So I told him I would never, ever write about him. Meh.
Writing is how I make sense of life. Sorry. If my guts were not scooped out on a pretty plate and staring me in the face, I might have spent the morning reading a glossy women’s magazine or getting a pink pedicure.
What would you do? I must take scientific poll here. Yes, time for a poll. Not time to drown in heart blood, to self-destruct in ten seconds. Rock bottom is a dark place where bugs and bats live. I don’t like it here.
So I am a clawing my way back to the surface with words.
As I explained in a recent installment of As Patty’s Fucking World Turns aka my Twisted Sister blog, after an over ten year hiatus of not so much as even hardly looking at a guy, I let my little heart venture into crush land. You can read that post here:
I wrote that piece in about 15 minutes about ten days ago. It was therapeutic, and I felt relieved to air my feelings. And, as always, I thought it just might connect with folks and help someone else?
I did think #1 crush was a real stand-up guy. I did. So I went on with my week. A nice, normal week of fun with friends – male and female. I didn’t really give #1 a second thought.
Fast forward to Thursday night. The text began with “Hello Young Lady” . . . BAM! I am back in the front seat of the roller coaster with those three words. The middle of the message says something about him being a state and like seven hours away, oh BAM! The end simply, MAYBE WE CAN SHARE A ROOM . . . BAM, pa rump a pun pun BAM! No question mark as punctuation at the end of his sentence, but he did add that he would like my company and that he did not feel well and that my company “might make him feel better.”
So, mush heart here, of course she does, drives the roller coaster eight hours over the river and through the woods and desert and late-summer Friday afternoon traffic on one last quest of the heart. Roller coasters like road trips you know? Especially hot summer fun road trips with hours of listening to love songs and breathtaking scenery! Yes.
Not much more to add. It is Monday morning. This steel-cut heart is still mush, but it’ll survive. Might take a couple of days, but I pray when it pounds again it will not pound itself into the dry late summer ground.
We did get that motel room – a room with two beds. I was trying to tell myself it was romantic like that scene in “Some Like It Hot” -
It was not. It was hot and not. Mostly not.
Thing is I have a few dozen male friends. I might even have a male friend (or two??) who might even want to, say, have – GASP – sex? I have no clue. My mind does not go there, BUT to say it did not occur to me that a red-blooded male might be enticed by a girl who has “saved” herself for over a decade and is wearing what she thought was a sexy something and lounging under a thin white sheet in a bed a foot way – duh?! Of course I thought IT WOULD HAPPEN ONE NIGHT!!!
It did not. That was fine. It did not the next night either. A gentleman, yes. Perfect, No.
The epiphany came at dinner that second night when a man in our dinner party, a gorgeous Latin man (with a wink in his heart), suggested to #1 that I had a beautiful smile. Numero Uno’s face turned into a monkey puzzle. Sort of like the ew girls germs thing from first grade. In slut-like hindsight (bear with me here, it’s been a decade), I should have grabbed the Latin by the hand. Que Pasa?
Number One and I returned to the room after dinner. He took a shower. i was going to leave while he was in the shower, but I am not a mean person. I thought it would be rude. I did not want to hurt his feelings. After his shower, he played word games on his phone with his friends, most likely members of his personal harem.
I took my own shower. I climbed in bed and whimpered a bit. He told me I was simply grieving the loss of my mother and asked me to repeat the Lord’s Prayer, line by line, after him. I did. It made me feel worse. It made me feel dirty and cheap. I felt like my God was on his side.
I woke up early, got dressed, and was on the highway home a few minutes later. Before I left, he suggested a return route for me to take. I drove the opposite direction. After two hours of tears, I stopped for coffee and breakfast. I snapped happy, sunny photos of my mush heart at the bookstore, at the beach, and at the cafe.
It took another four hours to drive home. When I checked my email I had a message from match.Com informing me of my perfect match, #1. Yep, his photo and all staring me in the face. His pretty face looking at me saying, “You dumb bitch.”
When I woke up this morning, I attempted to text him to ask him where I could leave a handful of lovely trinkets and a nice antique Native American basket I’d acquired from him during this whatever it was? Some of the items I purchased. Some were “gifts.” He’d blocked me. I guess I was trying one more time to bust open that thick skull with a look here, guys would kill for this much woman! How could you not want this? How could you not like me? Last chance. Limited Time Offer. Expires Soon!
Ha! And, Ha!
So, I called him in a last silly pithy prideless attempt at SO YOU”RE SURE YOU DON”T LIKE ME EVEN A LITTLE?? and asked where I could leave this stuff?
“Just keep it,” he said. “You’re just another customer. Just keep it until you can settle yourself down.”
“I’m just another customer.” I had to hear myself say it out loud.
He might not have said it but what I heard was, “Hey, hysterical female, leave me alone. I never liked you in the first place. I used you. You dumb bitch. I needed someone to split the price of a room and pay for other stuff. Back off. I didn’t hurt you. You allowed yourself get hurt.”
Crazy. Psycho. Bitch. Quit your crying.
So, this morning, ya, behold the walls of Jericho, dear friends. They are back up. Way up high. Higher than the neck on a fancy Victorian blouse with tiny pearl buttons.Just another customer.
Hopefully it won’t take another ten years for the wall to come tumbling down. Who knows?