It was a dark and rainy Friday night. I was at Silver Spurs on Houston and Thompson enjoying a Diet Coke with Eva. She had just finished a diatribe about a recent liaison with a man we both thought was gay but deeply closeted, and I was in the middle of telling her about my designs on #121.
“When you look at him, do you think, 'Sex.'?” I asked.
“When you look at him, do you think, 'Sex.'?” I asked.
"He does nothing for me," Elaine said.
Contemplating how that could be possible, I glanced out the window behind Eva and saw the silhouette of a dark-haired man walking by. “He’s cute,” I thought vaguely. And then the man stopped, looked in the window and waved. My eyes focused. It was #111.
Contemplating how that could be possible, I glanced out the window behind Eva and saw the silhouette of a dark-haired man walking by. “He’s cute,” I thought vaguely. And then the man stopped, looked in the window and waved. My eyes focused. It was #111.
“Holy shit!” I said and then motioned for him to come in as he motioned that he was coming in.
“What?” Eva asked.
“My ex is out there—the one from last summer—and he’s coming in.”
He came through the diner door and, as he walked up to me, a tumble of not completely formed thoughts rolled through my head. Altogether, this is what they amounted to: “Him? Really? This was the guy I was so crushed over?”
I felt nothing except perhaps fondness.
He was smiling. “I can read lips, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“'Holy shit,’” he said.
I laughed. “Oh.”
We hugged. I introduced #111 to Eva and he sat down in a chair at the next table over.
“How are you?”
“Good,” I said. “How are you?”
“Same old, same old...just coming from BookWorks.”
I nodded.
“You know, I have to tell you,” he said as he assumed a tone of gravity, “the comments and edits you made on my stories were really excellent."
“Oh, I enjoyed doing it."
“Really, they were just fantastic notes. Really...and very helpful for my revisions and I really want to thank you.”
“You’re welcome."
That was nice.
“I’ve submitted them and they’re probably being rejected at this very moment,” he said.
“Don’t say that. You never know.”
“How’s the job?”
The last he knew, I was at the-job-I-didn’t-want, although I had never let on to him that it was, in fact, the-job-I-didn’t-want.
“Oh, I left that place. It was awful.” I turned to Eva. “Did I ever tell you about that law firm job?”
She shook her head.
“The only good things about it were that I had my own office and there was a frozen yogurt machine in the cafeteria.”
“Those were the only things I heard about,” #111 said, sounding a tad taken for a ride yet amused by it.
“Well, you never asked,” I said to give him a hard time, which I could tell he appreciated.
“What are you doing now?”
“Freelancing for a couple of ad agencies and a financial company,” I said. “What are you up to these days?”
“Still volunteering at BookWorks,” he said, motioning in the direction of the store.
“Oh, sometimes Zoe and I go there during the week to work.”
“Did I see pictures of her?”
“Yeah, she was the friend I met in Australia. Are you still teaching at…” and I pointed uptown because I couldn’t remember the name of the college.
“I’m still there,” he said, nodding for a moment as he looked at me. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your conversation. It was good to run into you.”
“Yeah, it was good to run into you, too.”
And then he left.
It was a miracle. I had the same lack of attraction to him that I had on our second and fourth dates. Once again, just like those two days back in June, he seemed a little oafish and kind of awkward. He wasn’t very tall and he had kind of a funny walk, where his lower half led and his upper half followed. He was also nowhere near as hot as he was to me at the height of my infatuation, which, now that I mention it, maybe that’s all that it was. Six months ago, when we were at the doctor’s office after we’d broken up, I caught his scent and longed for him. Now, I sensed nothing. There wasn’t anything wrong with him, of course. It was me. I just wasn’t into him anymore. It’s amazing what hormones and pheromones can create—and even more amazing, once they wear off, what they can destroy.
He was smiling. “I can read lips, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“'Holy shit,’” he said.
I laughed. “Oh.”
We hugged. I introduced #111 to Eva and he sat down in a chair at the next table over.
“How are you?”
