GBU

This piece was for the prompt 'The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly'. This is probably one of the most personal things I've written for the Fancy Laideez and therefore one of the hardest to share. I apologize for the language involved, Mom, but it's a true story.

A friend’s roommate’s boyfriend died suddenly and she (friend, not roommate) needed to get out of the house after two straight days of consoling. We decided to do something that would get her mind of off life for a little while. We rounded up some girlfriends and went to see Storm and the Balls for their regular Wednesday night show at Dante’s. One of my friends told me that she met the greatest guy over the weekend and that she was going to call him to meet up with us. “You’re going to get along great,” she told me, “he reads a lot”. I was worried that I was coming off as the geek in our group. Sure, I was an avid reader and I wrote a lot and I had been doing some editing work for a non-profit magazine but is that what my friends thought of me? Did they really think that I only dated guys based on what book was on their bedside table? I couldn’t complain because, let’s face it, a guy who reads a lot is really important to me.
Her friend showed up and came to our table with a friend of his. I looked past the one I was supposed to be set up with and focused on his friend who was hanging back a bit. Not only do I like an extensive library, I also like glasses and facial hair and this boy had both! He caught me staring at him and flashed me a smile and a wave. I pulled the seat out next to me as an invitation to get to know me and his RSVP came back “yes”. I have some social anxiety and can get a little bit subdued around new people but not an ounce of shyness came through when talking to him. There was never a lull in our conversation. I learned that he had just moved back to Portland after a year in upstate New York, he was trying to form a band now that he was back home, he was moving into his new place that weekend and that he was a big X-Men fan. We made flirty plans to see the new movie the next weekend and that’s when we exchanged phone numbers. We got that out of the way early on, there was no need to play that game of “should I or shouldn’t I give him my number”, “do I think that he’ll call”, “is he going to remember me in the morning”. Everything was so natural and easy. I don’t think that it was love at first sight but there was definitely something between us I had never felt before. With all the emotions that went along with the death a few days before, it felt great to be out and enjoying life.
I had just moved to Portland from Boston about six months prior and I was still trying to find my niche in this new city. I was excited that I was meeting people on my own and didn’t need all of my friends to be related in the same social circles. I had gone on a few dates over those months but nothing had transpired more than some making out or some awkward one night stands. This, however, felt different. I could tell immediately that he wasn’t trying to get in my pants right away; his actions told me that he wasn’t looking for just some quick and easy sex.
We paid little attention to the band on stage. We were having one of those nights where we were the only ones who existed in the bar. I didn’t converse with any of my friends and he didn’t spend any time with his. I’m sure had we stopped talking and looked around the table, we would have realized that we were the topic of conversation but we didn’t care. Nothing mattered at that moment other than the words coming out of his mouth. This guy was funny, intelligent, engaging, smoked the same cigarettes as me and most importantly, all of a sudden, he was holding my hand. He looked down at the situation and asked if it was okay that his hand had mine. Mind? How could I mind?
Unfortunately, not long after that the lights came on, the bar staff was yelling at us that it was time to go home, and everyone was starting to part ways. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to this guy so we decided to take a walk around the block so that we could have ten minutes of alone and quiet time before saying goodnight to each other.
We crossed Burnside and stood on 3rd Ave about halfway to Couch Street. We talked about how great it was to meet each other and that we would definitely go see the X-Men movie together after the weekend. He promised that he would call me before then since he’d be moving the whole time and wouldn’t be able to get to a phone. While we were talking we were moving in closer and closer for that imminent first kiss that we could both tell was about to happen. He put his hands on my hips and pulled me close to him and placed his lips on mine. Unfortunately, kissing on SW 3rd Ave at 2:15 in the morning isn’t the most romantic setting for the first kiss of someone you really like. Not only were the people walking by distracting, a carload of my friends saw us and circled the block intentionally so that they could yell “get some” out of the car window. We laughed about it but it didn’t stop us from trying again. Finally, we decided that it was time to go our separate ways for the night as his friend was standing awkwardly on the corner trying not to pay any attention to us and I had an eighteen block skip home!
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There comes that moment in every relationship when you ask yourself what you’re doing here. Mine came at about the three month point. We were walking home from the bar after his roommate, Matt’s, birthday party. He had gotten super drunk and had been moody for the past few hours. We were walking hand in hand crossing through the park at the beginning of his neighborhood. He had been quiet the entire walk but I thought that maybe he was just tired. “Matt‘s great,” I said finally. “I love all of your friends, really, but Matt reminds me of a lot of friends back in Boston.” I was not expecting what came out of his mouth next: What? Do you want to fuck him?. I was completely blown away that that was the response I received to such a mundane statement. My mind was reeling. He then went on to tell me that it was ok if I wanted to fuck Matt because we’d only been together for a few months and that we didn’t have anything invested just yet. I was so shocked and so confused. Who was this guy? I had never seen him like this and I was not impressed. Some girls like when their boyfriends are jealous and protective. I am not one of those girls. Hot tears stung my eyes as we stood in the middle of the park shivering. I was livid. No one had ever accused me of cheating even when I cheated on them! I told him that I wanted to go back to his place to get my things and call a cab. “No,” he cried. “Don’t leave me, I’m sorry.” Sorry? How could he easily apologize so quickly after telling me that he had nothing invested in me? We walked into his house and his two roommates were sitting in the living room asking us if got lost walking home. I ignored them and made my way to the kitchen to grab the phone. He followed me and took the phone out of my hand. “Let’s go upstairs, let’s talk about this”. I didn’t want to make a scene in front of the roommates so I quietly walked upstairs and stood in the middle of his bedroom with my arms folded. He stood next to me and just started bawling. He apologized for being a jerk. He said that his last girlfriend had cheated on him and he was worried that it was going to happen to him again. He cried that he didn’t deserve me and that I was too good to be true. He told me how much he loved me and that, although we hadn’t been together too long, he already knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. I admit it, I melted. He seemed to insecure and sincere that maybe, just maybe, I could forget his accusation and move forward. Maybe this is what people in love did, how did I know.
