Chapter Afterstand up, dust off, and get moving

Last night, I dreamt I got in a fight — a real fight with punches and kicks and such — with K__’s “boyfriend” (as I call him; I’m not sure it’s official), T__. I’ve certainly fantasized about such things plenty enough, so it comes as no surprise to find my subconscious cooking them up. Realistically, it’s a wonder I wasn’t having similar dreams months ago and with high frequency.

I don’t remember most of the details, only that everything seemed to happen in slow motion and my blows never seemed to land in the satisfying and destructive manner I intended. I also couldn’t tell if this was due to my own incompetence at hand-to-hand combat or T__’s Army Reserve training.

“Why now?” turns out to be a very interesting question. I told B__ (my girlfriend?) about it this morning. The obvious answer is that my conversations with her about my history/situation have reopened those memories and brought the accompanying emotions back to the forefront.

Then, I thought of another interpretation. B__ wanted to know why I (clearly) had so much anger at T__ when it was K__ who was my wife, who’d actually broken her promises. T__, afterall, could be held to no such standard. That’s true, I explained, but I’d also considered him a friend, if not a very close one. He’d violated my trust, and our relationship, however casual, definitely was serious enough that The Guy Code™ was unquestionably infringed.

While ruminating on trust, I couldn’t help thinking about how quickly my current relationship has gotten serious. It wasn’t specifically meant to be that way, nor was it not meant to. Both B__ and I are a bit weirded out by how not-weirded-out we are. The lack of warning signs and the fun we’re having has us contemplating plans much further into the future than our short history would suggest is wise. Perhaps then, my dream about T__ wasn’t really about him at all.

My buddy L__ also gently questioned the wisdom of getting too involved too fast. I try to take that at face value and not make it about his own commitment issues. And by “commitment issues” I mean, “desire to sow his wild oats without fear of retribution.”

I simply don’t know how to handle things any other way. Despite my well-deserved reputation for cynicism, I trust people until I have a reason not to. I care about the people I get involved with and generally only get involved with people I care about. If nothing else, it makes the sex way better.

There are four poems here, the last three of which I have found spectacular and moving. I don’t know that I have felt these exact things myself (yet?), but there’s an unmistakable parallel perspective I thought it’d be worthwhile to share.

That, and I’ve been stupid slack with the updates and thought you deserved something good to read. Enjoy.

John Paul Davis for Apparatus Magazine

“I Thought We Were Going To Cuddle,” say you.
“We Are Cuddling,” say I.

How possibly could the muses keep mute after
watching you walk barefoot downtown in the 2am rain?
I have seen enough broken glass on any given
block between here and our cars to slice
feet to the knees, so despite this being
the sexiest thing I’ve seen in months,
I give warning hoping you’ll ignore me.

Which you do happily.

The goddesses will always be caught singing praises
for those more beautiful, more clever.
There’s always someone younger, quicker;
and I no dashing prince after all.
But that hardly stops them from singing for you.

A magazine blonde sits against the wall
looking bored with her boyfriend who looks bored
and they look like a great boring bored couple
deaf to music in the air not meant for them anyway.

Adventure is what happens when we stop being so damned careful;
risk falling, breaking, getting cut into tiny bits;
stop making excuses for skipping each now as
the universe deals out life one grain at a time.

You say you need to control yourself,
and I know it isn’t for fear of breaking into song,
but to savor the verse for the verse’s sake,
knowing the chorus will come along soon enough.

The space after a first kiss is as magical
as they come; it’s a wonder lovers don’t
become trapped in its enchantment forever.
Or maybe they do and are never heard from again.

I feel quite sure that I have neurotically blogged everything beyond the most fleeting of encounters with attractive women I’ve met over the past few months. Some, as I recall, passed on the “met” criteria due to the hazy space of emotional connection via interweb. Conspicuous in absence is B__, who I met for beers this week after trading a few messages online. I had a great time, and the nearly four hours we spent drinking went by like no time at all.

I find myself needing to justify not having told you about her, and simultaneously don’t want to make a big deal out of it. It was a busy week. It’s not like I went out of my way to hide meeting her – I told a friend or two. Perhaps it was because I’ve had similar entertaining evenings with others, and I felt like they went nowhere fast. What observation (other than the recurring pattern) could possibly be article-worthy? If you’ve been reading along, I can only assume you’ve occasionally noticed a theme and thought, I get it already.

So, last night we met up again, and I pushed my luck and doubled-down with a dinner invite. There’s a new place we wanted to try, but it was closed, so we rode together to a favorite “local” vegetarian place. The service was way off, but the food impeccable as always. If we hadn’t been so hungry, we might not have noticed the food not showing up; once again, we were so engrossed in conversation.

We met up with her friends at the bar I’ve been haunting. Apparently, that’s her neighborhood bar, but I can’t say I remember ever seeing her. The bar was having its St Patrick’s Day blowout on Friday since the holiday falls on Wednesday this year. (What a joke, that place will be a mad-house the day-of and they know it.) So there was some live music (which I’ve never seen there before). There was a local college game on (which B__ was actually into because she’s in grad school there). It was Friday at L__. The place was pretty loud. The group chatted a bit over the noise, but B__ and I made eyes at each other across the table and leaned in close to hear what the other was saying.