“Good,” I said. “How are you?”
“Same old, same old...just coming from BookWorks.”
I nodded.
“You know, I have to tell you,” he said as he assumed a tone of gravity, “the comments and edits you made on my stories were really excellent."
“Oh, I enjoyed doing it."
“Really, they were just fantastic notes. Really...and very helpful for my revisions and I really want to thank you.”
“You’re welcome."
That was nice.
“I’ve submitted them and they’re probably being rejected at this very moment,” he said.
“Don’t say that. You never know.”
“How’s the job?”
The last he knew, I was at the-job-I-didn’t-want, although I had never let on to him that it was, in fact, the-job-I-didn’t-want.
“Oh, I left that place. It was awful.” I turned to Eva. “Did I ever tell you about that law firm job?”
She shook her head.
“The only good things about it were that I had my own office and there was a frozen yogurt machine in the cafeteria.”
“Those were the only things I heard about,” #111 said, sounding a tad taken for a ride yet amused by it.
“Well, you never asked,” I said to give him a hard time, which I could tell he appreciated.
“What are you doing now?”
“Freelancing for a couple of ad agencies and a financial company,” I said. “What are you up to these days?”
“Still volunteering at BookWorks,” he said, motioning in the direction of the store.
“Oh, sometimes Zoe and I go there during the week to work.”
“Did I see pictures of her?”
“Yeah, she was the friend I met in Australia. Are you still teaching at…” and I pointed uptown because I couldn’t remember the name of the college.
“I’m still there,” he said, nodding for a moment as he looked at me. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your conversation. It was good to run into you.”
“Yeah, it was good to run into you, too.”
And then he left.
It was a miracle. I had the same lack of attraction to him that I had on our second and fourth dates. Once again, just like those two days back in June, he seemed a little oafish and kind of awkward. He wasn’t very tall and he had kind of a funny walk, where his lower half led and his upper half followed. He was also nowhere near as hot as he was to me at the height of my infatuation, which, now that I mention it, maybe that’s all that it was. Six months ago, when we were at the doctor’s office after we’d broken up, I caught his scent and longed for him. Now, I sensed nothing. There wasn’t anything wrong with him, of course. It was me. I just wasn’t into him anymore. It’s amazing what hormones and pheromones can create—and even more amazing, once they wear off, what they can destroy.
“Did I look OK. How did that seem?” I asked Eva.
“That was awesome,” she said. “You looked great and you seemed totally fine.”
I felt totally fine, too.
When I got home, I called Julie, who had provided me with my post-#111 convalescence.
“Guess who I just ran into?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “there are so many possibilities.”
“#111.”
“#111?”
“Yeah, you know, me-lying-on-your-couch-in-misery-for-ten-days #111.”
“Oh, that #111.”
We agreed that the timing of the run-in could not have been better. A few weeks before and I would have been at my pre-Zoloft worst. It also happened on a Friday night when I had my game face on and I was feeling good.
“I feel a little disloyal to that miserable girl on your couch,” I said. “She was so messed up over him for so long.”
“I think if couch girl knew that what just happened was going to happen, she would have felt a lot better, so I don’t think you’re being disloyal at all,” Julie said.
After I got off the phone, something about #111's departure from the diner that had seemed a little fuzzy became clear. Bear with me as I explain: In order to get from BookWorks to the subway, he would have had to pass by the diner going south to north. But, when he walked by, he was going north to south and then, when he left, he didn’t pass by the window again, which meant he went north. All of this meant one thing. He had actually seen me on his usual south-to-north pass but I hadn’t seen him. So, in order to get my attention, he did an extra, fake pass complete with a look of mock surprise. Who knows why he did it, but, if I had to guess, maybe he simply wanted to talk to me.
Diagnosis: For him: His life sounded very much the same as it ever was, which probably means he’s just as unavailable as he ever was.
For me: I’m free from #111—and now more available for the next more available guy.
I am kind of addicted to this blog. Even though it reads an awful lot like my own journal, without as many foreign swear words.
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