the magnet and the mess

He's still here. It wouldn't bother me so much except there's still the mess he made that no one has forgotten. I've managed to evade him and the mess by declining over a year's worth of invitations and great nights in which I knew he'd be in attendance. I had to stop visiting with his sister, who'd been my friend for a while before his arrival, because it seemed everywhere she was, there he would be, him, standing five feet behind her, laughing that big monstrous laugh. Every encounter was weighted with that strange tension that followed his dismissal of me (a heady mix of guilt, shame and regret) and it was so unbearable I couldn't enjoy myself knowing he was in the room.

And then, the ship sank, the days passed, things carried on. And time did what it does.

The sting of the mess, the rage I felt over it, the unnecessary bullshit and drama, after that much time, it seemed like something not worth caring about any longer. When he appeared that day and he greeted me with open arms, I fell into them and we hugged, it felt like a relief, like it was all over and that mess was gone, especially with all we had to deal with that day.

And maybe I was too grief stricken to give him anything else, not even a glance, not even words, not even including him in our hasty plans (and why should I have to be the one to encourage him?). Or maybe I was scared because it had been so long and there was still that magnetic pull between us. Still. I was so disappointed in myself, but there it was, those spinning, stomach churning, blushing feelings I had felt so long ago.

A few days later we all found ourselves together again and in my nervousness from being late and having nothing proper and decent to wear to a funeral and knowing he would be there, I slighted him, sweeping past him to find solace in the people I felt comfortable with. I ignored his laughter on the ride to the service, I ignored his owlish eyes that I felt searching for mine, I sensed there was a question there that I did not want to answer again, it needed to rest.

Except then, there was booze to soothe us all. With every drink he became more wild-eyed, more angry, more and more of a reminder of why I was grateful nothing ever happened between us, he reminded me of the burnham, he had that same moody glare for me and it made me hide. So I spent the rest of the night avoiding him and wishing he would pass out on the bar.

Instead, I watched with horror as he flirted with a friend's girlfriend, danced with everyone, sidled up into conversations just to stare at me with a curiosity that burned so hard it made me cringe. What does it matter? I wanted to scream. Of course I still care about you. If I didn't, would I even have a hard time talking to you? I can talk to anyone, I'm an expert at talking to people, but with him I had no words and nothing to say.

Eventually, finally, I saw his gaping mouth being held up by his splayed hand, the palm holding his chin, the glasses crooked, the stubble abhorrent, the bar holding him upright, dozing off. They tried to slap him awake and he resumed his disgusting pose. And I stood there wondering how it had happened. Was it because he was so taken with me when we met? Or was it that he seemed so promising when there was nothing? Sometimes, I think it was because back then, he felt different and familiar.

We decided to go to 907. It was a crazy scheme that brought several of us stumbling toward that place we'd known Peter for. There were a lot of us. I didn't realize he was coming, figuring he'd go home after falling asleep on the bar, but then someone said, hey get the door, and there he was, the magnet. I saw that glare and pushed the door open for him, just enough so he could grab it, and I ran away from him. And he knew it. He spoke in disgust about me. He hated me for it. After all the shit he did, all the shit he put me through, he wanted more than anything not to be the bad guy, except he was.

He sauntered up and stood right next to me. I sensed he felt the need to bully me, and I did not back down, but inside I was trembling, I did not want to let the bitterness explode, not that day after all the days I had held it in, and so I let the anger pass, and then I let myself behave the way he wanted me to, I pretended like nothing was wrong, that nothing had happened, that he wasn't a giant fucking asshole who everyone loathed, I showed concern and interest, I let myself love him again.

And when he entered that room and collapsed across the bed and fell asleep, then I was free. The tension that had been on me all night was gone. And that will be the last time I ever see him.

It may mean giving up those friends and that life that connected us, but they never belonged to me anyhow.

encounters with yesterday's news:

Lifting the veil of hibernation has led to some eye opening perspective about the men in my life last year. The fire has remained on my periphery for whatever reason (he needs bodies to fill spaces sometimes and he knows how to ply me into a yes, I suspect is all it is) and this week I realized it has been a year, a whole entire year since I was first aware that there was some attraction between us. Whatever that attraction was based on (my surprising nature, a good hair day, a beautiful Spring afternoon) has long since expired, but for some reason we are bound to each other. Sometimes I wonder if it is to prove that our initial responses to each were genuine and not just a desire to be with someone.

Seeing him again, last week, last month, three months ago, four months ago, etc, there has been no residual wonder or hope for him; I had been so fully crushed in his wake, I could not resurrect my earnest affections. Imagine my horror then, when my good friend and often drunken truth teller, Walter, joined me for one of the fire's many events requiring bodies and began informing everyone around us and harassing me that the only reason I was there was because I still wanted him.

