Heart Surgery

You stood there, nervous.
I had received a text earlier that day. "I'm close", you said.
I was nervous. Had not seen  you for years.
"Will you recognize me?" You asked.
"I don't know." I said.
"I could hear the train." You texted.
"I'm late." I replied.
"You are in the station." You said.

I saw you. Standing tall, erect.  Didn't have any trouble recognizing you.
Then you disappeared.
I found you again.
I made reservation at a French restaurant. We proceeded to walk over there.

You were nervous. I was too.

We sat down. I ordered red wine. You ordered sparkling water. You stopped drinking. No drugs, no drinking, no smoke. Clean living.

All muscles. in great shape. When you smiled i remembered your face all of sudden.

You reached over and grabbed my hand.

"Your heart is beating fast." You commented.

Meeting someone whom you had not seen for a very long time, for the first time was never an easy task.

I had never done this before. To meet someone who I had not seen for so long.

As it turned out. It was easy to get back onto the bike.

Never wrote about this. Never felt the desire to write about it.

I had been rarely on Facebook. Didn't understand why people like iPhones. Didn't quite get texting. Didn't know a lot of things.

Did not know myself.

That bit was harder. To meet someone who had known me then, but didn't know me now. To meet that version of me, who had no idea who I was, due to the unintended long term memory suppression and and the person who was dying to come out. The real me.

That bit was the most difficult. To not know yourself and had the old you, the one you reverted back to when you were barely a teenager, to be the dominant force.

"How could you feel this way?" You asked.

I should have said - "Because I started from the very beginning. The very beginning of everything." I wish I knew what I knew today.

I wish that you could believe me. At the time I felt with my heart. I felt with my soul, I was open, ready to share my thoughts with those who cared to listen. I was daring, and I was honest as if I was only 18. I had a mentality of a 18 year old.

You wouldn't believe me. If I were you, I wouldn't believe that version of me either.

Months passed.

Years passed.

I understood, finally, why we ended the way we did.

I was, quite frankly, not prepared to getting to know this version of me.

You caught me off guard.

You thought I was lying. No one behaved the way I did.

I was wakening. Still heavily sedated. Still felt utterly comfortable to open myself up. I was not sarcastic, I was eager to tell you everything, I was eager to please you, I was fantastically happy to feel desired again. But I also had feelings that were quite easily crushed.

I was anxious, nervous, I felt the valleys and the peaks, like an 18 year old. I wanted the connection. Emotional connection was hard to find. I thought I had that. Silly me, silly 18 year old version of me.

I wish you could meet this version of me now. This was the person you discovered the last time we met but much improved: confident, secure, guarded, emotionally removed, disengaged but charming, likable, more informed about the world.  The way I wanted myself to be.

I couldn't eat that night. You ate a lot more than I did.

The cheese plate was rather good. I always enjoyed cheese plates. I enjoyed dried apricots, fig jam and fromages from France and Spain.

I felt once or twice in my various lives (I'm a cat.)

This was one of those rare moments.

It was a nasty disease that I caught. Took years, months to bounce back. With lots of set backs in between, with lots of therapy sessions, with more mistakes made.

I had a heart surgery and developed an immune system since then.

Surgery was quite a success.

Heart stopped hurting. It no longer feels.

This is how we part

"Stop asking why." You said.
"Why stop?" I asked.
"Because it'll be a short lived friendship." You replied.
"But why?" I insisted.
"Just stop. I am not going to explain it." You said.
"I don't understand." I proceeded forward with my agenda.
"Nothing to understand." You made it so finale like.

"Am I strange?" I asked.
"Maybe it's me." You replied too quickly.

"You don't like to talk." It was not a question. It was a statement.
"No." You said.
I was reminded of how you texted me.

"Yes!" is your standard response.

I was not going to get much out of you.

"When do people get possessive?" I liked to ask random questions.
"Is it jealousy? Is it because you feel attached?" I answered for myself.

"It's when you fear. Fear of the other person does not regard you as important. Fear of losing the person, Fear of losing that companionship."

"Do you ever get possessive?" I asked.
"I tried not to. Sometimes I do." You said it matter-of-fact-ly.

