What
I had with Kevin was comfort more than anything. We were a lazy couple, seldom
leaving the bed. We weren’t busying
ourselves with our bodies—no, just cuddling and spooning mostly, not that we
never had sex, but the sex was mild and really was just a way to take a break
from all the idleness and served to make our cuddling feel all the more
deserved or special or yes, sweaty.
We talked wistfully and sometimes playfully
but almost always in bed, and if not in bed then on the couch. We binged on
Netflix and we’d speak about characters like gossip, like they were real people
in which our opinions mattered over takeout.
We
didn’t shy from displaying all of our bodily functions in front of each other.
We’d burp and fart and laugh. We kept track; created fart scores. I don’t know
why.
We
gained weight and had sex less and less. Two months in and we were essentially
globs.
The
more we got to know each other, the less we had to talk to about. After a while
we just lied down next to each other, not saying anything. We’d still watch TV
but after our conversations became less enthused. We realized they were just
characters and perhaps that we needed lives of our own.
Then
one day Kevin turned to me with his muddy green eyes and said, “Babe I think
I’m depressed.”
And
when he said it I felt it too, felt what he was feeling and what I was feeling
all this time. Though I felt a sense of love in his comfort, a sense of
belonging in his embrace, we were sucking the life out of each other—no sucking
is not quite the right word—smothering.
Neither
of us had a social life at the time so when we found each other it felt like
the perfect fit but really it was just the perfect pit and we fell further from
the world the closer to each other we got.
We
had even moved in together. Why have two beds when we were always in one?
But
as it was, I moved out. We didn’t break up right away but just let it taper
off. When he held me I no longer felt warmth but confliction. After a while I
just stopped coming back. No plea from him, no protestation. Not even a Where have you been?
Well
where I went after that was with Bryan. Of course I had lost the weight and
gained a few friends and hobbies before meeting him. He seemed the opposite of
Kevin and that was attractive to me. He lifted weights and ran with his German
shepherd, Molly, a few hours every day. What might have impressed me even more
than his big muscles was how he used them to constantly do my dishes for me.
He
didn’t stop there. He would cook, and vacuum, and do laundry—always offering to
do mine whenever he did his. I would insist that he was doing too much but he
would respond with something like, “Nonsense. I’m getting my laundry done for
free here so it’s no issue that I repay you by doing yours.”
I
was over the moon with him. He’d even take long lunch breaks from work to treat
me to some place special. We’d go to beautiful restaurants where they served
lobster bisque before the entrée of something like stuffed chicken breasts or
herbed fish, the kind of restaurants where the bread is baked fresh and they
have small fancy menus. The staff all knew him by name and it is no wonder for
how generously he tipped. I felt so lucky sitting across from him and so
envied. Why wouldn’t the waitresses also have their eyes on him? He was
well-to-do and good-looking with his dimpled chin, his lush, styled salt and
pepper hair, and expensive suits.
He was in no short supply of money and that’s
why his little quips about the laundry just made him even more humble and
giving.
Beyond
anything else that’s what I admired most about him—his ability to give and not
expect anything in return. I knew that was true because I couldn’t understand
what he saw in me other than someone to receive his many wonderful gifts and
pleasures. I’d try to find ways to pay him back but the man had everything. The
one time I tried to cook for him it just showed his generosity even more. He
graciously thanked me and complimented the food even though I knew I had
overcooked it. It was sweet of him to even eat it.
I
remember one time I confided in him saying, “I don’t know what I can offer you
or what you see in me,” and he told me just being me was enough.
In
that moment I was never surer that I loved him and I told him so and he said it
back.
And
then one day I wasn’t enough for him anymore. I could tell it was difficult for
him to admit it to me—that he felt terrible about it. His Adam’s apple was
convulsing up and down like he was holding back tears.
I
asked him what I did wrong, if there was anything I could do to fix it, that I
would do anything. And I really would have done anything to be with him.
And
he told me I couldn’t do anything, that it was he who failed me and that he
couldn’t be with me anymore because it would always make him feel too guilty.