And it's odd, but I haven't questioned the fire and the light interactions we have, the sense of obligation I feel to filling up the open space in his events, or wondered about it all. I decided at some point that he had not been unkind to me during that awkward phase between men and women when they are first getting to know each other and wonder what might be. I also enjoyed his cheerful serenity, his hobbies and habits and his general sense of appreciation of me and the other bodies I brought with me over this past year. I am understanding that it is rare to meet people I actually like and admire, so I found it odd to discard him and his invitations simply from the spite of being overlooked.

I noticed, in addition to introducing me to people, that at one point early on after I arrived, he was raising eyebrows with some guy and looking at me (which I assume is guy code for are you seeing this girl?), he also seemed to be pushing this agenda he's pushed before with giving his friend information about me (while in the bathroom of all places) to get a conversation started between us, because his friend is interested in me. It gave me some small sense of pleasure that even though he is girlfriended, he finds me charming enough to get something going with his friends. It also made me realize that perhaps I was there for the wrong reason and I need to admit it's not my scene.

So eventually, that night, I had to admit that Walter's drunken assessment wasn't completely wrong. Except, for the first time in my adult life, I wasn't going to sit around and be mopey about not having what I want, because I know nothing is going to happen between us and I accept that. I wasn't allowing that attraction to govern me.

The same could not be said for the magnetic disc. I did nothing but torture myself about him, hating the torturing, but unable to stop it and this week I couldn't help myself, I opened up that wound and poured lye into it. I can't quite tell yet, but I think it helped. Now I have an idea what he was doing and saying to the people around him. And now I understand that it wasn't just me who wouldn't let go.

She was getting to that drunken point where her speech was slurring and I asked her about him. I could tell she had been bracing herself for it. Hell, I think they've all been bracing themselves for it, and interestingly enough, every time I ask them, the elephant in the room disappears in smoke and we are able to fully enjoy each other's company. That's part of what he did to me. He created an entire scenario that disrupted my friendships with people and convinced them of something that put distance and awkwardness in the space between us.

I knew something had happened, I could feel it, it was so frustrating, people coddling me, people acting like I was obsessed or stalking him, people watching me to see what I would do. I felt the hush of the bar every time I came in and he happened to already be there. It was maddening to me that people who had previously been so jovial treated me like it was a chore to speak to me.

I tried to stay away. The more that time passed between what happened and Fall made things better but I could still sense the tension of it, not as much as before, where sometimes, no matter how much I drank I could not get drunk or shake the feeling that I was experiencing a dramarama of high school lunchroom levels, complete with racing heartbeats, nervous and guilty behaviors and awkward eye contact and monologues on unfairness.

I was guilty, but not of much. I mean, on the surface, not much actually happened between us to cause the sort of scandal it seemed I was facing each time I walked in there. We kissed a couple times. We hung out once. Big fucking deal.

According to the sloshed informant, little did I know that he lied to me out of distress because he didn't want to date me, so he made up a story about being in love with his girlfriend back home and proceeded to insist we be friends and that he hoped it wouldn't be weird for me to continue to go to the bar--to which I replied, not at all and took my hands, dirty and grimy from the handling of men, excavating the good ones from deep mines only to find them flawed and not for me and I let it go.

So why then did this man (who recently turned 30) proceed to whisper in the ears of anyone who would listen that I was chasing him still? Because I texted him a couple times after? Because I still went to my bar, the place I'd been frequenting on a weekly to bi-weekly basis three years before his arrival? Because I didn't ignore him every time he passed me? Because I still obviously really liked him?

I did all of those things with the same logic I applied to the fire. I realized it was rare that I liked someone and if he was willing to remain on friendly terms with me (in fact, he was the one who proposed so and insisted on it) then why wouldn't I continue to enjoy his company? It would be so much easier if being romantically attracted to someone was as easy to turn off as a light switch. I am getting better at dismantling those feelings than I used to be. It requires the passing of time, which slowly erodes the beaches of my memory of things that I associate with them, each discarded shell removed.

I didn't have the luxury of time in this case. The other thing I didn't have was a clear idea of whether or not he was not interested in me. He may have informed all of his buddies that I was chasing him, but he certainly never ran away, sometimes he initiated conversations with me, and once, when he was so drunk that he doesn't remember seeing me, he tried to kiss me on the lips. So even though half the times I encountered him he could be a real dick, the other times he exhibited a sparkling kindness that I wanted to believe meant something and I believed that lie for a while, until I realized I was getting carried away and then I wouldn't go back there for a while until I felt strong enough to ignore him again, but he always managed to not be ignored. He didn't want to be ignored. He may have pretended to everyone that I was always staring at him, but to see my eyes, he had to be looking for them.

Once I knew he had a girlfriend--a fact I suspected long before I got confirmation of it, because everyone was tiptoeing around me like I was going to fly off the handle if I knew he had a girlfriend; which I never did--I let that possibility go, that there was something between us drawing us to each other, that he felt it too. Maybe he felt nothing but my clamoring, but my sense and intuition tell me that he had some interest in me, even when he was feigning that he did not.