"I don't get possessive. You don't have to worry. I will never have to fear of losing you as a friend. Don't get possessive with me." I requested.

You didn't say a word.

"You are going to have a fantastic trip. A great trip with your family." You hugged me to say good-bye.

"I'll be in touch." You are such a good friend. Never demands anything, never requests anything. Just let me be. I like people who let me be.

"Should I tell you a little about me?" I asked  you once.

"No. You've told me everything." You answered.

You were right, everything, apparently. I told you everything.

I asked about your family, your siblings.

"Don't ask." You cut me off.

This is when things got complicated. You see.

We are friends. Friends are supposed to know these things of each other.

I dropped the topic.
"Just drop it!" you said dismissively.

Here is what I know.

We don't control how we feel. We can control our actions.

I suspected that you wanted to push me away.  You started to feel.

I like status quo. I like friendship. I like the lack of foreseeable future. I like the absolute certainty is uncertainty. I like to think you'd still be here, as, just a friend, when I return.

I waved and promised to stay in touch.

I did'nt think you will be here when I return or to stay in touch with me. It is truly for the best.

I would't ask you if you'd be here, still as just a friend. A friend is the only thing I'd like out of this.

I knew you wouldn't answer.

But I knew you better than you thought I did. When you didn't answer my question, I knew the answer was always "no." I wouldn't ask again. I hated silence.

Lights were dim. You wore your glasses because you'd always been farsighted. I saw your eyes turning red. I saw something I was not supposed to see.

---------------------------------------------------------
This is how we part.

A full circle

“You were mad at me.” He blurred it out to her just as she was getting out of his car.

“What?”

“Pier 23. You were with a guy. I came up to you to say hi, I was happy to see you. But you were mad at me.” He elaborated.

“I what? Why would I be mad at you?” She asked him.

“I don’t know why. How could you be mad at me?” He replied, acting hurt.

“When was that? Before or after we saw each other?” She then asked.

“After.”

“Oh…maybe you were ruining my chance with that guy. Whoever he was.” She rationalized. Deep in thought.  

This was how they communicated, often in a rather time continuum way where there was no beginning or ending. Just subconscious thoughts that came out in moments like this, after they finished a movie and had dinner and were heading over to his place. She preferred to think of it as “their” place.

It would also appear that he’s been thinking about it for some time now and he wanted her to know that he was hurt. He wanted her to know that he was hurt by her reaction to him coming up to say hi that time.

It was not a typical lovers quarrel. The event took place fourteen years ago.

Fourteen years had passed and she remembered nearly nothing about that period.

“Are you sure it was me? It could be another person. Another girl.” They continued on this conversation.

“No, it was you. I knew it was you.” He insisted.

Once he wrote to her, late in the evening:“ What I like best when I can't be with you is to see you as you are now. You are beautiful now and you are mine now.” She had not seen him for a few weeks. But occasionally he wrote to her in such a passionate way that she felt that she was connected with him somehow, forever and ever, if one believed such a thing.

She was lost without him. She was lost with him. Then she found herself again. When he ceased to cause her heartache.

The fact was, she knew he was perfect for her. In more than one ways she felt connected with him. She knew his up and downs, high tides and low tides. She worried about burning out. She worried about her heart being lost, lost because of him, lost because she was not with him. It brought a strange sense of comfort. “We could do this forever.” She would tell herself. To be with him in a not-together way.

“What if your husband hired a detective?” He asked her over dinner.

“Well, I doubt that would happen. He’d have to give a shit.” She replied.

Husband was not going to hire a detective because she had given him no reason. She functioned normally, never had excessive absence from home, she loved her family. She even loved her husband. But she loved him in a different way. Deeply, profoundly, and in an absolute non-committed way, she’s committed to this non-relationship relationship.

They dined in a local restaurant. He made her sit inside. He forgot that she was left handed like him. They didn’t have to sit opposite of each other. They wouldn’t be bumping into one another.

“We have that in common.” He said.

“Tell me all that we have in common then.” She asked.

“You know what they are.” He replied slyly. He read her last posting. She took an inventory of what they had in common already.

