relationship status while our friends impatiently waited for us to rejoin them and the drinking festivities.
[He] was happy to hear that I was no longer with The Ex, explaining that rumors were floating around about The Ex and I and how he had been sleeping with my then best friend… in my apartment… in my bed. And I thought to myself, “Why didn’t any of these rumors happen to make it back to me? Because I sure wish they had.” We laughed at what a loser The Ex is, and [He] told me how much better I could do and more importantly, I SHOULD do. We got one more beer together and parted ways for the rest of the day.
A few days later, at my sister’s for our regular Monday Night Poker Tournament Jon pulled me aside. Forgetting that [He] and Jon work together, Jon told me how [He] had been talking about me all week. Something like this, “Did I tell you I ran into Dean this weekend?”, “Did I mention that I saw Dean?”, “You know Dean broke up with her boyfriend, right?”, “Do you happen to know if she’s dating anyone?”, “Are you and Dean still friends? Could you find out for me if she would like to go out to eat some time?” I was shocked to say the least. Jon confessed that he gave [Him] my number and said that I was expecting [His] call, when in reality I hadn’t known a thing about it.
After months of asking me out to eat, and me declining for various reasons (misc. dates made prior to his and my reconnection, Mr. Perfect, and some other scheduling conflicts) I agreed to hang out casually as just friends and get to know each other. We bar hopped with a circle of his friends. We went out for Happy Hour with a few of mine. We attended a local concert, the beach for a meteor shower, and a few dozen Blockbuster/6-Pack nights.
Ever since [He] and I started getting together (as STRICTLY friends) I have been developing a “thing” for [Him]. Though, I would never admit it, because of how many times I had turned down [His] request for a date.
Tuesday night [He] dropped by unannounced. Which is more than fine with me. (I’m pretty informal myself, and don’t usually have a problem with friends just dropping by to say hello.) [He] had perfect timing, I was just walking from the stove to the kitchen table with a plate full of dinner for myself when [He] knocked on the door.
“What? Did you smell the food?” I teased. [He] laughed and told me [He] was just dropping by to see if I wanted to get a bite to eat AS FRIENDS, grab a movie and have a few beers. Instead, [He] came in, made himself a plate, and we retired to my couch with a few beers for dessert.
A few hours later it was time for [Him] to leave just as my liquid courage was kicking in.
“Hey, I have this birthday party to go to on Saturday for an old friend from high school.”
“That sounds like fun. You should have a good time.”
“Yea. I’m excited to see her. But I know there’s going to be about 15-20 people there also from high school, that no only do I have no desire to see, but I don’t really want to talk to either.” [He] laughed. “So I was wondering… What are you doing on Saturday?”
“Hanging out with you, beautiful.”
I beamed!
“Really? You don’t mind going? You won’t know anyone there I don’t think, and it might be really boring, I mean you don’t have to go.” [He] leaned in and kissed my cheek.
“I would love to go. Honestly. I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight.” [He] winked just as [He] turned and stepped out the door.
…I can’t believe I did that.
And I can’t believe its tomorrow! I’m really excited.
I attended a work Christmas party for Job #2 yesterday evening. It was nice, elegant, fancy even. Everything we as a company, are not. We had rented out a private room at a very nice Italian restaurant feasting on buffet plate after buffet place of the best stuffed shells I have ever had, we drank and we laughed, genuinely having a good time. We had been kicked out of the rented room at 8pm when the party should have ended at 7:00.
Agreeing that it was far too early and we were all much too sober to call it a night, we opted to head over to one of the local pubs for some more drinks and more laughs. Feeling out of place (and not like myself) we entered a small, casual Irish Pub. Me, wearing a backless black sweater, a gray pencil skirt, and black knee-high boots, and many of my coworkers dressed just as “classy” we instantly stood out in a crowd of men and women donning jeans, sweaters, and sneakers. I pretended not to notice how corporate and snobbish we must have appeared to everyone else. (Aside from the three men in suits near the entrance. Whom, I suspected were there on business, or had just finished a meeting of sorts.)
