Nobody warned me.
Nobody told me that being in Love meant that there was a possibility of being left behind...
Left behind to love someone that doesn't love you.
Years and faces went by since that faithful, teary-eyed bus ride in which I promised myself that I was done chasing "L." I had probably talked to/met a handful of people who I attempted to fit into the mold of him...all with an ill result.
And then there was CIABoy.
I finally had come across a person that thrilled me. I felt a familiar flutter of my heart when I saw his face. I had finally returned to the emotional landscape that I had once frequented and thought I would never see again.
He was 5'9"
Skin like black coffee
Body finely sculpted
Master's degree recipient
The object of my instantaneous physical, spiritual, and emotional desire.
I alluded to how I felt over dinner one evening and he seemed to smile and passively ignore me. So the tension built. I carried on with my normal life...burning with desire...but patient.
Months went by and we made plans to meet up in the city to have dinner and hit the club afterwards. He begged me to go to Escuelita with him; knowing that I had a particular distaste for that place. He turned up the charm to 10 and I acquiesced.
We both arrived in the city and have dinner. There was no other place in the world I would have rather been than sitting straight across from him. We ate and drank. We both shared our graduate school plans. His motivational spirit turned me on. Life was good.
We jumped into a cab and headed over to Escuelita. We checked our coats, grabbed some drinks, snagged a table and began watching the show. CIABoy then runs into a friend of his who joins us at the table. He introduced us both, we shook hands and continued watching the show.
As the show ends CIABoy made his way to the dancefloor leaving myself and "friend" at the table to psychicly joust admist the awkward silence. Finally friend leaves the table to talk to CIABoy. Not too long after that, around 12 am, CIABoy asks if I would be mad if he and friend left the club and went home. In that moment I screamed "HELL NO" in my mind.
I looked at him without hesitation and said,
"
Nah."So I watched CIABoy leave with his "friend" after only an hour and a half at the club. Mind you, this was the place he begged me to go with him to. This was the same person I was feeling for. This was one of the worst feelings of Deja Vu I had ever experienced.
I attemped to stay there by myself for some time longer but the combination of sheer amazement and Grey Goose pulled me out of my seat, towards the coat check, and out of the door. I walked at a frenzied pace for 3 blocks to the 8th Avenue entrance of the Port Authority, found a corner, and just broke down. How many cheeks did I have left to turn? How many times would I allow myself to be disrespected in my pursuit of companionship? How many times would I be left standing alone at the altar of love? My legs felt weak as the bittersweet tears rolled down my face...
I wiped my face, pulled out my cellphone and began to make calls.
Call number one...No answer
Call number two...No answer
Call number three...I hear a familiar voice.
It's "L" on the line. I tell him the entire story. How brokenhearted I felt. How disrespected I felt. How used I felt.
He suggested that I get on the 6 train at that moment en route to Mount Vernon to see him. I resisted as much as I could and finally broke down and agreed.
It's now 2:30 in the morning. I am headed to Mount Vernon to see "L" who I havent seen since the last time I drowned in my own tears listening to "I Never Had A Dream Come True." I said I was done with him...
I was an addict...and I was relapsing.
So I arrived in Mount Vernon around 3 in the morning and he is there waiting for me. I entered the car and he looks at me adoringly and gives me daps. For most of the ride back to his house I was coyishly silent...stunned that I allowed myself to be sucked back in but
glad that I was back in...So we arrived at the house. He snuck me in and upstairs to his room. We hugged. talked for a little bit.
And then it happened.
I had always regretted the fact that L and I had never gotten the chance to truly consummate our relationship. After we broke up I would lay in bed--on fire--imagining to myself what it would be like...how it would feel...how passionate it would be to make love to him. And after nearly 3 years it finally happened. It was part "the-most-beautiful-feeling-in-the-world" and part anti-climactic.
We woke up in the morning and I had an ill feeling because I now knew that with a single act I had given my control away. He could do what he wanted to me at that very moment. If he wanted to be together again I would have said yes. If he wanted to string me along again I would have allowed him to. We got dressed and he dropped me back to the train stop. We said our goodbyes. He went on to work and I went back to Connecticut.
I tried calling. No answer.
We finally connected via instant messenger. I told him that I wanted to try again.
No significant response. Another slap in the face.
I realized that the evening in question was about MY BODY and not MY LOVE and that once again I had allowed that love to trick me into believing that things had changed.
Leopards might change their habitats but they never change their spots.
To the untrained human, love can be the sweetest, mind numbing, equilibirum shifting, massive emotional entity...And in the wrong hands it can be used for perverted interests.
The funny thing is. I still love him.
It just took me a long time to realize that I never really LIKED him.