But she didn’t know that they had one more thing in common.

“My father hired a detective. He was going to marry this woman. She was always disappearing. One of her friends, married, told my father to hire a detective. He did. He found out she was having another relationship. And he ended up not marrying her.”  He told her.

“That was new. I didn’t know that your parents were divorced.” She had always assumed he came from two parents household, where his parents were happy and loving towards one another.

“I was already in grad school by then. In my twenties.” He said.

“Oh, like mine. My parents divorced when I was 25. But they always had problems.” She said.

He nodded his head and said, “See we have that in common too.”

The list (http://crankyvic.blogspot.com/2012/05/list-draft-just-like-list.html)  was growing.

That explained why he would never marry. She thought to herself. Not that it mattered.  She loved him in a way that required very little analysis. It’s very instinctive.

So they sat at this café, side by side, like they always did, he never wanted to stay apart when they ate dinner. Most people sat across each other, but when they ate, they sat next to each other. He needed that close proximity, she felt that he needed her close when they spent time together. It was an unspoken rule. When they were together, they were TOGETHER. In every sense of the word, she belonged to him.

He took charge and ordered. He ordered her sparkling water, some soup, some salad, some meatballs and some tuna tartar type of thing. He had a glass of red wine. When they first met, he only drank white wine, but now he only drank red. She only drank red. They share everything. This was also their dynamic. When they went out for dinner, he ordered. She let him. She’s otherwise a very opinionated, strong willed woman who had always taken charge, she was to be feared and she was commanding. But not in this relationship. In this relationship, he took charge. He asked but he made decisions. She enjoyed it. He made her feel safe and sound.

They went to see a movie, she suggested it and he bought tickets in advance.  Theatre was empty. Norwegian coming of age art house movie did not generate much buzz. She knew that they’d like it. The subject was interesting and he lived in Norway. He picked seats. They sat in an empty theatre. He held her hands. She was reminded how he held her hands the last time they went to a movie. He held her hand the entire time too. She was used to that. In the dark she needed his hand. She felt connected with him. That was how their interaction worked. He needed that assurance that she was his.  She gave that to him. She needed that assurance too.

When the move was over, he sat there and watch the credits to roll so she sat there until he was ready to leave. The night was still young so he took her back to his place. She was half undressed and he lifted her up and carried her to his bed. There they were one, once again.

Later on, they shower and laid next to each other.

“You know I told you a couple of months ago I went into a depression?” She cautiously broached the subject.

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m not good with emotions. I bulked. You started you know. You said ‘I love you’ first. It really messed up my head. But I forgive you.” She laughed. It was a little uncomfortable but it felt good to let it out of her chest.

“I’m not good with emotions either.” He replied.

She remembered those days where he disappeared completely. She didn’t know what happened to him. He just disappeared, and didn’t resurface until a week later after the last time they saw each other.

“I’m good now.”  She told him.

“Let’s not define things. Let’s just be.” She continued.

She was always a bit like a guy. She couldn’t really do emotions. She freaked out when those heavy emotional words were thrown at her. She lost control. She couldn’t deal with any real emotions. She didn’t want anything to change, not really.

She liked status quo. She liked loving him as long as it’s within her confines of loving. She loved him like she loved rainbow. Beautiful, happy, colorful, mysterious, afar and unattainable. Not unlike herself.  Perhaps he attracted her the most because he reminded her of herself.

She loved watching porn. Every night she watched porn, the sites were all recommended to her by him. She watched porn and thought of fucking him. She sent links to him on those she liked. They liked the same things. Same kinks.

“So I’ll text you sometimes.”  She was about to go home.

“You gave up on me.” He was referring to emails.

“Yes.”

She remembered once he said how he liked short messages, it was as if they were talking to each other. He didn’t talk much. He did not answer phones. He talked to people all day long. He didn’t want to talk to her.  But she decided to try texting. It would make it easier.

So she decided that she’d text him. Small, mundane messages. She liked that. It augmented emails. She felt finally at ease around him. She no longer feared of losing him, now that they cleared their communication channel – no discussions about love, or missing each other. She was no longer lost. Now that she knew her feeling of loss was a result of fear. Fear of falling in love. Fear of her emotions being known.

