i make no apologies

He came out of nowhere.

I posted a political comment on facebook that he loved. He commented with: “If neither of us were in relationships, and if I hadn’t been such an awful date that one time we went out, I might ask you to marry me.”

(And then I gave him Hell because he WAS the worst sorority formal date of ALL TIME. He ended up making out with my       sorority sister and didn’t even notice that they got on a different bus than me to come home!! So, 50 comments later with the help of friends, the entirety of that awesome story from B’s past was out for the world to read…)

 And then he privately messaged me:

He said, “I tried making out with you once. You shot me down.”

I said, “WHEN?”

Him: “I didn’t write it down in my PLANNER. I had a huge crush on you in college!”

Me: “I wanted to date you, but you didn’t get it.  I totally would have known if you had tried to make out with me. Thus, bullshit flag.”

Him: “B, I wanted to be your boyfriend.”

Me: “You could talk to me about anything. Except that, apparently.”

Him: “I thought you hated me. How was I to go about courting you? You were constantly disappointed in me.”

Me: “I was always trying to get you alone because I thought you’d ask me out, but we’d walk out of an activism meeting together… and nothing. I generally get what I want, but I honestly didn’t think I could match up to you intellectually… and still don’t. So there’s that.”

Him: “You’re way smarter than me. I was intimidated by you. Still am.”

Me: “SHUT IT DOWN.”

Him: “I refuse. The truth will always eke its way to the surface.”

Me: “I was super intimidated by you every day. It was sexy, but intimidating.”

Him: “I felt and feel the same way about you. You’re an amazing woman.”

Me: “E shared something with me today, and the last line was: ‘There are some people whom you could only love by not being with them.’
Also, I’ve always felt really vulnerable around you. Like you could see through me and know when I wasn’t being my genuine self. Also sexy, but it makes me naked in a way. And I thought that if you really got to know all of me, I would disappoint you because there would be no mystery left.”

Him: “I think that’s entirely applicable. I think you’re wrong about the second part but I felt exactly that way about you. Nobody called me out on my bullshit like you did.”
(minutes later) “Don’t get quiet on me. We’re in the same boat here.
(minutes later) “I cried when I heard about your accident. And cried again about your lymphoma. I cried. I was scared that we might lose you.
(minutes later) Also, for the record, I thought you were a hot baldie. And I still have my B bracelet.”
(referring to the lymphoma support bracelets my friends and family wore).

Me: “Thank you for telling me that.  I kept your voicemail for a long time. I was so happy you called. I couldn’t believe that [our University] could just keep going without me… because I was dying without it.  So to be missed meant…
(let’s just say that after a day of not having the strength to pick your face up off the cold tile bathroom floor in your pool of tears… and then finding the strength to crawl to your parents’ bed to smell your dad’s aftershave on his pillow because it could happily be the last thing you smell… before your dad comes home early from work because you aren’t picking up the phone and holds a popsicle to your mouth because you can’t drink… and after hours of praying to die…)       the world.  Voicemails were on repeat. I”ll never forget yours. I’ve always wanted to tell you that, but I never had the appropriate time.”

Him: “I love you.”

Me: “I love you.”

Him: “I’m glad we finally got that out after 8 years.”

Me: “It’s fine. Life’s better without putting feelings in your PLANNER.”

 And then he “fictioned” me.

Him: “You do realize I won’t sleep tonight because you’ve opened up a brand new world of what-ifs, right?”

Me: “Shit. I hate that. I love that. I hatelove that. And hatelove is the worst.”

Him: “I wish I’d had the balls to ask you out.”

Me: “Me too. We would’ve been such a power couple. And our ribs would have hurt allthedamntime from laughing.”

Him: “I can hear your voice in my head as I read that.  And I have things I want to say, but I don’t think I should say them.”

Me: “Um, here I am telling you about death prayers… reciprocate.”