You
see, he had been generous with his dick too.
That
one was tough to recover from. I’d call him all the time. I’d tell him that I
forgave him—that I just wanted him back with me, but he’d never respond. Just
like that he was gone. Perhaps all those niceties were just to cover up his
guilt. Sometimes I’d think it was all a rouse. Either he never really loved me
or he just invented that story as an easy way out. It affected my self-esteem
terribly. I didn’t think I could be enough for him or anyone. I’d ask myself
all the time, who would want me? I
didn’t understand what I had that was worth giving until I met Johnny.
Johnny
and I never stopped laughing and he brought out a sense of humor in me that I
had never known before. All of a sudden I was both funny and sexy.
We’d
hit the town together, partners in crime. We were like that montage in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, scheming and
laughing, having the time of our lives even though we were both pretty much
broke. We’d go into pizza parlors with Italian accents. We’d go into Karaoke
bars and dare each other what to sing. He was quite a vision up there in his
leather jacket and tight jeans, singing his heart out to “Like a Virgin.” It
made me happy to know that he’d do that for me, anything to make me smile or
laugh.
I remember once we went to the library (not to check out
one of his books like the movie) but just because we needed something to do. We
really had no business there at all. We perused the books, making sexual
innuendos at the titles. When we were in the Zoology section I told him that
from now on I’d call his penis his Persuasive
Python.
It was Valentines week and the front desk was decorated
with pink paper lanterns with hearts on them. I let Johnny know I admired them.
So he went in line, no books in hand, and I followed. I asked what he was going
to do but he just told me, “You’ll see.”
When we approached the front desk he told the librarian
straight-faced, matter-of-factly, “Mam, I’d like to check out one of the paper
lanterns.”
She told him somewhat perplexed that they don’t let
people rent the decorations and when she said that Johnny goes, “I don’t
understand,” as if what she said was offensive. They went back and forth for
some time in which Johnny had even agreed to pay. He went as high as twenty
dollars and I knew at that point he was counting on the librarian’s refusal. He
didn’t have twenty dollars to spare on that kind of a thing.
It didn’t stop me from loving him that he couldn’t take
me out to nice places or buy me gifts. We made up for that in creativity. We
could make any place fun so what did it matter where we went? As long as we
were together the world was just hysterical.
We shortly moved in together. Part of it was out of
sentiment but I also knew he really needed help. He was a guitar teacher and
after the holiday season he had lost half his clients, or kids I should say.
I’ll tell you, living with him was waking up with a smile.
But after a while that smile faded. I became not so very
funny and sexy but stressed and worn out. He used both our credit cards till we
were both in debt. Our finances were no laughing matter.
For a while I was hellbent in trying to get us to work,
or should I say in him to work. He promised me for months that he’d go and get
another job but day after day I’d come home and no apparent progress would be
made. That magic we had before was lost. He stopped being so amusing when I
realized how much he lacked adult responsibility. I realized I was dating a kid
as he expected me to take care of everything for him.
I told Johnny he had one month to move out. The apartment
was in my name and I had been paying all the rent. He acted like I was the
coldest person in the world.
Well things were pretty bleak for a while without Johnny
but I knew he wasn’t the type of guy you could spend forever with. But Emilio
on the other hand, well we spent a ton of time planning our future and everything
we’d do and he was someone that it made sense to do that with.
He told me one day we’d travel the world. We’d go to Spain,
Italy, France, Germany, India—together we’d see it all.
Emilio felt like a dream or maybe that was because we
spent all our time dreaming. He was the romantic type to say the least. And
since neither of us had the means yet to travel the world, he’d do what he
could to make my apartment feel special, often surprising me with rose petals
on the bed or expensive oils to rub ourselves with. I don’t think we ever had
sex without candles.
Once in a while we’d get to go on a weekend excursion and
he’d make the most of our hotel, ordering strawberries and champagne. He knew
how to live, or at least he had a palate for expensive living.
