3

----*

I don't want to give the wrong impression, however. This wasn't a fucking Hollywood RomCom I was living.

I can already see you moving away from your keyboard, a skeptical eyebrow cocked upward, saying, “This dude fell head over heels for a chick after a little less than three months and three dates? And now he's writing some long treatise about the experience while piggybackinng the story off his father's cancer diagnosis? Red flag, lady. Get out of there while you still can!”

To that regard you may call me a fool, and maybe that shoe fits comfortably. But I will submit to anyone that a fool in love is enviable to the wisest wise-ass, regardless of whether or not he sees himself as a fool. And if that's not good enough, take my word for it that this was a mutual thing. She, in all likelihood as you'll come to see, was probably not as invested as I found myself to be, but I'm telling you guys that there is really something special about this girl. We shared something that is hard to put into words. So, please, curb your cynicism or at least put it aside for the time being.

K. had expressed that she wanted to take things slow, in spite of the fact that we both agreed that that plan would force us to resist our shared urge to dive right in. Something was pulling her back.

In less than absolute terms she had stated cryptic mentions of past boyfriends who had treated her wrongly. I too had a rap sheet and scar tissue. Part of my attraction to her was the way in which we could both share these things about ourselves without feeling shame and her ability to turn misgivings, hers and mine, into a source of humor. I'm a sucker for anyone who can be witty about their mistakes and welcomes, or even encourages, others to morph their reality into comedy routines for a one-person audience.

But a barrier remained and as we talked, everyday for a month and a half, the walls became thicker.

I think part of what drew me to her was the fact that I saw so many of those qualities I had seen in myself at younger stages of my life, which are mentioned above, in her DNA. She too had felt self-loathing and insecurity about her place in this world. At times she would joke about how she was underperforming despite her education and her wits. I could see the way she undermined herself in an effort to protect a piece of herself that she wasn't sure was worth hanging onto, but that had always been within her and thus could not be jettisoned without feeling stranded, alone, in the sea. I saw the vulnerability in her independence.

Maybe she sensed something in me too. Perhaps I came across as predatory, like I was licking my lips in view of her susceptibility toward the first man who hadn't disappointed her immediately. She shared with me that she had gone on a couple dates with other men she'd met on the site, but that they had been “boring,” and led nowhere within moments of the introductions. Her way of describing me once was, “intense,” which kind of surprised me because I had never known anyone to see me that way (would an intense person write all this? WOULD HE?!?!?!?).

I can remember my distrust for others, my distrust for myself. I can remember having a desire to sabotage any positive thing that fell into my lap, through drugs, misbehaving, or simply denying myself the opportunity to be happy, in order to cling to my defiance. I remember that anger and the fear that was party to it.

I'm aware that I could be reading too far into this. The sad fact, as I'll come to relate, is that it looks like I will never know for sure. But for a brief few weeks I glimpsed something developing, something I had never seen or been through before but that I had always supposed must exist in this world, and I'd like to believe she did too. And for the first time in a long time I felt truly thankful that I didn't want to destroy something beautiful and destroy myself along with it.

----*

One week after I had seen her off at the bus stop, on the eve of her 28th Birthday, K. and I exchanged texts into the night. She was about to embark on a weekend of camping with her best friends and I had sensed that things were sort of cooling off.

I asked in very plain terms if she had grown tired of me (“no, haha,” she texted back) and then the floodgates opened. In my anxiousness I laid my cards on the table and told her that I saw the potential for something real to occur between the two of us. I told her I was ready to take the next step if she was too. I wasn't creepy about it, per se (she said, “You're not being awkward at all. You're sweet.”), though I was very matter-of-fact.

Now, I don't want to come off as that guy. You know, the guy who falls into every spider web of a first date and convinces himself that this girl is finally the one (like Jim Carrey in Eternal Sunshine, I've asked myself if I'm just, “falling for every girl that shows even a passing interest in me.”). Truth be told, I've never had the feeling that I was with “The One,” (if such a thing even exists) and I certainly didn't feel that way with K. At the same time, and in fairness to the novelty of our friendship, we were both being very upfront and clear about the fact that we were falling for one another. It wasn't strictly a one-way street and I'm trying my best through this writing to be equitable to what I perceive to be her side of things. It's the best I can do.

To cut a long story short, by the end of our back and forth she had said in no plainer terms that she was hesitant because she had a lot of “bullshit” of her own to work through. I had known this fact and assured her that I could be patient; that I wanted to be patient and supportive to her. Still she expressed her need for space, a need borne out of her feelings of displacement (she was new to Seattle) and the fact that she felt somewhat directionless. K. felt that any undue burden on herself, even in adopting a well-meaning boyfriend, might prevent her from unforeseen opportunities that would come her way. There was even talk of her going back to school, two states away, and how she couldn't in good conscience establish something here when she could very well be there in the near-future.

I told her I understood, and I did understand as best as I could. It hurt, but I understood. I asked her to do me a favor, to which she agreed, and give the thought of us together a real genuine try when she was isolated in the woods away from all the noise and bustle of her life and to decide whether or not we might be good for each other at this stage of our respective lives. The next morning I wished her a happy birthday and expected that I might never hear from her again.

Then I spent the weekend repeating that saying about releasing a caged bird which may then someday return more assured of its love for the cage and watching Casablanca because I'm a corny dude and the only way I can relate to the world is through Hollywood schlock and long-since cliched imagery.

I also read one of my my favorite villanelles by: Elizabeth Bishop, “One Art.”

The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.