We stood around the bar sharing stories and holiday plans with families. The bartender seemed surprised when we all ordered beer, he even said to me “I almost expected all of the men to order dry martinis and the women, cosmopolitans.”
And I answered with a quick, “Yea, we’re not that type of crowd. We only dress like this when forced, such as the corporate costume party we just came from.”
“Costume party?” He says. I can tell he’s thinking that we’re a little behind for having a Halloween Party and wondering why we all decided to dress similarly. All twenty of us.
“It’s a costume party for us, since 95% of us had to go out and buy something to wear for the Christmas party being that none of really dress this way.” He nods finally understanding what I meant and happily hands me an ice cold Miller High Life in a bottle with a frozen glass, and I just shake my hand at the glass.
“No thanks. I prefer it out of the bottle.” He looked even more surprised.
Having been there for over an hour at this point (and had been drinking for at least five hours beforehand) we’re all getting a little buzzed. Just as I was about to turn to Vicki, a friend of mine, to tell her of the devastatingly handsome man in the suit near the door that I thought she should introduce herself to, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turn to find that man I was just about to mention standing behind me with a glass in one hand and a full beer in the other.
“Dan.” He says as he hands me the MHL.
“Dean.”
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t have a name like Tiffany, Stacy, or Mandy. I don’t know why. I just knew it as soon as you walked in the door. Before I forget to mention, I prefer dogs over cats, I’m a baseball fan, I don’t normally dress this stuffy, I’m not married or taken in any way, and I like your ink.” As he points to the medium sized tattoo just between my shoulder blades.
“Good to know. Thanks for the beer by the way.”
“So, what do you do for a living, Dean?”
“Full time office manager and a part time inventory manager.” I hesitate. “And yourself?”
“I work in advertising.”
“Interesting.” At this point, I don’t really know where to take the conversation. So I take the moment of a silence as an opportunity to take a nice, large gulp of my beer and glance around at my friends that I came there with.
“You’re very tough to read, Dean.”
“Really? Why is that?” I ask thinking to myself that I’ve been told this quite often recently.
“I’m not the first person to tell you that, I’m sure. You seem very guarded. I would imagine that if you didn’t want to talk to me at all, you wouldn’t. Because you seem very straight forward. But you also don’t make many attempts to get to know people better, and don’t always like the feeling you get when others try to get to know you.”
“Let me guess, you took some psychology classes in college.”
“Wrong. I never went to college. Nor did I ever see a psychologist, which is what you were thinking next. I am also not related to one. But I like to think that I’m a pretty good judge of character and a master at reading people. But what drew me over to you, other than you’re being stunning, is the fact that I couldn’t sum you up into any words whereas I can usually do that about a person right away. Without even talking to them.”
“So you’re a master at assuming you know people?” It took all of my energy not to roll my eyes at him.
“Ah! As much as you would love to just write me off here and now, you know that you’re still intrigued. And no, I don’t assume. Faces tell everything. More specifically, the eyes. Your eyes on the other hand, are different.”
“You’re not always right; I can assure you of that. And what makes my eyes so different?”
“They are sad. They don’t appear sad, though. There’s a difference. Someone wouldn’t look at you and think that you’ve been crying or you just got some bad news. You have not always been treated the way you should have, you have not necessarily been abandoned, though you do feel that way sometimes. And you will never let go of your past. Intrigued?”
“Not yet.”
“I haven’t given you anything worth looking into yet?”
“Ehh. Not really.” I wasn’t completely lying, but I wasn’t completely telling the truth either.
“Well, I’m a single dad with a three year old son that lives with me full time. I left everyone and everything I know to make a better life for my son. He’s the most important thing in the world to me. I hate my job but it pays me well enough to give him the things that he needs in his life. I don’t generally trust people until I’ve gotten to know them really well. That can take years. I have never been in love, or married. And I want to get to know you better.”
