The One Who Was Supposed to Get Away
Have you ever wondered what would happen if you had a chance with the one who got away? Or, maybe you didn't really think about one who got away, but after some twist of events someone you once knew pops up in your life again, or just walks in front of you in the street? I hate that. That awkward, peculiar stare combined with thoughts of, "I know you from somewhere," then my brain clicks and a dark, grainy flashback from 2006 in the back of his SUV appears in my mind's eye.
Yeah. It happened to me.
Life comes at you fast.
I'm very literal when it comes to relationships with people. Once I categorize you in my life, you serve a purpose. Once you fill that role of friend, companion, lover, sideline piece of ass, well, it's hard to be removed, unless I do the removing. It's a practice and an honor to acquire any position of recognition in my life because I don't let people in too often. My headspace is a dangerous one inhabited by thoughts, fears, insecurities, and contemplations. I'm always analyzing or thinking about something, so if I mentally assign a role it's for a reason, and it sticks--until the person gets overwhelmed or sick of my shit and bails. Yeah. Pretty much that's it, but dammit, they feel honored until they don't, or whatever.
So I met this guy. We'll call him Ben. I don't remember the exact details, so we'll just flash forward to the moment when he met me in my driveway (back when I actually let people come to my house--whew, memories). I can't recall if we couldn't figure out where we wanted to go or what we wanted to do, but for whatever reason, we couldn't come to any agreements on our plans. Honestly, I just remember it being the middle of the night, and I don't think I even wanted to be seen in public with him--Sorry, Ben.
Our conversations were kind of dope, though. We talked about the things we had in common: I had a one to two month old baby boy, and a three year old son; he had a live-in ex-girlfriend (more like, he was living with her and her family, but hey, who's judging?); he had a car, I had time; I was figuring out what I was going to do with my life post-marriage, he was figuring out where he was going to live. Ok, so we didn't have too much in common except verbs, but I was rebounding and I knew it, and I judged Ben harshly for not knowing that he was my rebound and choosing better for himself. We basically just argued. Men have GOT to stop allowing us women to take advantage of them if they want better in life.
Finally we came to the decision that we were horny and wanted sex--precisely my kind of conversation. It went a little something like,
(It's a cold, winter night in January. The couple sits in the car parked in the driveway, trying to decide what to do.)
Him: It's late, and it's cold. What do you want to do?
Her: (looks at nail beds cracking and splitting) Wanna fuck?
Him: You sure?
Her: Yup. You got condoms?
Him: Yup.
Her: Let's do this then. (climbs in backseat)
Sexy, right? And the sex was that bad, too. I mean, if he enjoyed it I'd be surprised, and that's saying a lot. Who gets cramped in the backseat of an SUV for Christ's sake? Not too long after I stopped calling, fled town, moved to NYC and got lost in the craziness that was that portion of my life until I moved back home, went to college and graduated. I thought I'd never see him again.
Imagine my dread and surprise when I realized who he was when he stopped me the other day. I saw his face and almost instantly knew who he was, but I wanted him to have a case of mistaken identity. More-so I wanted to be wrong about who I thought HE was. Now that I think about it, I totally should've said, "I don't know who you're talking about. I must have one of those faces" and walked away. That would've cut the conversation absolutely short, but you know me, I love putting myself in awkward situations.
As he sized me up, telling me how good it was to see me I'm thinking, "Please don't be the awkward, uncomfortable SUV-sex guy. Please don't be that guy. Please don't be that guy." He was shifting on his feet, trying so hard to be polite and not to say the unmentionable thing. He says, "You invited me over to your house once."
I bust out with, "Yeah. And we did it in the back of your SUV in my driveway?"
He looks at me, "Yeah. We did," then looks away.
I say, "So how've you been?" And continue in your own mind how awkward the conversation was from then on.