Even asking her, this girl, the sloshed, slurring friend of his, acquaintance of mine, I knew I was going to be filling the role I surmised he'd scripted for me. I had to know. Hopefully one day I can get by without knowing, I can get along without wondering, I can just trust that what I feel is true and none of it really matters anyway. But for now, it is good to know that I wasn't completely crazy, and he was an immature idiot. And truly, this is just another example of why I am glad nothing actually happened between us.

drawn and quartered

I want to forget him. I want the vapors of my infatuation to fade and each time I see him again, days, weeks, months pass and there it is again, that same giddy drop in my stomach, I am launched back to the moment I first laid eyes on him and when his eyes landed on me. It is thrilling, that moment, and I don't even remember out of nostalgia, it is just a visceral pull of myself to a moment I nearly forgot until I see him again.

He was sitting across the bar. He was all smile. Seriously. His smile was huge and wide and bright in that dank place. His hands tried to hide the bigness of his smile, but they just shyly covered the mouth and not the smile. I felt the electricity of his stare before my eyes adjusted to the dimness of that place. I'd arrived and was being heartily greeted by my friends, all of whom were happy to see me, and his sister, who seemed most pleased to see me. When I turned to look at him, not because I was scanning the bar to see who was there, or to wonder at who this new man with the smile was, I was merely aware from my periphery that someone was staring at me very intently and very bemusedly. And our eyes met. And his smile walloped me from across that space, as if no one else was there and we were not thirty feet apart but standing nose to nose. His smile arrested me; I remember not being able to move for a moment, paralyzed in his gaze, like a deer standing in the woods suddenly startled by a foreign sound. And he was foreign, he was new, and it settled into my consciousness that he was different and interesting and interested in me. I was aware of it that fast, no questions, no concerns, just a knowledge, fast, quick and hard, that he was very much so interested in me. And that was how it began.

The people around us disarmed him and for a while he was just a figure in the shadows, known to everyone but me, can you imagine it? I didn't even know he was due to arrive, I had no idea she was his sister or he her brother. We began the task of drinking ourselves into happiness and slowly the room began to settle back into focus. Details of his presence emerged like messages in a bottle--first it was his laugh that he bellowed out like a foghorn, then it was his gestures, wild and unpredictable and then it was his words, a series of vague grunts at first, something that resembled language but not familiar until I realized it was because he was like her, he was like him (the crow) and that was when the beating of my heart began to ring out in my ears, because it was a show, it was a hunt and I was his prey.

I shrank in fear. I knew enough to know that I wasn't ready yet, I think I knew that instinctively and I began to panic, hoping he would talk to me and then worried about what I would say if he did, then hoping he wouldn't talk to me at all. I try to remember when they lifted the confusion, but it was a while before I realized who he was, that he wasn't just some new regular, some new guy, a visitor, but part of the web of people we knew there. I know it was a while, at least an hour before I knew, and his cajoling and laughter were like delicious pain, searing across my face from that distance, his eyes smiling at me then, his smile overt and unobscured by his hands and shining in my direction so brightly.

Once I realized who exactly he was (her brother), I felt some sense of relief, I stopped feeling adrift and grabbed onto something solid and was able to quiet the panic in my body, enjoy myself and even talk to him about nothing. And I assumed that intensity I felt was one sided as usual as I noticed his smile was wide for us all, not just me, and I let it go.

Later, I moved closer to him and finally began to make out the details of his face, the proportions of his body. He was very lean, with a swimmer's build and had a balding hairline and thin wire frame glasses. It wasn't his body I liked at first, but the way he moved it, almost as if he was a marionette and his limbs were being controlled from a separate place. He moved like a soccer player, light and smooth, but most of all with ease. The ease he wore was evident from the big grin plastered on his face all night. He was at peace with the world and he smiled like the buddha and I wanted to feel that, I admired it, I adored him for it and the thing I didn't realize is that he was only like that because of me.

Sure he was happy to be there, on vacation, visiting his sister, but most of all, as he would tell me later, he was completely startled by me and how beautiful he thought I was and how smart and amazing and pleasant he found my company. I see it now, and I know how he felt because he told me, but it never occurred to me then.

And the night fell away, his laughter echoed mine, his appreciation of me was almost unbelievable, I remember that I found it all heady and surreal. I don't remember if he left before me or if I left before him, all I remember is that when he wasn't there (having gone to the bathroom or outside for a smoke) the room fell flat and time felt stagnant and then crackled into aliveness when he returned.

At one point we found ourselves outside together and I told him how much his arrival must mean to his sister, for she'd been speaking of it for weeks and we had the kind of conversation that is deep and meaningful without being awkward or strange (something I found happened a lot to me; still does on occasion).

