Time is a strange thing. When I was six years old, I remember thinking that one day I would be nine and I would look back on being six and have it feel like the movies, where they could jump years in a single frame. Well that's sort of how this feels looking back on my relationship with S. I remember thinking when we were dating that years from then I would look back on those days and wonder where the time went. Though, to be fair, I didn't see myself writing alone at 2:19AM, single and constantly trying to stay afloat in a mostly overwhelming world. I saw a very different future for myself then. But I'll get to that.
Eventually I stopped reaching out to him. I knew that if we would ever be in each other's lives, trying to force my way in to his at this point in time wasn't the way to go. I had to let go. In examining what I wanted, more than anything, I wanted him to be happy. I knew that it wouldn't be with me. My only comfort was knowing that the other guy did make him happy.
That's what I would do my best to tell myself. Every time I would think about him, I would think of the good times that we had. I would think of that kiss at the security checkpoint in the airport before I boarded my plane. I would think about that hug at the intersection of Massachusetts and Q St on our first date. To this day, I haven't rewatched The Emperors New Groove (it was the movie we watched on our first date). And I will say, there are times when I genuinely think that. I am proud of myself when I have those moments of maturity. I can wish him the best and I can look back at those memories with nothing but the sense of calm reflection that a person who has lived the life they wanted I'm sure has when they are towards the end.
But if I am being truly honest with myself, I am still mourning that loss. I realize now it may not be the loss of S himself, but the loss of what he represented to me. He was the person that put me as a priority. I'm not implying that I wasn't the priority in the eyes of my family, but in terms of non-familial relationships, I have almost always felt like I give more. I am happy to do it. I know what I have been given and I don't need that much in return. But having someone make you feel loved in a romantic way is... well it's really hard to describe. Knowing that he would inconvenience himself night after night just to be with me. Not that we were doing anything more than ordering Chinese food and watching trashy TV. I miss that feeling. That feeling of being wanted.
I have dated people since S. There was the real estate agent who was incredibly cute, fun to talk to and adorably shy. It didn't work out. There was the editor at The Hill. He was worldly, well read, and whip smart. It didn't work out. There was the nurse going through a quarter life crisis the same time I was. It didn't work out. There was the recently returned Peace Corps volunteer. It didn't work out. I was always willing to go on another date with these guys, but again, if I'm being truly honest with myself, none of them made me feel the way S did. I was working harder. I was inconveniencing myself for them. I always felt like they were doing me a favor by going out with me. S never once made me feel like that. We were equal.
January of this year I decided to do something about the fact that I couldn't seem to find someone that made me feel the S did. So I called him. I knew he wouldn't pick up so I used my Skype number. He did pick up. I couldn't talk. I heard him say hi twice and then he hung up the phone. I called back again, determined to say something this time. And I did. He didn't seem to hesitate in ganging me in conversation. We talked for maybe ten minutes. In the course of that conversation, he mentioned he'd like to get coffee.
A few weeks go by and we finally get together. I remember he was about 10 minutes late to meet me at the Starbucks. I almost left. My hands were clammy, my breath unsteady. I was texting two of best friends asking for advice. They convinced me to stay. And I'm glad I did. He walked in and looked just as he always did. With his Mr. Roger's sweater and dress pants it was clear he hopped on the metro coming from school. He went to the counter and ordered his coffee since I had already drunk half of mine in the ten minutes I was sitting there imagining every possible way this conversation could play out.
He finally sat down and we chatted. In our conversation back in January, I found out that he and the other guy bought a house together. I told him congratulations and that I was happy for him, which wasn't entirely a lie. We talked about his school, the friends of mine he knew and those of his I knew. We talked for a lot longer than expected. And I left feeling conflicted. The conversation was like one we could have had when we dated. It was easy. It was effortless. It was natural. I didn't avoid talking about the other guy but I also didn't bring him up. We left saying we should do it again. That wouldn't happen for a while.
Finally in July we got together again. There were sporadic texts here and there. In his slow response time, either consciously or unconsciously, he was reinforcing the fact I was not a priority in his life. It made it easier to hear he was engaged the next time I saw him. He had gotten engaged a few months before and the wedding was going to be in mid-July. I have to admit, it took every ounce of self-control I had not to get up from that table, thank him for taking time to see me but that it was a bad idea, walk out of the Starbucks and go home. I knew if I did that I would never see or talk to him ever again. And I wasn't ready to lose him. Not completely. The fact that I know I can text him and he'll reply still means something. I am not deluding myself in thinking I mean anything to him, but at least he acknowledges I am a human being with feelings.