The weather had turned suddenly Spring the day of our first date. It was a weeknight, but I tried to get her to walk around downtown with me in the night air. She had to be up at 6 or 7 and it was midnight. “One hour,” I said. She said she’d really love to, but shouldn’t/couldn’t, and I could tell from her smile she was genuinely conflicted. “Half an hour,” I counter-offered. It was no good, but again, her smile gave me a little tickle inside and the effort didn’t seem in the least wasted.

The anchor couple of her group are married and turn in early. The party broke up around midnight when the game and music ended. B__ asked if I wanted to walk around, and I agreed as quickly as she could ask. We decided to tour my studio (and you can bet your sweet ass I had ulterior motives). I showed her around and she ooed and aahed at all the right times. I was having trouble making a move even though I knew I probably wouldn’t be rebuffed. It was around that time we noticed it was raining, kind of hard.

We sat down to check the weather report via iPhone, and I scooted over to give her room beside me. She was practically in my arms before we’d even found out how long the storm was likely to last.

Time dilated again, but around two hours later when we decided to make our way back to our cars, it was still raining. She was wearing delicious, swede boots and was worried they’d never be the same. I assumed this was going to turn into a cab ride, but the next thing I knew, she was seriously considering going barefoot for the five blocks back to the parking deck.

We scavenged a couple umbrellas and off we went. She’d worn a lovely floral dress, and as hot as it’d been with the boots, it was that much hotter without them. I’ve walked that route a hundred times now, and noticed how different it is at night than during the day, in the rain versus the sunshine. With someone else versus alone. I have now experienced rain, at night, with someone, but I can only imagine how it would be without shoes.

I should’ve taken mine off too.

I got the fuck out of “Dodge” back in 2000 and moved to San Francisco lured by the dot-com bubble that was, in actuality, already popping. I’d been offered twice as much money as I was currently making and a position in a three-person shop working for someone I really respected. K__ and I weren’t seeing each other any more, I’d been looking for just such an opportunity, and two weeks later I was on one plane and all my worldly possessions were on another.

K__ put me up my last night in town. We fucked during a lightning storm. If my life flashed before my eyes, that image would be right at the top. It was magic and I don’t believe in magic. She cried. The next morning she drove me to the airport and cried again at the gate. I didn’t turn around. I knew it made me an asshole, but I was leaving, and whoever leaves is already the asshole.

After the initial craziness of moving, I found an apartment and started to settle in. I did what I find myself doing now — going out a lot, talking to strangers, going on the occasional date. I remember being seriously annoyed that I could not help comparing all my dates to her. She’d been the high-water mark, and I’d walked away. It was the kind of fucked-up, one-true-love thinking that led me to propose.

I’m not so much having the exact same problem now, it’s something far worse — I’ve spent the last decade with this one person, and almost everything that I identify with my adult life is tied to her somehow. Food, books, movies, art. Entire fields of study I wouldn’t otherwise know anything about. Many of the things we didn’t share, that I’d otherwise consider trying now, were things she enjoyed.

Tonight I traded messages with several new strangers. I don’t compare them to her, but I do sometimes find myself wondering how long it will be before my honest answer to their latest comment is, “K__ and I read / watched / listened to / ate that for the first time together.” My memories of so many wonderful things are wrapped up in memories of her. There were not-so-wonderful things too, but those are easy to leave behind, to adjust the pack on my shoulder and resist the terrible urge to turn around and take one last look.

Just got home from watching a movie at a make-shift theater in a downtown artist’s studio. I was late, but walked in just as the movie was starting. “Great timing, ” the host said meeting me at the door, but for me it was a little weird sitting there for two hours wondering who else was in the room.

Certainly not S__, who I met there a few weeks ago, who stopped me on the sidewalk to chat and give me her card, who didn’t really answer my invite for coffee, and really didn’t answer my are-you-going-to-M__’s-movie-night email.

But I don’t mind.

Yesterday, I was feeling disenchanted with singleness and hipNewOnlineDatingSite.com, and neurotically decided that the answer was changing my profile image. I changed it, drove home, and by the time dinner was over, had something like six new visits. C__ and I had tentative plans for a drink, and I was killing time on the site beforehand. Emboldened by fate or fortune, I sent out a message or two, and to my huge surprise ended up chatting with a wonderful woman from C__ town, about 25 miles away.

C__ called in the middle of an incredibly entertaining chat, and when I told her (H__) that my beer had called, she said, “Wow. I wish a beer would call me. You should invite me for a beer.”

“You’re absolutely right,” I said, “I should. Want to go for a beer?”

“When / where?”

“Downtown R__ town in fifteen minutes!”

And she said ok! Not only did she actually show up, but she was absolutely fantastic in every possible way. I’d give details, but you’d think I’d turned to fiction. She’s just that awesome. C__ hung out longer than he’d initially planned, but he’s cool and going through a hard breakup. I wanted to be annoyed at not getting 100% of H__’s attention, but I just couldn’t be.