His gregariousness was infectious and soon the entire bar rested on his voice, alert to his noises, he became our forest. We sat close and talked; helped grade papers for my friend's fourth grade class and he made it a game with me and we played there for a while. I had often wished to have such fun, especially there, but never had before.

That was almost a year ago now. He has moved on, having loved two women he chose over me and I try to feel some sense of relief that I wasn't chosen because it would have most certainly been like being adrift at sea with no hope of survival. He would have drowned me and been a terrible person to have in my life; he is reckless, a drunkard, a foreigner here illegally and worse than all that, he is not well regarded by his friends anymore, or anyone anymore.

So why when I see him do I still search for that smile and why when he sees me does he give it to me? Not her, the girl he's with; not her, the prettier woman sitting next to me. Me. And why won't that feeling go away? Despite what I know, the ending that we had, the nothingness we share (we can barely muster up conversation together now) why do I still feel like I'm being pulled inside out and I don't care? I want it to stop, so I will continue to do as I have done, to avoid him and the web, to keep away.

just let me rest in peace

I haven't mentioned the magnetic disc in a while. It's because of a series of events have fallen so fast, like dominoes, that I haven't bothered recalling them, the order of them, the line of them, the 1-2-3 steps. He has vanished from my life, much to my relief. I spent so much time fervently trying to forget him, but it was impossible without his absence.

Constantly running into him on the street, interacting with him (or not interacting with him) at my bar, seeing his profile in my periphery while at work, it was a constant reminder, a scraping of the scab, a misery. Then, like a secret wish fulfilled, the bar sank, a titanic disaster that we all knew was coming at some point and felt no surprise when we discovered that our bar, my bar, the place I've spent the last three frustrated years of my life trying to find some sense or rapport or affinity, was closing. It was hard to be sad, because of course I love that place, except lately, he ruined it for me, but I will never see him again.

Imagine after a few weeks, as the sting of what was began to fade, as I began to heal, despite the show he put on for me the last time I saw him--

it was the goodbye party-which was so fitting, for he was the only person I wanted to say goodbye forever to-and he wore his biggest grin and his crooked glasses, and he was just so jovial. he was everywhere and nowhere, I heard his laugh across the bar but couldn't find his eyes. I wanted to say the words that would make things not weird between us, but I couldn't find them. We talked about some things, all things I could tell he was tortured by having to talk to me about them. At one drunken point, I drove my finger through the air and poked his shoulder and reminded him he had one of my books, the only line between us that hadn't been severed and then I told him to just keep it. goodbye forever.

I breathed with a sigh of relief and flitted away into the party and forgot him until I opened the doors after a smoke outside and saw the image that has been burned into my brain and will not go away despite anguished mental scrubbing. She was next to him. The moony girl I've known all along was his. His hand was on the top of her thigh, that place where the hips meet the leg, and she had her back to him and was dancing against him as he sat in a barstool, king of the manor, with a shit eating grin and our eyes met and finally his cover was blown, this mouse was his; the pretense was gone, he didn't have that same discretion he'd always had about her, he was no longer sparing me the pain, because it was the end and no one cared anymore; and they looked so comfortable together, so perfect together, she will marry him, I thought to myself, and a flash flood of jealously filled me and suddenly there wasn't enough alcohol in all the world to make that go away.

I still fondle that image absentmindedly, shaming myself when I realize that I was thinking of that yet again, because it really shouldn't hurt that bad and he really wasn't good for me anyway, but nothing I say about it works, because that's what happens when your heart is broken, even a little bit, it just takes time to wear away that pain.

I left the party early, even though it was my bar, even though it was early, even though I wanted to stay, because I couldn't stand to hear his laugh, to see his owlish eyes sweeping past me as if I didn't exist. Maybe I can finally put all that to rest, I thought, maybe this is the end of having to think about him, the end of knowing him, the end of everything.

--a few days ago I had a dream about him. I don't dream very often. If I do I tend to forget them soon after waking. Sometimes I dream with awareness in the lapses between my alarm and its snoozing. I rarely dream about people I know in real life. When I realized he had wandered into my dream I woke up, startled and angry, mad that even though I haven't seen him in weeks, he infiltrated my dreams. I wish for the same carelessness he holds for me, the same indifference when it comes to him. I hope one day I can look over him and see nothing but a ghost.

this not about love, 'cause I am not in love III

The thing is, I couldn't have planned it any better. And that's always the thing with him, the thing that makes the sheer frustration of his presence so unbearable, that there is no way I could plan the interactions we have and have them actually end up so well, with us landing in each other's proximity.

And so, I broke my word again, because there were more people than him I wanted to see, rather than him I didn't want to see, and really, this time I resolved even if he was there I was going to ignore him completely and hold myself erect and proud and unawares of his eyes and his laugh and his body and his presence.

