Monday, November 19, 2012

Fantasy


It was a particularly sunny Sunday morning in mid-November. I called Brett as I pull the car around for him to bring down my things, a gym bag with running gears and an overnight change of clothing, an insulated bag with a crockpot half full of the leftover chili I had made the previous day, which he thought for sure was spoiled because it had sat out for more than 3 hours unrefrigerated. An assortment of emotions and thoughts cycled through my mind like a merry-go-around. I wanted to hide in a cozy cocoon and not think or feel anything. Instead I took a deep breath and blanketed it under every bit of gratitude I could gather inside of me.

The sunlight felt warm on my black leather jacket as I waited for him outside. I was calm and composed. I didn’t know what to say but what did it matter? Words were never my forte. Despite a lifetime of experiences, saying goodbye is just one of those things I’ll never learn. I loaded the bags into the trunk, turned to him and did the only thing that probably felt natural to both of us. We kissed and hugged each other. He felt unbearably good, which only made me sadder. He thanked me for the chili and I wished him a good trip. Just like that we parted, for the last time, like two very civilized and grateful people.

Our paths had crossed rather serendipitously. It was sweet in the beginning but it has thoroughly run its course. By now I had clearly overextended my stay. This is it, I told myself, no more visits. I know I said that five visits ago but this time it’s for real. I pulled up his contact in my phone and pressed delete like it’s going to save my neurotic self from a total elapse. People who say I have good self-control don’t know how often I fail. 

Rose had always said that what is more hurtful than breaking up with someone is the loss of a dream, a future of togetherness you had built in your mind. In my case, I wasn’t in a relationship. I had created a fantasy in my head. I had sculpted a perfect individual who was successful, smart, handsome, active, charismatic, cultured, sensitive and funny.  Surely some of these could be justified, such as the fact that he was well traveled (soon to be 28 countries), well read (always had books around), fit (always worked out) and adored children (volunteered as a big brother). But then everything is justifiable if you looked hard enough. We see what we want to see. At end of the day I am guilty of plastering all the traits I’d like all over someone I had barely known. It was a disappointment waiting to happen.

There are things that I’ve done in my life that could be considered shameful by the general population but I feel no shame. Up until now I had no idea what exactly made me feel shameful. But now I know. Shame is when I catch myself willingly and knowingly let someone treat me less than I what I deserve. I can count the times I have let this happen to me on one hand. It runs counter to everything I believe in. I’ve always been proud of the people I’ve dated and associated myself with. They respected me because I respected myself. But every now and then I fail regardless how confident and secure I build myself up to be. It’s so embarrassing I want to pull the sheets over my face and imagine myself disappearing from this world.

It wasn’t anything he did that was upsetting. In fact, he had done nothing at all. I had let myself be the victim of disengagement. Why didn’t he have the courtesy to uninvited me had he been so disinterested? Why did I come here for someone who is obviously oblivious to my presence? I hit myself over the head with these questions over and over again. Was it more polite in his mind to give someone the silent treatment or perhaps he was just in it for the convenience of someone showing up at the door for sex? I’ll never find out what his thought process was. It’s hard for me to admit that there are things I so desperately want that I’d let down my principles for. I was looking for affection, intimacy and something new and exciting. All the things I’ve always looked for, probably and hopefully will never stop looking for. For a moment I wanted to live out that fantasy even if it wasn't real. It would have had been a perfect story to tell the grand kids. Still, fantasies only belong in storybooks. Adults need to go to work and deal with real life and contemplate questions such as: have I always traded sex for affection?

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