He’d pay for these indulgences and it was a real treat
after being with Johnny. When we were together it would have never occurred to
me that candles were worth twenty dollars or more.
But I think what attracted me most about Emilio is how he
made me feel about myself. He’d tell me, “Estoy desesperadamente enamorado de ti, I’m desperately in love with you,” and oh how I would
croon listening to his Spanish.
Things had become pretty serious
between us or at least I thought they were because we would often plan our
dream wedding together. We’d have harp players and doves and roses galore. He
wanted everything red just like his favorite lipstick on me.
When I was with Emilio I was a
better version of myself. I took care of my looks, always styling my hair and
accessorizing my clothes or dresses—he liked me better in dresses. I was more
sophisticated and able to tell my wines apart. I was more ravishing and maybe
that had more to do with the fact that I was in love than with what I wore or
how I did my makeup.
Emilio and I always made an effort
for each other and when we’d go out to dinner we’d be that couple that everyone
would stare at and envy. We always had our hands on each other and if not our
hands than our feet underneath the table. I felt like the most beautiful woman
in the world when I was with him.
And then his private company stopped
profiting. We couldn’t afford to do the same stuff we did before. I bought him
a new candle to make him feel better. It was scented strawberries and champagne
and it looked like he was trying to keep from crying when he saw it. He told me
Te amaré para siempre, I will love
you forever.
But our love like a candle
eventually burned out. We knew we were at the end of our wick when we had
become, well, bored.
We didn’t have really anything in
common. I noticed he far preferred to talk about my hair, or my lips, or my
legs than any of my opinions about the world or politics.
Now that we couldn’t be going out as
much (he didn’t like me to pay) and having to eat in, he started to become
irritable. (I’ll have you know that by this time my cooking improved.) It
became all too apparent to me that he was hard to please. I didn’t always have
the energy to put my lipstick on and wear my high heels after work, and it
didn’t make sense to do so just around the apartment, but he’d criticize me for
it. He’d tell me, “Mi amor
te gusta una patata, My love, you like a potato.”
In time, I realized he didn’t really
love me at all. He just loved what I could make of myself—skin deep. He didn’t
want me around him if I wasn’t up to his standards of presentable. And when I
tried to speak to him about my unhappiness he made it go hush hush with
besitos.
I asked him one day why he needed so
much romance to be happy and he told me the world without beauty is lifeless
and colorless and not worth living in.
I didn’t want to be in a
relationship anymore where the most I could do for his happiness was to be
beautiful.
After that I found Aleksandr or
perhaps he found me. I was walking to my car one night on my way back from the
supermarket. I didn’t see him at first standing by his car next to me. When I
heard his trunk close it startled me. He goes (keep in mind in a thick Russian
accent) “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Then he asked to help me with my
groceries. He loaded them into my own trunk and I don’t know exactly how it
happened but before I knew it we were making out, just like that as perfect
strangers. I didn’t even know his name yet. I didn’t find out till after we had
sex.
I drove him to my place that very
night. And I have to say Aleksandr was all the passion and none of the romance
which suited me fine. I had had enough of it after Emilio.
Aleksandr had the body of a boxer with
a broad back, large pecks covered by manly chest hair, and Olympian thighs.
When he looked like that and was as good as he was, I felt no need to ask
questions. I didn’t even know what he did for a living. I didn’t care. I just
looked forward to the times he’d come to my apartment and make me into some
sort of phoenix.
There was no cuddling after. When it
was over he’d put his clothes back on. It was always such a drag when he did
this. I liked seeing his body and never wanted the show to be over.
He wouldn’t even stay for a drink.
After a while he stopped coming and it was just as well. That guy, Aleksandr,
if that was indeed his real name, was not going to be tied down by anybody.
That kind of passion survives off novelty and, whatever, we had our fair run.
Although I did enjoy it when he’d tell me repetitively, “Feelz so focking
gewwd.”