So I staked out a chair and wandered away and said hello to my friends. He was standing nearby and I could feel his eyes on me but I refused to meet them, didn't look up, stayed loyal to my friends. Out of my peripheral I noticed him coming toward me and even then it was nervousness that held me rigid more than resolve. He squeezed my shoulder like it was for life, like he was drowning and I was there to pull him out and I looked at him, with the nervousness and rigidness solid in my throat, as if I was going to vomit and I tried to smile, but I don't think I did and no words would come out. His eyes met mine and in them was also that same nervousness and panic and concern.

And then I realized I am hopelessly in love (or whatever it is you could call this) with him.

And I hate myself for it.

As if that wasn't enough, when I turned from my friends to my seat, I saw that he was sitting right next to my seat and had been sitting there before I even got there. So without meaning to, without even knowing, I picked the one seat in the entire bar right next to the magnetic disc. Of course.

I was horrified. I spent as much time as I could outside with the smokers (even smoking a few cigarettes out of sheer terror) and pretended to engage in meaningful conversation except all the while my brain was operating at ten thousand times its usual overworked capacity and all it was saying to me was What the fuck are we going to do now?! We're fucked!

And then, it was inevitable, I had to go in, I had to sit there, squished up next to him, his thigh jutting out toward mine, his work shirt on the bar in front of me, his hand on his beer, his fingernails, his hair, his face, everything just up closer than it has been in months.

He sat for a while talking to someone on the other side of him and because he was on the corner of the bar, he had to sit away from me, and maybe it was on purpose, for he held his hand up to his chin and blocked me from his vision the same way I have done many times in the past. I tried to ignore him as well, for some reason up close he was not so loud, so obnoxiously obvious everywhere and his eyes were trained away from me. I could almost pretend he wasn't there.

It was awkward, until it got worse and someone showed up, someone who the magnetic disc was angry that I got along so well with, and suddenly, I was between the two of them and I was so uncomfortable that it was almost laughable, that I was perched at this place I hated with two terrible prospects between me and a cloak of awkwardness smothering me.

Finally, he turned in our direction, the magnetic disc and things between us got slightly less awkward until I asked him the question that has been plaguing me for months: When are you leaving?

It was then that I found out that he will be here another year. And not just that, but he said nothing more about us, about me, about her, about what was to come. It was then that I knew that whatever the reason for his nervousness it was not from love, because he is not in love with me. I don't know what he feels for me, maybe some sense of regret, maybe some frustration, maybe some confusion, but it is not love (or infatuation or lust or wanting or interest or anything).

I fell into a tailspin then; I have been going through the motions and totally disinterested in life at large. I've spent the last two days since busy with work and let myself get swept up in the wave of my roommate's pleasurable company and tonight with another friend and I try to go to sleep with round eyes and dreams of falling and landing in my bed. Even now, I should be sleeping, but I can't stop feeling that moment, that slam of the door, that rush of understanding, that empty, that hollow ache, now there is nothing and no one who wants me.

That is what it's really been all about, that even though I knew I'd dodged a bullet with him and the universe saved me from complete and utter disarray in my life, I had some solace in the idea that maybe he was in love with me, and maybe someday I could turn to that love and find something worth feeling, at least for a little while.

I left knowing that I can never walk into that place again, at the very least, not for another year; and I am truly, completely alone.

the light of day

I saw him at least half a block before he saw me, I think, and it was odd, to see him, striding on the sidewalk, his work shirt slung over his shoulder, his soccer feet kicking out. He has a little swagger I never noticed before and it made me smile.

When I realized it was him, my feet stopped moving for a second. I resumed my walk and frantically decided (my brain began to go into instant and excessive thinking mode) there was no way to avoid him, so I might as well say hello and be pleasant.

I said hello first and to be honest, his haziness made me wonder if he would have just walked right past me. He seemed out of it, tired, a worn out shell of the man I know. Talking to me was laborious and he was being careful again, because he's worried about me again.

So we tried to mutter out sentences and meanings, phrases and words, he mentioned something I was surprised he still recalled so easily, and it pushed the words into my throat and then I let them bubble up, I don't know why I said those two words, they were unnecessary, but I wanted to see if he remembered that too, so I said them.

His eyes narrowed in recognition of the the day it all started, with those words, that invitation. And then he panicked, and I could see his brain flustering and floundering behind his blue blue blue in the daylight eyes (made bluer by the t-shirt he wore) and his mouth jabbered something and his face looked so old and wrinkled and stubbly and worn out.

So I let him go, with words of parting and the relief in his face was like a present to me and I walked away.

Even though I have been avoiding him the world conspires to have us meet in the street like two strangers. When will it be enough to have us never meet again?

this not about love, 'cause I am not in love II

He hovers in the middle of the bar, and his owlish eyes meet mine at every glance. They are on me when my eyes are trying to hide, I can feel them burrowing into my flesh, every movement watched, every laugh counted, every nod measured. And yet, he stands next to what is certainly his latest prey, she, small and coquettish, glancing up at his face with her heart in her throat, and he stares at me instead.