I am usually so quick to dismiss people. And I don’t really know why. But I decided to give him a chance. We may not get married, we may not even date. But to enjoy someone else’s company and get to know people better without passing judgment is a very important part of life. And I think I owed it to Dan and to myself to just let the night play out and see where things went.
We talked about his son and why it is that I am single. I told him why I think I am, and then he gave me his own interpretation as to why I am. We discussed the annoyance of corporate holiday functions and he guessed what my childhood was like. He mentioned numerous times that he can tell I’m smart, though I didn’t say much, and wished to know why it is that I can be so closed sometimes. He wanted to know what he could do to open me up and pick my brain. But I didn’t offer much. Because I just don’t know how to.
We exchanged numbers after almost four hours of talking and telling jokes. And that was enough for me. Because I don’t have any expectations for the future, not in terms of relationships or relationship status.
(Side Note: Dan is very sweet, we have a lot in common, and we’re having drinks on Wednesday night. But as friends. Because neither of us need anything more than that right now.)
In a discussion with a friend over the difference of “compromise” and “sacrifice” some feelings of mine surfaced. I need to get them out. I have (and know this about myself) a terrible habit of bottling all of my feelings up, pretending to be strong, and pushing forward. I don’t know any other way. I suppose I get this from my dad. He’s been doing it for thirteen years, since my mom passed away. He never let us see him hurting, even though we all know he was, and still is, and will forever.
I can never share these feelings with L for fear of hurting her. But I do need to get them out and learn to get them out regularly so as not to get to the point I am at today. I have had better days, but today I feel as though I might burst into tears if I simply drop my pen on the floor. And it didn’t occur to me that I was even sad, hurting, upset, or anything until my friend and I had a discussion. Which means that I have gotten so good at bottling it all up that I even fooled myself into thinking I was happy. How sad is that?
She makes me nervous. L. And I don’t exactly know why. She makes me anxious and stressed. I often get the shakes when she gets home from work at night. Something about the sound of her walking in the door at night makes me uneasy. I fear so many things at once and I can’t even describe them all. I wouldn’t do it any justice… But I am going to try anyway.
I fear that she is just putting on a good show. Pretending to be the person she was, the friend I knew and trusted before she left. But, theoretically, that could have been a show all along as well. The girl who left for Florida with her best friend’s boyfriend, that could be the real L. Who is who? Has she been the same L all along and just made a bad decision in the heat of the moment? In a rush of what she felt was love? For the first time? And was not was willing to give it up? Not even for a friendship she assured me that she treasured? Was she blind to it all and had he convinced her to do it? Is she as naïve as I always thought she was? Or was that all a show also? I don’t know. And I suppose there’s no real way to tell.
I fear that one day she will walk in that door and the ex will be with her. And how would they act? Would they be back together? Would they parade their love in front of me in hopes of hurting me even more? Would she leave with him again? And take Calvin with them? The baby I have grown to love more than anything. The one that I can’t imagine not being there for when he grows up. The one I have already thought about high school graduation gifts for. And ways to save for college tuition, and the day he might be married? It’s one thing to fall in love with a baby, but to fall in love with a baby that you live with, and take care of more than the biological mother does, and provide for financially, solely, it would feel impossible to give him up. I don’t know that I could give him up. I don’t ever want to give him up.
Will I come home from work one day and find all of my belongings gone with L and Calvin?
This baby means so much to me. Even if I wasn’t ready for him. And even if he is not mine. Every time I see his face, I can’t help but smile. I think of him while I’m at work and I radiate. Even the sound of him crying in the middle of the night will make me glow because I know he’s here, and he’s real, and he loves me. You can see it in his eyes. It’s like watching a miracle. He knows so much already and he’s still taking it all in. He’s always looking, always seeing, always feeling, always learning, and I am so thankful that I get to be a part of it. And I want to be a part of it forever.