He knew. He felt too. He held her in his arms, they laid next to each other, bodies intertwined.

“I knew what I didn’t know before. I am not good with emotions. It fucks me up. But I also know that you can’t have a physical thing without emotional connection. That’s what I know now.” She confessed.

He held her, his free hand gently caressed her long, soft, wet, hair.

“I like the way you are now. Without make up. Naked. Real. Mine.” He said.

“I am yours.” She closed her eyes, curled up next to him, and smiled.

China Summer - Remembered

I lie top of a round tree trunk lengthwise, the clouds are white on blue, the entire bay lit up, so warm, no breath of fresh air, no wind, just heat.

I was reminded of Wuhan, Hu Bei, in the dead summer, circa 1978, people slept on rickety bamboo twin beds, on the streets, one head after another, all lined up neatly so that they could all fit on the same pedestrian walkway. Doors were wide open in every little houses, people were so poor that there were nothing to steal.

110 Fahrenheit degrees in the middle of the night. I was just off boarded a train from Changsha, Hu Nan, and I walked by these dead-asleep mosquitoes-ridden people, some snoring, some not, to catch the boat that departed at 6:30 AM from the terminal on the other end of the town from the train station. The boat made the journey up the Yangzi River, sailing through the Three Gorges, when it was still in existence and in its unaltered state. It would eventually take me to Hefei, An Hui, south of Shanghai, in just short of three days of journey. I look forwarded to those long boat rides, on the muddy Yangzi river, every summer. Sometimes we made a detour in Najing, Jiang Su. I liked the pickled salty vegetables there, and the air dried salted duck gizzards. They were then washed down with a bowl of rice porridge.  If mother was feeling generous, she'd also order a salted duck egg, I liked the egg york the most. She took the egg white.

I memorized the name of provinces of China rather easily, I traveled lots as a little kid. By the time I left China, I'd covered all but 5 provinces across China.

One summer, in 1991, I returned to China. I was briefly passing through Wuhan, on a soft sleeper train returning from an obligatory family visit to my father side of Beijing relatives. The train made stops at Wuhan, then Changsha, then to Guangzhou, where I'd then catch a bus to Zhuhai, a city bordered Macau, where my folks then lived.

A childhood friend stood by that train station, came to see me, in the middle of the night, we embraced like we never did and then I had to depart hurriedly as the train was pulling off the station. He went up to me the last minute and kissed me. I never talked to him again, I never saw him again. I was 6 when I met him. He moved to Wuhan after I moved to Zhuhai, when we were both only 12. We kept in touch until 1991, when I finally stopped writing in Chinese, when I knew the return to China, to grow up to be a writer, a journalist, to live a nomadic life, to be free of responsibilities, free of possibilities and options, were nothing but a lovely dream, I would start, all over again, in a country I had since adopted as my own, in a place I had to make do. And make do I did.

That was my childhood. A past, remembered, just now, while star gazing.

My irises are now wide open, after a while I can see lights and objects, far or close, as if I were a vampire or just consumed mushroom. I can hear crickets, car alarm going off afar, Spanish and Indian radios playing on the opposite end. I can smell the sweet scent of weeds. This is the Republic of Berkeley.

I am of 39 years of age.  The last year before I shall hit the 4-0.

The check-in on FB offers the option of "top of the world". I select that option, naturally.

My attempt of match making

“You are a strange bird.”  He then turns to my girlfriend and said, “Isn’t she strange?”

“She’s a hard case, that one. Generous, kind, but a hard case. She has a very deep commitment to marriage and family, yet a bit cynic about relationships.”

“She’s odd.” He concludes his assessment of me and continues his discussion with my girlfriend on her art. She has an extensive collection of her pottery, photography and sculptures on her iPhone. He’s rather intrigued and finds her interesting.  They are both creative types with corporate day jobs.

“I like this one.” He announces.

“I know you would.” I have been trying to, unsuccessfully, set him up with my single girlfriends.