When I no longer had the pleasure of
his visits I began to reevaluate myself. Who was I becoming that I would let
some man off the street treat me like a hooker? In retrospect I knew going back
I wouldn’t have behaved differently but still…I wanted more again. Much more.
It was time I started looking for the real thing and find someone who truly had
an interest in me and was responsible and healthy and in all things considering
could make me happy.
So that’s where Klark came in. Klark
taught high school English. And maybe he could be a little too serious and he
wasn’t a big Russian hunk either, but that was okay with me. For the first time
in my life I had what I felt was a real
relationship.
Our first date was a bit odd and it
was probably because it was during the day. He still had his teacher mode on. I
would tell him about myself and he’d respond by saying, “Tell me more…” or
asking me to further explain myself. For instance when I told him I wanted
someone who had their life together he responded by asking, “Now what would
that look like?”
I had to think for a while and I’m
afraid my answers were clumsy but he was patient and let me continue. I might
have mentioned a few too many ex-boyfriends but he didn’t seem to mind knowing
about my past. Now he might have been a little bit exacting for my taste but it
was a nice change to have someone who genuinely took an interest in me.
We went out again, at night this
time, and it was a relief to see that some of the teacher garb had come off. We
went to sushi and ordered drinks. He was much more relaxed with a Sapporo.
Our relationship began to prosper.
With Klark I began to understand myself better the more he got to know me. He
had a way of making sense of things that I admired. We would fight from time to
time but we always made up and we didn’t do so through sex or bribes or empty
apologies. No, he made sure we got to the root of things. I had never
experienced this level of communication before and it made me feel like such a
grownup.
One time I was upset with him
because he told me that I had issues with trust. It was quite the assertion. I
didn’t feel that it was right of him to think that just because I wasn’t ready
to make the next step with him and move in. I had done that a few times before,
with Kevin and with Johnny, and both had been such a disaster. When I let Klark
know these concerns he told me that I was letting my past relationships get in
the way. It was a fair statement but that didn’t mean I had a problem with
trust just because I wanted to be more careful.
After a few weeks, Klark wore me
down—said we’d be making that leap together and it would be good for us.
It was not good for us.
More and more he would micromanage
our relationship. Every week it felt like we were having a performance review.
How was I doing? How was he doing? We might as well have handed each other
progress reports.
When I finally got sick of it I told
him, “No, you have the problem with trust!”
He thought I was being juvenile to
throw that back at him. But what good were our weekly evaluations doing for us other
than causing anxiety? They weren’t actually making each other please the other
more. It was just driving us crazy. Why should me leaving my wet towels on the
bed mean that I have less consideration for him than he does for me? I’m the
one with long hair! It became clear to me that what he wanted most by our talks
was not just to berate me for my every wrongdoing but to have a sense of
constant reassurance.
When we agreed that we were doing
too much talking about our relationship we somehow thought it was a better idea
to write letters to discuss our feelings instead. I wanted to smack him when he
started correcting my grammar. My letter, along with his response beneath, was
marked up with a red pen.
He said in his defense that he just
wanted me to learn how to communicate more effectively, but I knew he just
couldn’t help himself. I answered him by giving him the silent treatment. There
was nothing more to say. I had enough arguing and I wanted to use that silence
to make a decision. Was our relationship even worth fighting for at all? Would
I be better off without him?
When it had got to the point where
he had essentially tore me limb by limb with his analysis of my all my faults
and personality defects, using every single past relationship in which I
confided to him against me, I didn’t just want out but needed it immediately.
I left that relationship feeling
like the biggest fuckup in the world.
And when I think about my past relationships
myself, not through the perspective of Klark with too many Ks in his name, but
my own, I realize I have no idea who I am. Every single one of those
relationships I was a different person. So maybe I should just figure out who
the hell I am, what I like to do without anyone telling me, before I do another
chameleon kamikaze. I don’t know why for the life of me I can’t find a balanced
relationship with comfort, and generosity, and humor, and romance, and sexual
desire, and communication. Why is that so hard to find? What do I have to do to
get that? Who do I have to be?
0 comments :
Post a Comment