I am so very close to asking L to either let me legally adopt Calvin and become sole guardian of him, or obtaining shared guardianship over him, so that if the ex does come back and things go sour with them again, I know that Calvin will legally have a place to go, and a place he can call home and feel comfortable in, and be taken care of always. Regardless of where his “parents” are in their lives and their relationship. I want him to not only be safe, I want him to feel safe.
But before I act on any of this, I must think it out some more.
In February my boyfriend of three years and I split up. We had shared an apartment, pets, a bank account, cars, tooth paste, and a bed. Not even a week after we split, he moved to Florida. He took with him all of my pots and pans, dishes, silverware, cups, blankets, sheets, pillows, books, DVD’s, DVD player, TV, stereo, artwork, art supplies, some of my mother’s jewelry, my Jeep, my heart, and my best friend.
I was devastated…
As the days went on, more and more information was being passed on to me. They had been sleeping together since (last) June. And he had gotten her pregnant sometime around Christmas/New Year’s. My best friend of seven years.
She had a baby boy this past September. A little angel. Named Calvin Charles. What he and I would have named a little boy when/if we had one. Born on my birthday. 9lbs, 7oz and 19 inches long. Green eyes, blonde hair, and the cutest dimples I have ever seen. How do I know all of this?
…Because she came knocking on my door last night, with this handsome little boy in her hands. He was wide awake, despite the fact that it was most likely past his bedtime. She was not crying right then, but I could tell she had been for quite some time now. She was shivering and weak and looked starved.
He had cheated on her. I wanted to say I wasn’t surprised, but I didn’t say anything. She was devastated, lost, confused, broke, and heart-broken. She and her little man were homeless, ashamed, embarrassed, and desperate. They needed a place to stay. A place where she thought he would never look for them. Because she left while he was working, just as he had done to me. Because she knew he would hit her again.
That surprised me. He had never hit me, but perhaps it was because he knew I was stronger than her. I wouldn’t have taken it; I would have stood up for myself, not cower, run, and hide as L did. (We’ll call her “L” to keep this as anonymous as possible.)
She had betrayed me. L betrayed my trust, threw away the best friendship she had ever had because of lust. She had lied to me, and hurt me, and deceived me. But she needed somewhere to go, somewhere to stay. And I couldn’t say no to her. So I called out sick from job # 2 last night, made her and her little man something to eat and watched as they both fell asleep on my couch.
She looked scared. Even in her sleep.
Is it true that when Father Time falls asleep time stands still? And if that is true, why does he always fall asleep in moments of tragedy? Or in moments that are filled with endless amounts of love?
It is possible that love and tragedy are things that Father Time can never explore or experience and so he is filled with such boredom that he will ultimately fall asleep, making time stand still, the world halting, and reality feeling like anything but?
This weekend stood still for me. Father Time sleeping from Saturday all the way straight through until Monday morning.
Saturday afternoon I got a surprise from Mr. Unrealistic. He was on his way to see me. And escort me to the Halloween parties I had already agreed to attend. I was ecstatic. He could not get there fast enough. Time had stood still. And time continued to stand still until he left Sunday morning.
I tried to remove the goofy smile off of my face, but it was no use. He made me smile. Just for being near me, just for listening to me, just for looking at me, and not looking at me at all. He is perfect in every way important to me. He held my hand, whispered in my ear, hugged me whenever he had the chance, and would sometimes just stare into my eyes without saying a word. I was in heaven, the happiest I’ve been in a very long time, and I knew right then, that things would only get better.
I wanted to tell him that I think I love him. But I know that “think” lessens “love’s” value. And I didn’t want him to think I devalued the “love” I MIGHT have for him. I wanted to tell him that I think about him all the time and that one day I could really love him. I wanted to tell him that the world is a brighter, happier, much more interesting place for having him in it, and I am beyond privileged to having him in my life and for allowing me to be in his.
I wanted to tell him that I don’t know how to be sad, angry, or anything negative when he’s around or even when I’m just thinking of him. I wanted to tell him that he truly is the most amazing person I have ever met and every day I look forward to learning more about him, seeing more with him, and thinking more of him.