I sit there quietly drinking my mojito, let them chat. They are getting along awfully well.

Here is the thing about me, you may or may not know this. I am generally not an emotional being. Once in a blue moon, I crash and burn and I resurface renewed. Each time a thicker layer of cynicism, sarcasm, and hardened soul. If you catch me in that rare blue moon light, where the shadowed me elongated, my face pasty white and I’m gravely silent, and I am at my most vulnerable state, I shall be receptive to feelings, and I shall trust and even love you with abandonment. I will let you trample over my depleted body, my soul bared for you to crush freely. Then I cry. Once in a very blue moon I will cry. For you, for the lost love, for the lack of vision to the eternal happiness, which as we all know, is just an illusion. I expect you to embrace me and care for me, to take care of me, but you don’t. You say these things because you think that’s what I want to hear and you leave. You say what I want to hear because you know that I understand you can’t fulfill them. You know that I can handle it with the grace of woman. You give me too much credit. I don’t deserve that much credit. I shall never be caught, again. So you let me go. See me sink and you pretend nothing has ever happened. People reset. You know that. You don't really care so much about others. You are in your own universe. You reset me. And I revert back. If I have any doubt, I just tell myself, and my friends will tell me “Reset. Please reset.”

I am a wind up doll, You wind me up when you need me; you wind me down when you are done with me. I am then put back into the closet. Collecting dust. That’s the version of me you may or may not know.

“I’m seeing Michael tomorrow.” She tells me.

“I’ve not seeing him since September. I had gone psychotic on him in March. We have not talked much.” She is matter-of-factly.

“I want him to leave his wife, and to be with me.” She’s that certain of her intention.

“But you have not seen him right, since September?” I asks just to be certain.

“Yes, but I want this to be right. I want him to want me back, this time.” She has a very determined way about her.

Michael is her sort of boyfriend. They met years ago at work. He moved from San Francisco to Boston. He is married, has a house in Marin, where his wife and children reside. Now the children are grown and out of the house. Michael keeps his apartment in Boston while comes back to San Francisco bay area once in a while. He’s a CEO of a large firm based in Boston. She’s somewhat 20 years younger than he is.

“Ask my friend here, see what he thinks.” She talks to my friend about Michael. Her love for him. He’s listening intently. I am quiet because I have nothing but negative thoughts about she and Michael. I think she should move on. She can move on if she lets go of him. I am a master of letting go but I can’t share my philosophy with her. I’m a married woman with two children.

My letting-go days are long gone. I accept my reality. I make the best of out of it, and as she indicates, I have a “very deep commitment to marriage and family.”

“Maybe you should just let it be. Just see how it goes tomorrow. No expectations no need to plan to lure him back in. Just go with the flow.” He advises her.

I senses that relationship talks bores him. Relationship talks are for girlfriends. I go back to art.

“I have a friend Andy who owns a gallery in New Orleans. I will introduce you two. You need friends. Andy is from New York. He now lives in New Orleans.”

My friend looks at her and then me, “Yes I know you are from New York too. But I’m not talking about you.”

“I read her blog you know.” My girlfriend turns to him and brags about her knowledge of the other me. The one few know.

“Really, what is it?” He asks.

“Not for you to know.” I snap.

“She IS a hard case.” My girlfriend nods her head. My friend laughs.

At the end of the evening, she says to him, “If you come to New Orleans, come and look me up. I’ll get your contact information from her. We must stay in touch.” She seems to like him.

My friend gives me a ride home.

“So do you like her?” I ask.

“She’s interesting. But I’m not interested in her.” He says.

Zero for two.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

He does not answer. He drives his beamer and he looks forward. We are on the Bay Bridge and I try to find something to say to him.

“She IS interesting” is all I managed to say.

“Yes she is.” He agrees with me.

“You are a strange bird. You keep on wanting to have me to meet your girlfriends and set me up with them.” He continues to try to direct conversation back to me. I don’t want to talk about me.

“I think you need companionship and you are cool.” I tell him the way it is.

“What if I’m not looking for anything?” He questions.

“We are all looking for something. We are designed to look for something. We can’t be alone forever.”

