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.