…And time stood still that night. When he hugged me. And kissed my forehead. And told me I am remarkable in every way possible and that he can’t wait to fall in love with me.
**************************************
Sunday morning.
I awaken and feel as though the night before had never happened. That it was all a dream. And I am not as lucky as I think I am.
Just when I thought time would start back up where it left off, I check the time on my phone to see if it’s real. I have seventeen missed calls on my cell phone and two new voicemails. From two people. Completely unrelated to each other. No connection, they’ve never even met before.
I check the voicemails before I call anyone back.
“Dean, its Diane, Matt’s Mom. Call me right away at home.” I hear a click and was surprised that I didn’t hear a goodbye first.
Second message:
Sobs. Short fast breaths. “Dean? I need you. Please.” Another click. Another message without a goodbye. My heart drops, stops even. Time is moving slow.
I call Diane. Who informs me that Matt has been killed in fire. My friend. One of my very best guy friends. A house fire. With a few of his friends. While enjoying the last of the nice beach weather. And I wonder, did Father Time fall asleep again? Did he forget that we need time to heal? That time is the only thing that can help us? Is he purposely torturing me by making time stand still and forcing me to grieve with no end in sight?
I fall to my knees, unable to breathe, unable to fathom what was said, what I feel, and what to do next. I want to fall into a deep coma, and be alone, and cry to myself. I want to be left in a dark place, in silence, all alone. But I know that being alone with my thoughts will only eat away at me. And I have another call to make. To my friend, a friend who needs me, and I don’t yet know why. I want to be selfish, and be alone, and ignore that message, but I don’t know how. I have to be there for my friend. I don’t know what else to do.
“Dean. Please help me. I don’t know what to do.” He says, his voice shaking uncontrollably. He says that he can’t leave his house, because he can’t drive, because he can’t do anything. Not even breathe. And I know the feeling.
I arrive at his apartment to find him lying on his kitchen floor. His face is red, and bloated, and he has been crying for hours. But I’m sure it feels more like days, weeks even. He tells me that Carrie has died. My friend. My high school teammate. My college companion. My first roommate. His fiancée. The love of his life. His best friend.
I fall to my knees again. Time stops. And we hold each other. And cry. And I don’t say a word, because I don’t know what to say. I know nothing will make it better. Make anything better. I want to tell him she’s happy, but I know it won’t help. I want to tell him she didn’t suffer, but I know she did. And I want to tell him that there will be justice, but I have seen it before. And justice does not always follow through when a drunk driver hits an innocent woman head-on going the wrong way. Not even when she’s engaged to be married, and carrying a child for the past four and a half months, and on her way home from the job she hates but works at anyway to help pay the mortgage on the brand new house her fiancée built for her. She hates that job, doesn’t need to work at all, he insisted that she didn’t. She insisted that she did. That’s the way she was. “Nothing in life is free… Except for love. And I have that. Why be greedy about anything else?” She always said.
She quit her job finally. That was her last night. Her last night at work. Her last night on Earth.
He had gotten a second chance at love. His first wife gone. At 23 years old. Cancer. Tumors. Uncontrollable. Unstoppable. Caught too late. Left him to raise their little boy alone. Only eight months old. He never thought he’d love again. Not until he met Carrie. Who showed him that sometimes, if you’re lucky enough, and deserve it, and appreciate it enough, and are open to it, you get a second chance. They were having a little girl. To be named Isabel. After his first wife. Carrie thought it was perfect.
**************************************
Matt. Son. Brother. Grandson. Nephew. Cousin. Friend. Boyfriend. College student. 21 years old. Gone. So quickly.
Carrie. Daughter. Sister. Aunt. Granddaughter. Niece. Cousin. Friend. Fiancée. Mother-To-Be. 24 years old. Gone. So quickly.
So I beg you, Father Time, to please wake up. Save me from this pain. Because I need you, Father Time, to keep time going, so I can keep going.