But then perhaps he has what he’s looking for already. I just don’t know what that is.

So I will continue my attempt of match-making.

“Next week then? I will see you same time next week in the Mission?”

“Peut-être!”

Who knows, she likes him, it appears. He finds her interesting. Who knows?

Maybe third time is a charm.

Peut-être…

Midlife crisis - Take 3

Shannon was 39 and half, has three girls with her stay at home husband. She's one of the youngest partners in a prestigious law firm's San Francisco branch office. She was a triathlete,  half Asian, half Caucasian. Her husband worked for a pharmaceutical firm, and traveled Monday through Friday. When she made partner he quit his job and now he stayed home and take care of their children.

On a school union / network event, she met an older gentleman who was just at the verge of turning 50. He had a career as a law professor, but now he played the trumpet, wrote songs, played tennis and did yoga.

Shannon grew up in the bay area, this gentleman, we will call him Gregory, moved from New York City to the bay area twenty five years ago. He had grown up on the upper west side, though he came to California for graduate school.

Shannon was smitten by Gregory. He was not young by all means, but he was charismatic and he liked her despite the fact she was a high powered woman. Many men couldn’t stand strong woman, as Shannon noticed. Gregory also liked her having her money and did not treat her as if she was his.

When they went out he paid half. He didn't argue when she insisted in paying at least half. He opened door for her, shut the car door after she got in, he held her hand when he drove, he didn't want her to be just happy, he wanted her to be herself.

Shannon loved her husband, but he stayed home and had very little to say about her professional life. Gregory had gone through it all and was serving as a good guide to her work problems. Shannon liked that he was older. He had only one rule in the bedroom. He would not climax until Shannon did.  These were things women of Shannon's situation could appreciate. She had been married for 15 years and had been with the same man for 17. They practically got married the moment she graduated from college.

Shannon was private. When Gregory told her that he was married, but separated, and his estranged wife lived up in Washington state in a house he's paying, with his two teenage children, Shannon was relieved, rather than being worried, she thought it made she and Gregory to be even playing field.

They saw each other twice or three times a week.  He was popular among his musician friends.  He played with them sometimes and sometimes he went to their shows. Soon Shannon went to these events and venues also. She listened to Gregory playing even though she didn’t care for his music. She just sat there and had a glass of wine, and sometimes chatted with other musicians. They thought she was Gregory’s girlfriend. She didn’t deny.

Shannon took up playing tennis. She told her husband that she was learning something new. She liked to have something to do with Gregory besides going to night clubs listening to him performing. Gregory did not demand of her time when she was busy with the children and her husband. She told him when she was available and when she wasn’t. Gregory understood what was like to raise three children.

One day Gregory asked her if she'd go away to his cabin in Oregon. A place he bought that was so remote, but it had a landing strip, which was convenient because he was also a pilot.

Shannon went with Gregory. They spent a lovely weekend.

She never told her husband about this affair, when Gregory's friends became Shannon's friends on Facebook, she told Gregory that she'd never be friends with him on Facebook. Gregory said "I understand."

Shannon wanted to say, "No you don't", but she kept it to herself. She didn't need to know everything about Gregory, or his female friends, or anyone whom he was friends with. She also did not want Gregory to gain more insight about her own life. She wanted to keep her other life separate from this one. Both Gregory and Shannon never took Facebook as a medium of communication. They texted and he called. He liked talking to her on the phone. She found it refreshing.  

Shannon suspected Gregory had other women. She did not care. He was a good lover and she missed that physical intimacy which was lacking for years now in her marriage.

Occasionally they would go out to the city to watch a show, she always wore her wedding ring. She had nothing to hide from Gregory, This was "it is what it is" situation.

Shannon never dressed up to impress Gregory. She often wore little makeup, jeans, shirts and work clothes if they met up in the city after work. She never had to feel that she need to impress Gregory. He was not just her lover, but also her friend.  He told her that her best feature was her nose, followed very close second to be her smooth skin. No one had ever complimented her nose before, they all thought her eyes were the best attribute, because she was half and half and had the biggest almond shaped eyes ever.