He pretends not to want to capture her, standing at a calculated distance, holding himself still, watching.

She follows his line of sight and her face fills my peripheral view like a full moon, she is pale and clean and wide.

At one point, when I passed him, a jostle from someone else forced our skin to touch, our arms met behind us, his head turned at the touch, he already knew I was there, and he was hoping I had touched him on purpose, I think, so I shrank behind my friends and tried my very best to ignore what I could not.

I want to pull him aside and tell him all I know, tell him that he is not for me, tell him that it's useless to pretend.

And yet, I know that the moment I am in his scope, I will have a hard time honoring our pact and keeping myself from being magnetized. So I will try again, not in vain this time, to stay away...

the audience

When no one is looking, is the difference. I spent the evening in his presence again, thinking after the last time that finally the pain might have been quelled, that he realizes I've moved on, because I walked away from him. I didn't hang on his every word and most importantly, I pulled away from his magnetism.

This time everyone was aware and watching which made me aware and nervous, and him awkward and strange and it was so uncomfortable that I had to leave. I was so mad at him for pretending I didn't exist (is it because he's trying to show everyone that he's over me too? Why can't I stop caring? When is he going to leave?).

I also took to pretending he didn't exist, using my hair as a curtain, hiding him from my view. I sat and tried to listen to the people near me, but his laughter as usual broke my concentration and made my head instantly swivel.

He knew I was there before he even saw me, and it was obvious that he had bolstered himself to speak to me in front of everyone, just to say hello. After that, he was reclusive, keeping his back to me, hiding himself in the center of his group of coworkers on the other side.

When I was leaving, he was coming back in. When I was coming back in, he was leaving.

I said, "See you later, guys," during the last of these frustrating passings and he, hearing me, even after just pretending not to see me, listening for me, said good night to me. None of his friends was around to witness this. I received a hello and a goodbye and that was all he coud spare for me, in the midst of his shaking unsteadiness, I got a bookend of greetings and that was all. And I learned that I can't let it go...

the general store:

It is already home and I am already immensely happier in so many ways, though disappointed in some overshadowing ways (and really, is that a surprise) but I'd rather shine my light on the better side, that it is already home, that I have already had great good times with her, my new roommate who I should have roomed with long ago; and it is only been a week. She is a glow and I am a moth. I fit in here, I like it here, I am happy here. This makes sense. The last place did not make sense. I don't miss being there at all, there is no confusion over which bus to take, and it is good.

I experienced this weekend, a moment of satisfaction, which was explained as drunkenness--but I wasn't drunk, I was happy. That's how rare it is that I'm happy. The fireworks were plentiful, my friends were there, and I was glad. I didn't care about where I had to be and how I had to get there, for at least a little bit.

All this weekend I had to resist him and it felt easy, really, I was just across the street from him, the magnetic disc, and I noticed and walked away, and then, of course, it was arranged in a way I could never plan well enough, by coincidence, by the magnestism, boom, we crashed and there was nothing we could do differently and no pulling away that would work, everyone fell away until there was just us and when will he go away? Just leave. The sting of his earnest conversation, the politeness, the wretched sense of fakery, I hate hate hate it and him. Even more I hate that I get caught in his pull, but this time, this time I managed to walk away and it was the most natural part of the exchange for me..

And then there was today, having had yesterday, trying to prove that I didn't care, but it was all I could do not to look up at every figure that neared, every face that passed, and it was never his. And when it was, it was a cheerful, polite hello with nothing else, because I was in a spot that forced him to be distant, and I was there on purpose. When I left, I didn't say goodbye and I felt his eyes on me, burying themselves into my back and I dared myself not to look back and then I promised myself never to go in there again. It is a promise I will break because I have broken it before.

Even though I worked all weekend it felt like a vacation, because things were slow at work, because I wasn't at home, because I am putting off the important parts for now.

I feel the draw to things I cannot control, and I am more okay with it than I have ever been, though now I am putting the leash on that one area I let run rampant and no longer actively pursue and just a couple weeks in, with the whirlwind of Other Things to Do, men remain a mysterious enigma I worry I will never figure out, but I feel no dire sense of panic from this.

the hair factor

It came as a shock, that memory, and as I pulled it out of its sepia toned solution, bathed in nostalgia, I saw that connected to that memory were two more that were similar, my brain had filed those moments away together and they came rushing at me, the sappy sentimental moments that I'd forgotten.

The first one was just recently, as I was obsessing over every detail between the singer and me, every moment that I should have known it was all too good to be true, except there weren't any and then I remembered, like a shockwave, when he turned and smiled down at me and took the hair covering my face between his fingers and swooped it away.