Just the thought of him brings a smile to her face. Sometimes she swears she can smell him if she tries hard enough. And when it’s quiet enough, she can hear his laugh crystal clear.
They had met at a Halloween costume party and had instantly gotten along while discussing the details of their costumes and analyzing everyone elses’.
He never treated her right, but she misses him anyway. He had a temper, and sometimes she was the target. She was tough, pretended things were fine. She thought it was normal. She had not been hit as a child, or by any other man, but she thought she was in love.
When he tried really hard, he was romantic. He made her laugh and hugged her from behind when she least expected it. He knew that was her favorite. While he was a horrible boyfriend, he was a great friend. He really understood her, and she thought that’s what made it all worth it. He could read her like a book and she wished she could do the same for him.
He lied to her about other girls. He would kiss them and treat them great. She knew about it. But she always thought “It’s just sexual. Those girls mean nothing to him. He LOVES me.”
He lied to her. And she lied to herself.
She was a hypocrite. She did not want him living such a destructive life anymore, though she had no problem ruining her own. Much to her surprise, he agreed to slow down and then eventually stop. The summer went well. He was less angry, more importantly he was less angry with her. There were fewer girls. There were still girls, but a lesser amount of of them. Things were turning around, she thought. “He really does love me,” she thought.
That’s when she learned. Things were not as great as they seemed. There were additional girls, he just hid them better. His lifestyle was more harsh than before, she was just blind to it. She gave him the ultimatum.
“It’s me. Or it’s everything else.” At that moment in time, he wanted everything else. But he was thinking differently a week later. He was calling her and calling her. It took everything she had not to answer that phone. Finally, she couldn’t do it anymore. She answered the phone that morning.
“I want to see you. I’ve changed. I gave it all up. But to do it forever, I need your help. I want your help. And I want you to be around. Please meet with me tonight so we can talk about it.”
She agreed to meet with him. Even with everyone’s disapproval, including her own.
But he was lying again. He had not given up anything. For that night, while on his way home to get ready to meet with her, he had seen it harmless to blow some lines with a friend before driving. His judgment was gone. His perception has disappeared. His conscience had disintegrated.
He and his friend would be the last to see each other that fateful night. At excessive speeds, the car would flip numerous times killing its two passengers, their families’ hearts, their dreams, theirs souls, and their futures.
That was four years ago today. And I’m still sorry that he’s gone. And I still miss him. Even though he never treated me right.
I know this. And I’m sorry!
Things have been… Well… Hectic to say the least.
Work is crazy right now. (Which is odd, because this is typically the slow time of year for us.) I got a second job. An overnight job. Restocking a retail store while they’re closed. Sounds lame, right? Well, it kind of is. And the money is shit. But you know what? It’s nice to have something to do in the middle of the night when I would normally being walking, reading, painting, writing, and driving myself mad by overthinking every single thing that happens on a day-to-day basis.
So I work Monday through Friday from 9:00am-5:00pm at my “full-time” job. And then I work 10:00pm-6:00am four nights a week at my “other job”. Interesting huh? And when I’m not working, or not working, I am babysitting my handsome nephew, or shopping with my sister for wedding gowns, brides’ maid dresses, invitations, flowers, favors, place card holders, centerpieces, bands (the musical kind, not the jewelery kind), and everything else you can imagine that a bride would need for her wedding. Which, by the way is New Year’s Eve. THIS New Year’s Eve. Talk about cutting it down to the wire.
Great Guy Friend confessed his love for me this week. Also, MySpace Man calls me almost everyday. Not to mention CC Guy is still waiting for me to “settle down” with him, and him alone.
And here’s where I’m at…
Great Guy Friend and I should just be friends. It’s safe.
MySpace Man is so intriguing and interesting and I want to know everything I can about him.
And the more I think about it, the more I realize that I do have a crush on CC Guy, but we would never work as a couple.
When did things get so complicated?
