Incomprehensible

We hadn't seen each other in at least four days and the time between phone calls got longer and longer. It felt like I was stuck in an airport waiting for the next announcement, and if and when it came being disappointed that we still would not be taking off. I mean, I knew he was crazy busy, but we lived 12 blocks away and worked 6 blocks from each other. We usually saw each other every other day. Even if it was brief. I thought I was understanding and patient with his schedule. After all, he was studying for his Ph.D. in some computational whosy-whatsit crapola. Whatever it was, it sounded difficult, complex, and time consuming. I didn't think I needed or wanted much from him at all, even from the start. As a matter of fact, it was his insistence that I come home with him on the night we first met.

For the four months that passed by us, I always felt like we did what he wanted and when he wanted. I was okay with that. It allowed me to step back from my normal pushy position and let someone else take the wheel. I don't recall ever telling him I loved him or bringing up the idea of living together either. It never felt that serious, and we never really talked about plans. I thought this was a good sign. I remember feeling like it was the beginning of my first adult relationship. We were friends and lovers. The relationship wasn't just about sex, or filling a lonely void, or settling for second best. It was two people with common interests and desires. It was fun to put it simply. And, there were no signs of the fun ending anytime soon. No signs whatsoever.

Finally, the call. It was late afternoon in the first few days of August. I was wearing shorts, which is a rarity, but it was that kind of hot. I pick up and he sounds chipper. Hurried but still happy. He asks if I have time for coffee when his break starts. I, of course, said yes I have time. (ding ding ding...too available asshole!) I hop on my rollerblades and plan to get in an easy 20 minute spin around the neighborhood and meet up with him at Naussbaum and Wu. I am listening to music and enjoying the breeze my speed has created to keep me cool in the thick heat. I am happy. I am content. I am excited to meet up with him. I am also unaware, deaf, dumb, blind and naive.

I arrive at Naussbaum and Woo early enough to trade my skates for flip flops. I slide the second sandal on and hoist my roller blades over my shoulder forcing my head to look up and in the distance. He's less than a block a way. He has rolled his own cigarette and his looking down at the ground. I wait for him to catch my eye so that he can see the excitement that fills them. I quickly judge myself in my head. I wonder if my legs look too skinny in these shorts. Should I have trimmed my leg hair? I was sure the hair on my head was far too wind blown. I hoped the excitement in my eyes would distract him from any of the unattractive quirks I was putting on display.

Then...he waved at me. Not with excitement. Not with flirtation. He waved at me like I was a kid who wouldn't stop waving until his uncle waved back. He waved at me like lifting his arm took the last bit of strength he could muster. He waved at me with reluctance, annoyance, and embarrassment. I didn't wave back. As my mind told my hand "to remain still something wasn't right," the first of many cocoon's unraveled in my stomach and the smallest of butterflies started to flit around in my stomach and chest. He could barely look at me. He kissed me on the cheek. Not that uncommon of an occurrence on a street corner, but I might have been talking myself out of things. We grabbed coffee. I got a large iced, he got a small cafe americano. I suggested we walk over two blocks to Riverside Park. He agreed. There was far too much silence. Nine month pregnant pauses ready to burst. My heart rate jumped back to the rate it was while I was rollerblading. I looked at him, his profile. He was so sexy, so unique, so handsome. He didn't return the gaze. I soaked in one last look at his gangly torso and well developed calf muscles. I knew what was about to happen and I was genuinely surprised.

We sat on a bench. The tears were nagging to get out. I looked at him and waited the four or five longest seconds of my life. He finally made contact with me and I did it for him. I said..."You're breaking up with me, aren't you? I can't believe this. Where is this coming from? Why? What's going on? Why, Michael, why? I can't believe this!!!"

By this time, I was wailing. I thought I would remain composed and take it in. I thought I would have a singular cry, alone, at home, after this was all done. No such luck. I could barely speak let alone listen. But he tried to explain..."I can't explain it. I just think it's over. I don't love you, Clem. I think you might love me and I don't love you. I don't think I ever will. I am not in love with you and don't think I can be."

With this I stopped trying to talk over him. My crying persisted but I looked at him and all I could think to say was this..."Thanks, Michael. Couldn't you have just broken up with me like normal people? Couldn't you have said things weren't working out, or you are back with your ex, or even 'I pissed you off?' Did you have to go and ruin the four months we spent together by boldly stating you DON'T LOVE ME!! YOU CAN'T LOVE ME!!! YOU WILL NEVER BE IN LOVE.... WITH ...ME!!

The impact words have on people is incomprehensible. The Dixie Chicks newest song is titled Not Ready to Make Nice. The opening lines are the same as the closing lines. These lines are words I will never get to say...except here.

These are for you, Michael.

Forgive sounds good. Forget, I'm not sure I could.
They say 'time heals everything,' but I am still waiting.