I finally decided to stay the night. I woke up to a big kiss on the lips. When I asked what that was for he said “for making sure I got home last night. I don’t remember anything after about 11:30”. My tired mind put together the pieces of the puzzle, almost crying aloud when I realized that he didn’t remember the first time he told me that he loved me.
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I went back to the house a few days after I moved out. I had left a few things behind, nothing too important but a few things that I wanted to grab and a few things that he didn't want left behind to remind him of me. As I was walked through the duplex I noticed so many changes in those three days: the stereo was in the place where the TV was, the bedroom was empty as he moved into the spare room, the bag of potatoes on top of the fridge that never would have been there had I still lived there, and how quiet it was without the two cats running around causing trouble.
I emptied out the cupboards of the last remaining proof that I ever lived there. It was weird to not see my picture on the mantel or my other coat hanging in the closet. He sat at the kitchen table (which he somehow got in the breakup which I still can't explain even to this day) and talked to me as if I was a stranger coming to take a census poll. He asked me about the new apartment, how the cats were adjusting to SE life, how work was and if I had talked to any of my friends. I was so conflicted, trying to be polite and answer him back but also so filled with emotions and trying not to cry as a huge part of my life was ending right before my eyes that I just stayed silent. Once I had everything packed up, I walked out the door.
It was the first time in those three and a half years that we parted ways with not so much as a hug. I stood out at the top of the steps listening to the light rain bounce off the roof and hit the cars in the driveway. I couldn’t believe that it was over. As much as I hated him at that point in my life, I wanted more. Maybe I had watched too many romantic comedies but wasn’t the boy supposed to chase the girl out the door and beg her forgiveness? Wasn’t he supposed to cry and tell me that he was an asshole and that I was perfect and beautiful and everything that he ever wanted in a mate? As I stood there listening to the rain this new emotion started taking over. I didn’t feel like I wanted to cry for the first time in three days. I felt my face grow hot, my heart beating faster and faster, and my arms start to shake under the weight of the box. I realized that had I been Bruce Banner, I would be “hulking” out of my clothes at that moment. This was new and I was scared and I didn’t know what to do. So without thinking I kicked the door a few times with my foot as my hands were still full with mementos of mine he didn’t want anymore.
He answered the door with a puzzled look on his face (I had just left about 45 seconds ago) and let me inside. He looked at me with his hands on his hips, a stance that only said one phrase: what do you want now? I put down the box, looked him straight in the eye, and asked the only thing that made sense at that moment. I asked him why he didn’t feel any emotion anymore. I asked him why he never cried about our break-up. Why he never seemed angry at the fact that I was moving out. And more importantly, how could he sit at that kitchen table my dad bought us and act like my moving out was an everyday occurrence. He told me that he did cry. He cried to his friends after I moved out over the weekend, he cried to his mom at one AM the previous night because he was dreading seeing me again, and that he could cry to everyone in his life except for the one person who needed to hear it the most. He told me that he just had no more emotion left to spend on me and that he mourned the loss of our relationship while we were still in it. He checked out months ago, he told me without batting an eye. Apparently, I was trying to salvage something that died about 120 days prior. I thought that at that point in our relationship he was done hurting me. Turns out I was wrong. I’d heard the expression “those words cut me like a knife” but I had never experienced it before. I always chalked a phrase like that up to dead poets or Harlequin Romance novelists, something that’s cliché but not used or felt. Wow! That phrase caused tears to escape from my eyes without even my knowing it. He got one last stab in before we would say goodbye forever. I was so disappointed in myself for not foreseeing this while I was standing on the steps and I was so disappointed in myself for being the better person and never saying anything to him that would intentionally hurt him. That’s not how I play the game, with him or anyone else in my life. But I wanted to get one more comment out there, something that would sting him. And my chance came a minute or two later when he said “this feels like a divorce” and I responded dryly with “yup, you would know that feeling, wouldn’t you?” as his divorce was the touchiest subject between us. He never told me details about their relationship or under what circumstances they decided to call it quits. It was only after we had been together for two years that I even learned her name. He closed his eyes and let my words wash over him. When he opened them he told me that he deserved that and that he had nothing left to say about us. I couldn’t believe that finally I reached his level and I didn’t like it one bit. It seems like a harmless eight words to an outsider but as soon as I saw his reaction I wished that I didn’t say it. I wanted to be the mature one in all of this but I failed and I was so angry with myself.
He reached out his arms to hug me goodbye and I folded into them one last time crying against his chest. Even though I knew it was for the best I wasn’t quite ready to leave the house for the last time. I was remembering all those nights drinking wine on the couch talking about growing old together, sitting on the roof during rainstorms trying to take pictures of the lightning, creating music in the studio together, listening to NPR while making pancakes on lazy Sunday mornings, meeting our little kitten Gibson for the first time after our neighbor brought him over…for some reason the only thing that my mind would fixate on were the good times, it was blocking out the last few months of hell I had just endured and wouldn’t let me let go. That’s when he broke our embrace, cupped my face in his hands and gave me the kiss every girl dreams about since she learns what kissing is. Our lips were together and our tears were mixing with each others. We parted and had no words left to say to each other. I knew that the only thing to say was goodbye for the last time.