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Written by Christine M. Biereth
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The time between meeting and finally leaving is sometimes called falling in love.
By Christine M. Biereth
Let me tell you a little vacation story before I forget. Before I let wishful thinking and selective memory paint a picture that never was.
I met a boy. The moment I saw him I knew I liked him. He bought me a beer. I bought him one back. We talked. We laughed a lot-we laughed till my stomach hurt, man had I missed laughing.
All a long, while sitting there next to him, I didn’t want it to end. Then, I had to go. I was almost late for the last train. He took my hand and we ran through London. I kept wishing we wouldn’t make it- we made it.
On the train ride home I couldn’t stop smiling; had I really kissed him?! Made my self forget- what’s the purpose of butterflies when I was never to see him again.
Next morning, Shit! I still felt it, I was still smiling. Knowing it was the beginning and the end all at once- yet hoping for “all at twice”. The phone rang. It was him. He was very persistent- he called seven times, we spoke seven times. I gave in. We met up again, I liked him even more. It was almost magical. I missed my train, this time on purpose- not mine but his.
I felt a connection and it was almost nauseating. There was just something there and I could see he knew it too. Maybe not as intense- cause I’m intense- but the attraction was as clear as the rainy night. We upped the stakes. The time we had left was the time we had left. We held hands. It started to rain even more. We cached a taxi. Both went all in.
I opened the door to his apartment. He was nervous. He made me nervous. Maybe this wasn’t the way it was suppose to be at all. Had he been bluffing? Had I?
I still felt the butterflies. He changed. Was he regretting? .Somehow it didn’t feel “light” anymore. He freaked a little. Something was going on in his head- he didn’t say what, somehow something triggered a couple of tears in his sad blue eyes or maybe it was just left over rain drops. I hugged him. He hugged me. He calmed down. The butterflies was still buzzing around the room, then again-maybe it was the wine.
I knew I had to do something. Why did I like this boy so much?! I can’t like anybody that lives in London- I live in New York. I can’t afford this. I’d promised my self never to let anybody get to me that way again, I’d made that wove a long time ago. He wasn’t ”in” yet- but he could if I wasn’t careful.
I did the only thing I knew how, to sabotage this feeling I didn’t want to deal with; I slept with him. I had done the right thing and I knew it. Sure enough, the next morning the magic was gone- I had been right-
Thank God!.
He walked me to the train. He was being nice I was being polite. We both played our parts perfectly. A comedy turned tragically over night. We said goodbye- both meant it. We said “see you later” both knew we were lying.
The train arrived- this time I was way early.
A day went by. I had to leave London for good. I didn’t call to say goodbye- he didn’t either.
Started to get nervous. Nervous having to face demons and history long forgotten. Nervous to revisit the girl I use to be- scared of the people who use to know her.
Started on my pre-flight ritual of not sleeping, hoping to numb the fear with exhaust and too much alcohol.
3 Am. Alone in the living room, an empty bottle of wine next to me on the table. Two hours to my taxi, suddenly I felt it. First as a distant whisper in the corner of my heart, then- a shouting match in my core. Was I really feeling all these frustrating feelings for a boy I’d hardly met? A boy, whom I’d made sure to let go off the minute I saw the warning signs -before any damage was done.
There, there it was again. This stupid uncomfortable feeling of longing and insecurity. Again, I had to do something drastic. I don’t want this. I need my heart with me- not on the other side of the world. I opened my lab top, I opened another bottle of wine.
Two hours later my masterwork was done. An e- mail perfectly concocted with enough pathetic drunken confessions and enough verbal vomiting to scare of f any boy for good and for all; If I didn’t master the power to let this thing go, he most certainly would after this -that I made sure of.
Sent.
The taxi arrived a few seconds later. I felt relieved. At least now I knew it would never be more. I would never hear from him again- and I can deal with that. My mail had been outrageous, it had to be and I sent it with that exact purpose. I can deal with “never” I can deal with “no way” I have no idea how to react to “what if” and “maybe”.
The taxi was honking impatient in the background of my mind. I found my neatly packed baggage and locked the door behind me. Calm, thinking; A beautiful memory- no heartbreak in sight.
The plain ride was easy. I wasn’t scared at all. London had been great. He had been wonderful.
Things are in place, New York here I come
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written by sabir on May 18, 2007
just one word (beautiful)