I'll have you know, I am very proud of myself for how I handled it because I fought every ounce of instinct to blurt out, "That was the worst car sex I've ever had, and I've had a lot of sex in cars, you know?"
I keep thinking we could've bonded over the declaration, but I can live with the regret of that decision because I didn't really want to bond with him anyway.
Yeah. It happened to me.
Life comes at you fast.
I'm very literal when it comes to relationships with people. Once I categorize you in my life, you serve a purpose. Once you fill that role of friend, companion, lover, sideline piece of ass, well, it's hard to be removed, unless I do the removing. It's a practice and an honor to acquire any position of recognition in my life because I don't let people in too often. My headspace is a dangerous one inhabited by thoughts, fears, insecurities, and contemplations. I'm always analyzing or thinking about something, so if I mentally assign a role it's for a reason, and it sticks--until the person gets overwhelmed or sick of my shit and bails. Yeah. Pretty much that's it, but dammit, they feel honored until they don't, or whatever.
So I met this guy. We'll call him Ben. I don't remember the exact details, so we'll just flash forward to the moment when he met me in my driveway (back when I actually let people come to my house--whew, memories). I can't recall if we couldn't figure out where we wanted to go or what we wanted to do, but for whatever reason, we couldn't come to any agreements on our plans. Honestly, I just remember it being the middle of the night, and I don't think I even wanted to be seen in public with him--Sorry, Ben.
Our conversations were kind of dope, though. We talked about the things we had in common: I had a one to two month old baby boy, and a three year old son; he had a live-in ex-girlfriend (more like, he was living with her and her family, but hey, who's judging?); he had a car, I had time; I was figuring out what I was going to do with my life post-marriage, he was figuring out where he was going to live. Ok, so we didn't have too much in common except verbs, but I was rebounding and I knew it, and I judged Ben harshly for not knowing that he was my rebound and choosing better for himself. We basically just argued. Men have GOT to stop allowing us women to take advantage of them if they want better in life.
Finally we came to the decision that we were horny and wanted sex--precisely my kind of conversation. It went a little something like,
(It's a cold, winter night in January. The couple sits in the car parked in the driveway, trying to decide what to do.)
Him: It's late, and it's cold. What do you want to do?
Her: (looks at nail beds cracking and splitting) Wanna fuck?
Him: You sure?
Her: Yup. You got condoms?
Him: Yup.
Her: Let's do this then. (climbs in backseat)
Sexy, right? And the sex was that bad, too. I mean, if he enjoyed it I'd be surprised, and that's saying a lot. Who gets cramped in the backseat of an SUV for Christ's sake? Not too long after I stopped calling, fled town, moved to NYC and got lost in the craziness that was that portion of my life until I moved back home, went to college and graduated. I thought I'd never see him again.
Imagine my dread and surprise when I realized who he was when he stopped me the other day. I saw his face and almost instantly knew who he was, but I wanted him to have a case of mistaken identity. More-so I wanted to be wrong about who I thought HE was. Now that I think about it, I totally should've said, "I don't know who you're talking about. I must have one of those faces" and walked away. That would've cut the conversation absolutely short, but you know me, I love putting myself in awkward situations.
As he sized me up, telling me how good it was to see me I'm thinking, "Please don't be the awkward, uncomfortable SUV-sex guy. Please don't be that guy. Please don't be that guy." He was shifting on his feet, trying so hard to be polite and not to say the unmentionable thing. He says, "You invited me over to your house once."
I bust out with, "Yeah. And we did it in the back of your SUV in my driveway?"
He looks at me, "Yeah. We did," then looks away.
I say, "So how've you been?" And continue in your own mind how awkward the conversation was from then on.
I'll have you know, I am very proud of myself for how I handled it because I fought every ounce of instinct to blurt out, "That was the worst car sex I've ever had, and I've had a lot of sex in cars, you know?"
I keep thinking we could've bonded over the declaration, but I can live with the regret of that decision because I didn't really want to bond with him anyway.
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