Him: “I think it’s well that we live 1,500 miles apart. Knowing what we both know now. For the sake of our relationships. Because I would jump at the opportunity.”

Me: “1,500 miles apart and we talk. Less than a mile apart… nahsomuch. I like that we make life interesting. WE are interesting.”

Him: “You keep that up, and I’m gonna tell you that I want to fuck you.”

( Yeah, that just happened.)

Me: “It wouldn’t end well.”

Him: “Ahh, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?
It’s only got one way to end, but why not enjoy a  fiction and ponder in the what-ifs?”

Me: “I love our fiction and would love to delight in our what-ifs.”

Him: “You would have delighted in me for a month or two, and then you would have grown sick of my bullshit. I would have begged you to stay, and you would have because I’m charming and persuasive, and we would have had crazy sex for six months before I asked you to marry me and you said no.”

Me: “I would have delighted in you for many months. Then we would have been all ‘what kind of future are we going to have?’ and it would have been not sexy… and the West Point graduate would’ve been all “Be with me” and you would’ve gone to jail for assault and battery. But I would have chosen you anyway.  And then we would’ve started playing house. And then comfort would have set in, making me incredibly unsexy and average and less sparkly… and then we would have split up. Except for the nights we couldn’t live without each other. But the morning would always come.”

Him: “I’d make you breakfast and wash your clothes. And I wouldn’t put your bras in the dryer. I’d make you dinner and do the dishes.  I can cook for vegetarians. The rest of that shit we could hash out over a movie and a bottle of wine… And yes, I would have punched {name of West Point graduate} in the goddamn throat.  But the sex alone could have sustained.”

Me: “That is not love.”

Him: “You’re right. None of that alone, no. But the things I would write, the songs I would sing, the terrible paintings I would attempt—all of those? The meals I would cook and the things I would read you? That’s love.”

Me: “Yes.. That is love. We would have had it. We would have made it. We would have lived it.”

Him: “You’re the smart one, the one with opportunity—I would have followed you. I can make a living anywhere on this earth.”

Me: “I would have learned form you every single day. I’m sure I do now. You are brilliant.”

Me: “I am totally blogging this. I blog anonymously.”

Him: “Send me a link.”

Me: “Fuck no. Every respectable woman goes to the grave with a few secrets.”

Then we said goodnight…. And I went to shower…. and then he texted me:

Him: “Now I’m bitten. You’re delightfully awful and splendidly wrong.”

Me: “Fuck you for making me miss you after 6 years.”

Him: “We should ‘fiction’ more often. How did this never come up in college?”

Me: “You and I were never alone. I didn’t know how you felt because we flirted for fun and you flirted with everyone. And you and I were almost always in relationships. And we were both stupid or chicken shit… or probably both.”

Him: “That sounds about right. I don’t know if it’s better or worse to know it now.”

Me: “Hatelove.”

Him: “Just so you know, the night of your formal is my biggest regret.”
(minutes later) “And there’s a lot of future left. Who knows?
I could have been better for you.
You were always with somebody, and I thought I could treat you better.”

Me: “I always thought if someone was going to make you crazy, I was perfect for the job.”

Him: “I love you, B.  Fuck you too for making me miss you.  YOU VEX ME. AND I LOVE IT.”

Me: “That’s the sexiest compliment I’ve received in… ever.”

Then he told me about the times in his life when he was homeless when he was young. And we talked about rough life shit.  And about how we get it, and that’s why we’re so fascinating to one another. Rebels aren’t rebels for no reason. Rebels are rebels because of our pain. And he told me about how he’s miserable now. I told him I know what miserable feels like. Reallyreallymisearable. That I almost moved back to our college town to get away from my life (what I didn’t say is that B is weaker now, and that that town isn’t big enough for her, her red polished toenails, AND unrequited love). To get B back (I lost her somewhere).

He said, “B’s too good to lose. Fight for her.”

I said, “I love you for that.”

He said, “I love you for you.”

And that’s enough, B.   That’s enough now.