My last encounter with S was dropping off a gift I had made him back when we were dating. It was a custom piece of art I asked a very talented friend to create for me. It depicts a scene from one of my favorite books, a book that S introduced me to, The Alchemist. The scene takes place in the yard of the abandoned church yard at the start of the book. The main character is laying under a gnarly oak tree in the ruins of the old church looking up at the sky. It was a small picture, 5x7, but it had a black frame about an inch thick. On the frame I wrote in silver sharpie quotes from the book. I was tired of having it remind me of him every time I sat at my desk, so I decided I would finally give it to him.
I drove to his, well their house. I sat in my car for a minute, mentally preparing to see the wedding ring on his finger. Logically I had moved on. It was three years later, and I'd seen him two times in the last two years. There was no reason I should have a problem with this situation. I did give myself an out though. I told him that I wouldn't be able to come inside or stick around because I had a tour that evening (which was true). I texted him I was at his door and waited about thirty seconds. Given his track record of not responding to me, I figured I should ring the doorbell. That was one thing I did not want to do. I wanted to give him the gift and go. I didn't want to see him. But as S opens the door, the other guy comes walking down the stairs. And I lose my composure. I become short and say abruptly I have to go. I tried to play it off via text after, but to anyone with half a brain it was clear I was uncomfortable seeing him.
We haven't talked much since then. He sent me a text calling me out for my rude behavior, saying why would he want to be friends with someone who wasn't nice to his husband. I apologized blaming the stress of my impending tour as the reason for my demeanor (that wasn't true). I told him that I am okay with him being with the other guy and that I am happy for them. He didn't believe me. I told him that I wanted to see him again in person but I wouldn't beg. I would leave the ball in his court.
And that's where we stand. We have had brief, mostly one sided conversations, sine then, but I don't think I'll see him again. Though I don't really believe that. He was my first love. I can still easily see a future where I am with him. It isn't realistic. It probably isn't healthy. But he was the only person in this world who made me feel valued. He inspired me to become a better person. He didn't try to change me. I wanted to be the man I thought he could be proud of.
I am not jaded enough to think that I'll never find that kind of love again. But when you find it so young, it's hard to settle for anything less. I was twenty-three years old when we met. I fell in love with him then and part of me will always love him, or the idea of him. I do look forward to the day when the idea of him materializes into a real person. But until then I am doing all that I can to still be the man he would be proud of.
Eventually I stopped reaching out to him. I knew that if we would ever be in each other's lives, trying to force my way in to his at this point in time wasn't the way to go. I had to let go. In examining what I wanted, more than anything, I wanted him to be happy. I knew that it wouldn't be with me. My only comfort was knowing that the other guy did make him happy.
That's what I would do my best to tell myself. Every time I would think about him, I would think of the good times that we had. I would think of that kiss at the security checkpoint in the airport before I boarded my plane. I would think about that hug at the intersection of Massachusetts and Q St on our first date. To this day, I haven't rewatched The Emperors New Groove (it was the movie we watched on our first date). And I will say, there are times when I genuinely think that. I am proud of myself when I have those moments of maturity. I can wish him the best and I can look back at those memories with nothing but the sense of calm reflection that a person who has lived the life they wanted I'm sure has when they are towards the end.
But if I am being truly honest with myself, I am still mourning that loss. I realize now it may not be the loss of S himself, but the loss of what he represented to me. He was the person that put me as a priority. I'm not implying that I wasn't the priority in the eyes of my family, but in terms of non-familial relationships, I have almost always felt like I give more. I am happy to do it. I know what I have been given and I don't need that much in return. But having someone make you feel loved in a romantic way is... well it's really hard to describe. Knowing that he would inconvenience himself night after night just to be with me. Not that we were doing anything more than ordering Chinese food and watching trashy TV. I miss that feeling. That feeling of being wanted.
I have dated people since S. There was the real estate agent who was incredibly cute, fun to talk to and adorably shy. It didn't work out. There was the editor at The Hill. He was worldly, well read, and whip smart. It didn't work out. There was the nurse going through a quarter life crisis the same time I was. It didn't work out. There was the recently returned Peace Corps volunteer. It didn't work out. I was always willing to go on another date with these guys, but again, if I'm being truly honest with myself, none of them made me feel the way S did. I was working harder. I was inconveniencing myself for them. I always felt like they were doing me a favor by going out with me. S never once made me feel like that. We were equal.