At some point, Gregory said that it was not sex that mattered, it was this connection and companionship.

As much as Shannon loved her husband, she no longer felt that physical intimacy with her husband for years now. She stopped knowing how to orgasm because she forgot how. Until Gregory came along.

Through Gregory, Shannon started to see the city of San Francisco under a different light, she also started to visit Washington state, whenever Gregory was there, she booked a hotel and stayed close by.

She and Gregory both knew at some point, they may have to discuss this arrangement, she did not want to be the first one to discuss it.

She confined to her girlfriend (me) and asked for my opinion.

I was never good at giving guidance. I told her to continue. "Just follow your heart."  I said. I never met Gregory but I liked him. I thought he treated her right. He was better than the previous lovers Shannon took on, many neglected her and treated her poorly. She didn’t deserve to be treated as such. I suspected that Shannon had some childhood trauma that led her to stray and led her to fall for wrong kind of men. I never told her such things. I figured that one day she’d figure it out. I liked Gregory even though I never met him. She didn’t want anyone to meet him, not yet.  

I had such a great instinct about all my girlfriends, I was abused once or twice before. I could sniff them out.

Maybe Gregory would break her heart. Or she'd break his.

No one knew.

The last time I talked to Shannon, Gregory had just returned from Washington where the family, including his estranged wife, celebrated his oldest son's  17birthday and his son's college admission.

Shannon said, "Nothing would need to change. It's the best of the both worlds. I’m married. He's married. We both are parents. We get each other."

I really liked Shannon. I consider her one of my coolest friends. Our children occasionally hang out together. I liked how smart she was, and how active she was and how devoted she was to her family, this affair notwithstanding. I wish her the best of luck. I never met Gregory, but he seemed cool. I hope to meet both of them someday. Maybe when the next time Gregory was playing, Shannon would invite me.

Midlife Crisis - Take 2

Claudia was 37 when she realized that she was missing that something in her life. That something was a child. She liked her life, her husband, her career as a portfolio manager, she was a rising star at her firm. But she had no children.

George was 44. He lived in the east coast, in Boston, to be exact. He had gone to school in Cambridge, MA and settled down there, married with three kids. He was Catholic, and married a gal he met through an online dating site, she at the time worked in New York, and George was working on the Wall Street. He called her Jess, she was a proper stay at home mom type. She was two years junior to George. They moved back to Boston after George got a transfer, to be closer to his parents. Jess went with him, leaving her aging parents behind in New York, and they built a nice house by the water. It was the perfect setting. George was successful, Jess was happy, raising their children.

Claudia met George years ago on a business trip in Chicago. They had a one night stand, which led to two nights, and then three nights, then two years. It was a long distance non-exclusive relationship, George and Claudia never talked about a future, until Claudia announced that she was to get married to her boyfriend back home in San Francisco.  Up until then George knew nothing about Claudia's other life, nor did he expect her to have a real proper boyfriend. George thought Claudia was the unmarriable type. She was a social butterfly, who flew from flower to flower but never wanted to settle down.

George was wrong.

Claudia got married when she was in her late 20s to her husband, a fellow investment manager. They decided to wait to start a family, the wait lasted 8 years and she was still childless.

Claudia began to wonder if she was meant to be a mother. She sent an email to George. Said she wanted to talk.

George called her right back. They talked for hours. George asked her why she never visited him, even though she's been to her Boston office a half dozen of times since they said official goodbyes.

Claudia told George that she thought that they didn't have much to say to each other.

George said "I guess you were right, but I know you are well and you seem to have a very happy life with your hubby."

Claudia said "Yes just like yours."

Claudia went to Boston for a firmwide offsite.

George met her up at the hotel lobby / cafe for a night cap.

George said to Claudia, "You have not changed. Why did we break up again?"

Claudia thought to herself, "Because you thought I was unmarriable." But instead, she said, "Oh you know, we lived apart."

At the end of the meeting George hugged Claudia, "Don't be a stranger." He said. When they embraced, Claudia found herself reverting back to how she was when was in her early 20s.  That feeling of familiarity and unexplainable sense of trust never went away.

