I have started this post over a dozen times. Each one ending in deletion. I keep remembering something my friend Elly wrote a while back about honesty in writing. I keep asking myself, “Are you really ready to just lay it out there? Say it all? Because if not, you are doing your readers and yourself a disservice.”
This is the reason we are here. Him. Us. The absence of us. The end of what we both treasured, but neither of us maintained. The reason I am seeking romance on the open internet. The reason I have set new standards of what I can and cannot accept. The reason I evaluated my fault and accepted the things in myself needing to change in order to maintain a healthy, happy relationship.
He is also a member of The Cast, as even from thousands of miles away, he keeps popping in and out. I would love to tell you I am over him. I would love to tell you I don’t cry with every new email. I would love to tell you…..but fucking Elly keeps popping up in my brain…so I will tell you, as briefly as I can, why. If I am able to convey it, at least a portion of the Us there used to be, then you will understand.
I don’t prescribe to the “love at first sight” theory, and it wasn’t. It was attraction. Pure, exhilarating, heart-stopping attraction. He came looking for a phone charger and left two hours later with a new phone, complete with my number programmed in it. Two hours later, we were having a glass of wine and laughing together at a local eatery. I still have the pictures I taught him to send, after he insisted he wanted the first pictures he took on his new phone to be of the two of us.
He had been sent to Fort Knox by mistake and would be leaving three days later for Georgia. We spent as much time as my work schedule would allow until he left. His last words to me before he left were, “We Will see each other again. I will make sure of it.” (for added sexiness, he has a very thick Colombian accent, I’m talking , holy hotness accent!!)
Two days after he left, my phone rang while I was at work, it was him. Despite myself, I was excited to answer the call. “Hey sexy, guess what? I’m not supposed to be in Georgia. They have my orders all screwed up. I will be back at Knox permanently in two days.”
I don’t remember my response, but I remember being genuinely happy. I wanted to see him again. I wanted to see him a lot. And see him a lot, I did. We had dinner the night he returned……..and the next night, and the night after.
We got into a routine, dinner a few weeknights, then spend all weekend together. We laughed, talked, explored, experienced…….we were both very happy. We were also in a strange place. Neither of us ever mentioning where we were on the relationship scale. Were we? Weren’t we?
Over the next three months, this odd balance of perfection in moments, and suspicion and doubt in others, became our normal cycle. I was falling in love with him, but didn’t trust him. Worst of all, we didn’t talk about any of it. We just spent our time together enjoying each other’s company. That was something we were good at, enjoying each other. We spent countless hours talking……..subject matter wasn’t important, we just enjoyed talking to one another.
The intimacy between us was remarkable, not just on a physical level (which I promise, was fucking phenomenal) but also on a true, emotional level. Yet, nothing was ever uttered about us, as a couple. We were the definition of limbo.
He was leaving for 20 days in mid-December to go home to Colombia, spend Christmas with his daughter and see his mother, sister, etc.
The night before he left went all sideways and he left for the trip with us not even saying goodbye. The entire week leading up to the trip had gone very poorly. I really wasn’t sure we would continue to see one another when he returned. I was shocked by how incredibly sad this made me, but had the holiday to focus on and keep from going all crazy about it.
Then Christmas came and our family had some rough times hit. I made bad choices. I ran from my feelings for him, in his absence, and leaned on Sunday Morning for the support role. It was as much to prove to myself I didn’t need him as it was about anything else.
Then he returned, things were strained, but good when he first returned. Then there was a horrendously awkward moment where I was in the middle of telling Sunday Morning that mi Colombiano and I were seeing one another and he walked in, bringing me Starbucks. (because he did sweet little things like that, as an excuse to see me and a way to make my work days seem more bearable) There was an immediate tension between the two of them I didn’t understand, but it was palpable.
When he walked away, Sunday Morning shook his head, told me I was making a mistake, and walked away. The minute I got in the car after work, mi Colombiano asked me how I knew Sunday Morning. I told him part of the truth, we had been friends for a long time. “I know him.” was all he said in response.
That night, while we were lying in bed, he asked me to tell him something he didn’t know about himself. I thought for a moment and said, “You give me butterflies every single time you kiss me, still, after all of these months.” He pulled me closer to him and told me he was glad. We were both very quiet for a few minutes, then he quietly said, “I want you to be just mine, can we do that? Do you want that?” I kissed him and nodded, “Very much, I want that very much.” I’m not going to tell you what happened next, but you should be seriously fucking envious. 😉
Part one of two, Part two to be published tomorrow