H__’s profile made it clear that she’d recently moved to the area and was looking to make new friends mostly (though romance wasn’t completely off the table), and her experience with the site in other cities had been that it was used a lot more casually and platonically.

But I don’t mind.

As wonderful as it would be to get laid, and my scare quotes cannot stress “wonderful” enough, I would gladly trade a sure-thing hook-up for another evening like it.

I just hope I don’t have to prove it.

This was my weekend sans-kid. I had too much to do and did more of it than usual, but around midnight last night, my weekend was feeling a bit squandered on activities best left to Monday through Friday. So I did what has become the usual thing in such circumstances, I spend twenty minutes psyching myself up and then head out to the bar for a little while. Once there I try to convince myself that drinking alone out is more fun than not drinking at home alone. It works the vast majority of the time.

Sunday nights are a bit of a crap shoot in R__ town. It could be absolutely dead out, or the full-moon party psyche could decend on the city all at once leaving you unsure what night it is. It was a full moon last night, and after convincing myself I not only wouldn’t be disappointed if the bar was mostly empty, but that I’ve actually come to prefer it that way, it was busier than I’d imagined.

I’d brought my sketchbook, and sure enough, I didn’t really know anyone. The closing ceremonies of the Olympic games were on, and I absently watched — this being the only coverage I’d actually caught this year. The TV cut to commercial, and I awkwardly didn’t know what to do with my eyes. When people don’t know what to do with their hands, they become smokers. Cell phones have become that default for younger eyes, but mine are just as easily swayed towards paper. I wrote one sentence, thought it was stupid, started another, and felt a lot more convinced of its cleverness. There is nothing worse than writer’s block when you’re killing a night this way, and I was happy to have hit what could possibly be a deep vein.

A woman appeared to my right and ordered a drink. I looked up and smiled briefly. She said something, but through her slurring, I couldn’t tell if she was addressing the bartender, me, or no one in particular. We started talking and hit it off very quickly — something I’m noticing is more common than my celibacy would otherwise suggest. I knew the alcohol had plenty to do with it, but I didn’t mind her leg brushing against mine or the friendly touches on my shoulder.

Everything was fun and casual, but every ten minutes or so she’d say something I couldn’t comprehend through the noise and her drunkenness. Around the time it became awkward to ask her to repeat herself again, I could’ve sworn I caught the word “boyfriend” in an otherwise unintelligible blur.

A guy appeared atop the stool to her other side and I assumed they must be together; very touchy, near-kissy body language. I nearly called it a night, but I wasn’t quite ready to throw in my cards yet. Mention of a party became an invitation, and after some definite social awkwardness (wherein I asked myself several times what the fuck I was getting myself into), we were sharing a cab headed towards the fabled shindig and 3AM.

Our destination turned out to be very near my apartment, which was fortunate because, naturally, the host had already turned in for the night. My companions were a lot drunker than me, and I had to herd them down the street. A block from my place, we’re talking politics, and dude decides to haul off and smack a neighbor’s car’s side mirror. I’m not sure what broke, but I’m pretty sure a chunk of car hit the pavement. This was protested loudly with much “What the Fuck”-ing. M__ ordered him to leave a note, and T__ apologized and left some cash — I’m not sure how much. I should have left him in the street — both of them if necessary. I’d already considered it more than twice, but he seemed otherwise an OK character (strange as that may sound), and there’s no adventure without a little danger.

We talked for awhile, drank water and wine, and T__ promptly passed out on the couch while M__ and I were outside for a smoke. I was glad for a number of reasons, but not the one I’d initially been looking forward to. He’d been getting physical with her all night to varying degrees of success, and unless I was mistaken, shooting me the stink eye for cock-blocking. I couldn’t help thinking, “yeah, that’s right, pass out looser.”

I wasn’t drunk, but the bar lighting had been kind and M__ was heavier and less attractive than I’d initially believed. I still probably would’ve tried to get with her if she hadn’t been completely trashed. I led her to I__’s bedroom for which she seemed grateful and cozy. T__, I tossed a blanket even though I was still pissed (am still pissed) about the neighbor’s car.

This morning he was up at 8:15 which I thought impressive, fortunate, and courteous. I suspended my still-simmering anger long enough to get up and make anti-hangover smoothie and coffee for everyone. I read an article last week containing tips for getting rid of a one-night-stand. Number 1:  Breakfast. It worked great for T__, who despite being a stupid drunk who will likely cost me $250, thanked me for my hospitality and shuffled off over an hour ago. M__’s still asleep and I haven’t been able to rouse her further than taking a sip of her breakfast before snoozing back off. I’ve got music playing at medium volume and I don’t think I’ve made a dent in her resolve to get a full ration of sleep.

My car’s still in the deck downtown, and I need to retrieve it sometime before this evening when I take over parent duty.

Update: After checking the bus schedule, we caught a cab back to my car, after which I drove M__ to her place. None of this took very long once it was in motion, but getting the momentum up was a feat unto itself. Buy the ticket. Take the ride.