As if that weren't enough the magnetic disc quickly followed and I recalled the moment when I was turned toward him and the rush of our breaths precluded the exchange of words and our eyes locked and the tip of his finger stumbled through the air like an engorged bumblebee and he drew a line across my forehead, watching my bangs fall back into place before he whispered, "I like your fringe."

Almost like a gush of oil came the next one, which was buried deep down, the memories of the burnham I've been trying to forget, but it couldn't be contained and I was right back there on that couch, in that quiet apartment, in that territory of discomfort and hesitation and he was looking at me and I was looking at him and then he pushed a lock of my hair out of my face that had fallen there when I had laughed off one of his many compliments and looked down in shame and he pushed it away and told me I was beautiful.

Now all I can see is the ridiculousness of my supposed thresholds; how easily I was snake charmed.

when the south pole is around:

he loves me, he loves me not, I want to not care, I want to forget, I want to pretend that he doesn't exist, but he's always around and lately, he's been hovering, pulled in, even in the presence of others, my eyes are the eyes he meets, the eyes he's smiling at, the eyes he wants to see staring back at him.

I want to not be there, not be staring, but I can't help it, he's hard to ignore, even if his eyes weren't seeking out mine, his laugh, a big huge boisterous thing that can be heard everywhere, completely undoes me, I can't even have a conversation with anyone, because I want to see who it is that is delighting him. It is never me. When we talk, he is a nervous, twitchy mess, trying so hard to figure out what I might be thinking or maybe trying to convince me he's really cooler than he thinks he is. I don't know, I want not to care.

I know when he leaves it will all be all right and a year from now I will laugh about this whole thing and it's sweeping ridiculous hold on me.

because of his ineptitude, he won't be leaving soon as promised, and now the resolve I had is fading and the only solution is his quick departure. There is enough knowledge of his character for me to stay away, but in the moment, when he shines, when he is magnetic and wonderful, I find it hard to resist.

So maybe I will have to leave, to find excuses not to go there, to avoid him as long as necessary, because really the distance is what makes it all palatable, and when we are in close proximity to each other, it is obvious and sad and painful. I want him and he wants me and it can never happen.

the magnetic disks

The pull of it is so strong it brought him down from his heights, from his work, from his orbiting out there in the ether to me, to stand near me, to breathe me in, to wallow in my presence. And I felt bad for him, that I've tried so hard to ignore him, that I've bickered with him for the sake of pushing him away, for the pretense that I don't care.

I do care. Of course I do. But I can't. Because one day he'll be gone. And then I'll never see him again. And I can't wait for that day. Even just ten minutes with him and I'm rendered into a paste of unformed clay. He's just too smart, so keen, the epitome of exuberant.

I push him away so that it'll be easier for me, but I never considered that it was hard for him to be around me, to see me, to hear my laughter, to see my smile, to wonder what I've been thinking.

As the days accumulate and the arrival of his departure comes closer, the breath I've been holding in is getting harder to hold and I know the release I'm waiting for will come sooner than it should and maybe, just maybe, there will be a breach in the contract we've crafted. I hope not; for it will all amount to nothing anyway.

the disappointment

Funny how all the elements are the same, all the stationary objects are familiar, known, but then the variables are what throw me, the people change and all of a sudden I'm a wreck, unable to relax, pulled back half my life ago to high school inadequacies, certain that they were all talking about me every time there was a "her" spoken.

And to him, what must I be now? At first I was exciting and new and now I am something to be avoided, something to worry about, something to ignore. Ignored, left to wither in his shadow, hearing his laughter for someone else, I had to leave, I was itching to go, I couldn't get comfortable.

They all know what happened between us or what couldn't happen and I wonder if they think I'm languishing in that, pining for him, just because I am there. Never mind that it's my bar, it's my place, it's where I came plenty before he ever arrived. And yet, it's the kind of place where I am never seen for who I really am and that's the worst kind of misunderstanding. I can't defend myself enough, I can't talk myself out of the quicksand, I can't say the best, coolest, funniest thing all the time.

When it gets like this, where I'm frustrated with the lot of them, those variables, those people, I promise myself I will never go back in there, that it's not for me, that I can't take another night of their eyes crawling over me, evaluating me, checking me for cracks and pulling out the sledgehammer in preparation for my demise.

And him, rather than be the good man I'd thought he was, he allowed them their scrutiny, even hid from the front lines to avoid being pelted with the shards of my self-esteem shattering and spraying across them, and I was sad that even he could not muster up the affection for me that he claimed to have, to interact with me despite the imminent and likely goading he would suffer.

Before I was sad that he would leave eventually, now I long for the days when he will be gone for good.

the lay of the land

One fire has been put out. The easy one, the flammable one, the one who I actually really liked, he's pulled himself out of my scope, of course in the most polite and well mannered way possible. It is all well and good that nothing really got started between us and no one's feelings were hurt. I am largely disappointed, but I think it is for the best. The good news is that we will still remain on friendly terms. His company is boisterous and engaging, which delights me very much.

