Some things age us more quickly. I'm older today than I was Friday morning. The last thread of my innocence was snatched away. In it's place I feel stone. I didn't know that thread was even there, but the removal was sharp and painful. I went to Atlanta this weekend and saw something that broke my heart ten times over.
I've been afraid to write this story, not trusting myself with the memories. Really, the best thing was to put him out of my mind forever. I probably imagined half of everything I think happened between us anyway. He got married. The end. Nothing is so simple.
My sister had moved in with me the winter before we started dating. So when I moved to New York in August she stayed behind and kept my apartment. She met his sister that night they stayed over with the stranded kids from South Carolina. And it was my sister who told me because she ran into his sister who told her. I remember exactly where I was when she called to tell me, I was walking up Fifth Avenue on a beautiful April afternoon.
We hadn't talked in four weeks. Not since mid-March when he called to tell me he was going to San Fransisco for Spring Break. I only picked up the phone because I thought he might be calling to wish me happy birthday. (I turned 27 the day before.) We had a strange conversation. I knew he was taking her. He never even mentioned her name though. After the initial awkwardness we slipped back into our easy banter. I'm sure we laughed because he always made me laugh. I had never had so much fun with a man in my life. There were times when he made me roll on the floor until my sides ached and my eyes burned from laughing too hard at something he did. I made him laugh the same way too.
We talked for awhile that night. It had been a month since our last conversation on Valentine's Day. That was when he called to tell me he was moving back into his parents' house because he was going to date his housemate and didn't want to live with her. That was the third time he broke my heart. And I swore that was the last. He was just plain cruel to call me five minutes after midnight on February 15th--so technically he didn't call me on V Day. I had waited for his call all day and rented some Steven King movies and watched them while eating chocolate cake. I was so elated when my phone rang and I saw his name. Ugh. It took him half an hour to tell me his news and he was scared to say it.
That's why I didn't answer the phone when he called me the week after V Day, I decided to cut it off so I could get over him. He had called me every weekend since I left the south. We usually talked for an hour or longer. It was my favorite part of the week. He told me he wanted to apply to a summer program at one of the colleges here. And he was thinking about going to med school in the city. I wanted to wait for him. I wanted to marry him.
This is a long story and now I must go to bed. I thought I could just write about what happened on Friday but I can't. You're getting the whole thing. I can't convey the impact otherwise.
Continued here.
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetic exploits of me not having sex in the city.