January of this year I decided to do something about the fact that I couldn't seem to find someone that made me feel the S did. So I called him. I knew he wouldn't pick up so I used my Skype number. He did pick up. I couldn't talk. I heard him say hi twice and then he hung up the phone. I called back again, determined to say something this time. And I did. He didn't seem to hesitate in ganging me in conversation. We talked for maybe ten minutes. In the course of that conversation, he mentioned he'd like to get coffee.
A few weeks go by and we finally get together. I remember he was about 10 minutes late to meet me at the Starbucks. I almost left. My hands were clammy, my breath unsteady. I was texting two of best friends asking for advice. They convinced me to stay. And I'm glad I did. He walked in and looked just as he always did. With his Mr. Roger's sweater and dress pants it was clear he hopped on the metro coming from school. He went to the counter and ordered his coffee since I had already drunk half of mine in the ten minutes I was sitting there imagining every possible way this conversation could play out.
He finally sat down and we chatted. In our conversation back in January, I found out that he and the other guy bought a house together. I told him congratulations and that I was happy for him, which wasn't entirely a lie. We talked about his school, the friends of mine he knew and those of his I knew. We talked for a lot longer than expected. And I left feeling conflicted. The conversation was like one we could have had when we dated. It was easy. It was effortless. It was natural. I didn't avoid talking about the other guy but I also didn't bring him up. We left saying we should do it again. That wouldn't happen for a while.
Finally in July we got together again. There were sporadic texts here and there. In his slow response time, either consciously or unconsciously, he was reinforcing the fact I was not a priority in his life. It made it easier to hear he was engaged the next time I saw him. He had gotten engaged a few months before and the wedding was going to be in mid-July. I have to admit, it took every ounce of self-control I had not to get up from that table, thank him for taking time to see me but that it was a bad idea, walk out of the Starbucks and go home. I knew if I did that I would never see or talk to him ever again. And I wasn't ready to lose him. Not completely. The fact that I know I can text him and he'll reply still means something. I am not deluding myself in thinking I mean anything to him, but at least he acknowledges I am a human being with feelings.
My last encounter with S was dropping off a gift I had made him back when we were dating. It was a custom piece of art I asked a very talented friend to create for me. It depicts a scene from one of my favorite books, a book that S introduced me to, The Alchemist. The scene takes place in the yard of the abandoned church yard at the start of the book. The main character is laying under a gnarly oak tree in the ruins of the old church looking up at the sky. It was a small picture, 5x7, but it had a black frame about an inch thick. On the frame I wrote in silver sharpie quotes from the book. I was tired of having it remind me of him every time I sat at my desk, so I decided I would finally give it to him.
I drove to his, well their house. I sat in my car for a minute, mentally preparing to see the wedding ring on his finger. Logically I had moved on. It was three years later, and I'd seen him two times in the last two years. There was no reason I should have a problem with this situation. I did give myself an out though. I told him that I wouldn't be able to come inside or stick around because I had a tour that evening (which was true). I texted him I was at his door and waited about thirty seconds. Given his track record of not responding to me, I figured I should ring the doorbell. That was one thing I did not want to do. I wanted to give him the gift and go. I didn't want to see him. But as S opens the door, the other guy comes walking down the stairs. And I lose my composure. I become short and say abruptly I have to go. I tried to play it off via text after, but to anyone with half a brain it was clear I was uncomfortable seeing him.
We haven't talked much since then. He sent me a text calling me out for my rude behavior, saying why would he want to be friends with someone who wasn't nice to his husband. I apologized blaming the stress of my impending tour as the reason for my demeanor (that wasn't true). I told him that I am okay with him being with the other guy and that I am happy for them. He didn't believe me. I told him that I wanted to see him again in person but I wouldn't beg. I would leave the ball in his court.
And that's where we stand. We have had brief, mostly one sided conversations, sine then, but I don't think I'll see him again. Though I don't really believe that. He was my first love. I can still easily see a future where I am with him. It isn't realistic. It probably isn't healthy. But he was the only person in this world who made me feel valued. He inspired me to become a better person. He didn't try to change me. I wanted to be the man I thought he could be proud of.
I am not jaded enough to think that I'll never find that kind of love again. But when you find it so young, it's hard to settle for anything less. I was twenty-three years old when we met. I fell in love with him then and part of me will always love him, or the idea of him. I do look forward to the day when the idea of him materializes into a real person. But until then I am doing all that I can to still be the man he would be proud of.
No comments:
Post a Comment