As for the other one, things have been lagging a bit. I think primarily it's a matter of both of us being busy and perhaps secondarily, neither of us are certain that there is anything to do about the other. Of course I can't speak for him, but I do know he's neglected to respond to me in kind, and it's quite possible I overwhelmed him into silence. Thankfully, I have been remarkably unhurried about him, and I don't feel any sense of despair.

I think what I learned from the disaster that was eric (and subsequently, any guy I've ever really liked) is that no matter what the circumstances or coincidences or my feelings on the matter, attempting to force a person who isn't ready willing and able into a relationship doesn't work. And realizing that has given me a sense of freedom I've never had before in this area. In fact, I can't even say for sure that I fall into the able to deal with a relationship category or that I'm ready to deal rigors of dating right now.

And yet, I realize that it is time to start the process, because this is a part of my life that is important to me and always has been. Why else would I moon so heavily about each potential whisper of a relationship if I was not hopelessly optimistic and desperately romantic?

I'm noticing this time around that my criteria is still the map I use to determine my next steps and that I'm a lot more realistic about whether or not there is a genuine connection. Even in the case of the easy fire, I could see that things between us might not go very well, but I was willing to negotiate because of his excellent personality and our obvious enjoyment of each other's company. The truth is, his aimless existence troubled me, his excessive drinking and partying was worrisome and our schedules were nearly impossible to line up.

As if that wasn't enough, a couple months ago I joined an online dating service with nary a date to speak of til now. We're due to meet tomorrow. I don't quite know what he looks like and I can't quite tell what sort of personality he's got. We seem to be good at the emailing, but that doesn't always translate into real life. The one thing I do know is that he's excited about me, which is a good start. I don't even want to go through the speculation process. As my friend Annie said to me today, we'll both know the minute we see each other if it's a yes or no. So I'll let that moment speak for itself when it comes.

And so that is what has been occupying my mind for the last week or so, along with the endless parade of work, stories, dishes to wash, laundry to do, etc.

here comes the sun; fire building

I'm standing here, trying to start a fire, taking the scraps of love I have left, needling, pushing, worrying over things I'll never know, wondering if it'll work and scared about it working.

Should it be this way? To be excited and a little terrified at the same time?

I don't know. I want to ignore the need for warmth, I want to stay cold, but something bigger than me is at work. When fate calls your name you can try to avoid it, but it usually finds you. And I couldn't forget his laugh, his big huge laugh, and that moment when I was undone, completely and thoroughly upside-down.

I described it as a soul to soul moment, where two people touch each other beyond everything physical, and nothing around us mattered right then.

If someone told me I'd have that with him I would have been disbelieving. Because we've never had anything but stilted awkward attempts at conversation before that one. And I am guilty of book cover judging, in his case. He can't help that he's a perfect physical being, and I wrongly assumed that was all he possessed.

It's hard to be wrong. And in this case, I'm pleasantly surprised that I was so wrong. I couldn't have imagined the depth he has, the array of his interests, his industriousness.

I'm not sure if there will be a spark, if it will catch, if there will be a fire. I was compelled to reach out to him and put myself in his scope. His response was kind and open and full of invitations into his world. The idea of exploring another person in the hopes that I will find something amazing is exciting, but I don't want to force anything. I will never force that again, struggling against something and trying to find the brilliance I deserve.

As I was reeling from this endeavor, I joined my good friend at our usual spot, and attempted not to delight in the presence of a different man, far different than the potential fire, someone who I feel an instant chemistry with, a strong pull, a giddy thrill. He's brilliant, gregarious, charming, with a voracious laugh, the kind of guy that everyone adores instantly. I thought that it might just be my penchant for brits, but even the generally grouchy older man at the bar smiled and remarked on his personality.

With him, there is nothing to do, nothing to be, the ease we have is pleasant and refreshing and welcome. With him there is no guessing, no wondering, no waiting. He arrived on my horizons with a huge smile for me and I am eager to see that smile more and more.

And so we fell into each other, so easily, so well. Everything fell away and there was just that overwhelming spin, the carousel, the joy of being swept up by another person who has nothing to lose and everything to gain.

We have plans to spend time together and that will be the true test, when the liquids that make me uninhibited are gone, when there's nothing between us, no counters, no stools, no distractions. I have a feeling it will be easy and fun. I'm not worried about him at all, and for once it's nice to know that there's substance behind this, that it's not a bunch of vapors, a mirage, a bouquet of hopes.

And what's even better is that I've let myself heal, I've taken care of myself, I've given myself time to let go of the pain. And I did it without toppling someone else, without destroying someone else. So maybe that is why these two different men have arrived and given me hope for warmth. Now it's just a matter of choosing which fire to succumb to.