On the way back to the airport, Claudia got a text message from George, "The next time you are in Boston, give me an advance notice."

Claudia realized that was George's way of saying that he wanted something more. More than a cup of coffee at the hotel lobby.

The next trip took six months to plan. Claudia planned a weekend in Boston in addition to her usual three day business trip. Her husband was in Asia on a sales conference. George and she met at the hotel lobby.

They didn't stay there long.

By the time their clothes were off in the hotel room, Claudia had not felt this liberated since she was a single woman.  She wanted George as she did before, and it was as if they never parted.

Soon Claudia started to email George frequently. George told her that he'd never leave her family, but a woman like Claudia was hard to resist, he said that he'd never stepped out of his marriage before, though there were always temptations. But Claudia was different. She was not someone new. She was someone who was a lover once to George, for that he was feeling not at all guilty, despite the fact he thought he should.

Claudia fantasized about having a baby with George. They'd make a wonderful couple, a beautiful, smart baby with big brown eyes and curly brown hair, they baby would be a perfect combo of two beautiful, smart people. The world needed smart babies, Claudia convinced herself.

But George told her that he couldn't have children any more. he was done, and he didn't want to reverse the decision.

Claudia understood. They would stay together as long as she didn't demand a child from George.

Three years passed. Claudia turned 40 in the spring and George was 47 by the time September rolled around.

They saw each other every six months. They fell asleep in each others' arms. They told each other how much they missed each other, and reminisced the trips they took, the dates they had, and how they felt about each other when they were together. They appeared to only remembered the good times. Not when Claudia called and cried over the phone, not when he coldly dismissed her plead of wanting to get back together. Instead, George would ask - "Why did we break up? Why?"  Occasionally George would say to her, "I'm glad that we are back together."

Claudia never asked him what he meant by "back together," though she wondered from time to time.

George took great pride in being a supportive father and husband. He never told her that he had issues with his wife Jess. Claudia believed George was happily married.

Neither one of them felt that they were cheating. It felt natural to be back together in a non committed way.

Claudia stopped fantasizing about having a child.  She also stopped feeling antsy about her marriage.

Marriage would continue as it was. George's marriage would continue as it was also.

But just like the movie, "Same time next year", they believed that their lives would go on with each other in it.

They kept each others' emotions in check. They vowed to never do anything irrational. They vowed to love each other, like they once did, but never asked each other to change their current arrangement.

They believed that this was a mature way to handle things.

They cared and respected each other. They loved each other. They felt belonged together. Every six months they met and they got physically intimate, as if it was their way of renewing their vows of being together.

We wish them luck.

Midlife Crisis - Take 1

An old friend writes: " You seemed to skirt that issue."

I: "I've got nothing to say."

Friend then asks the question everyone who knows me asks. "Tell me again, why..."

I ignored that comment.

The exact "why" lies with this: You don't know what you are missing until you no longer have it. You spend years wondering what ifs, or try to block it out by living obliviously with the choices you made and path you've chosen. No one really wants to be the first to admit defeat. No one really wants to ask the question, "Why? Why are you this way?"

Instead, we mask our emotions, feelings, we block them out and move on. We congratulate ourselves for the choices we subsequently make, we try to make peace with everything. Then a certain age hits, and then you all of sudden question what happened, how it happened. You wonder if there is a way to course correct, but you are too set in your ways, so you dial back and reset.

All those wonderful books and literature teach you about how to behave, how to handle the sudden awakening, but no one really offers a real cure. You suffer through anyway. You become sarcastic, withdrawal, transition your energy to things you can control, and live that life you are meant to live, and pretend nothing has ever happened.

It becomes a poker game.

You wonder if you should show your hands regardless of your component's reaction. Then you remember how it felt, the feeling of rejection, the feeling of indifference, the feeling of the past, the feeling of being humiliated, and you realize that it's perfectly okay to admit defeat, there is another way.

So you fold your hands and walk away, tears swallowed, no one needs to know why. You walk away with some dignity, and you say it's bed time and I ought to retreat.

Just like that, you think, "I have closed, yet another chapter of your life."

But have you?