Tether. (Part Two)
“What, to you, is the best possible outcome of seeing him again?” Meg asked.
It had been planned for months. Looking at the calendar back in January, Meg and I had decided that it would be one of the events we would make a point to cover this year. When, a couple months later, someone mentioned that he would be back for it, I was careful to keep my expression placid, my reaction neutral.
“Part of me is hoping that he got totally fat and ugly so I don’t have to think about him anymore,” I joked. Meg laughed. “And, I really kind of hope that he doesn’t have a girlfriend,” I admitted, growing serious again. “I know it’s totally not fair of me to want that, because when we ended things, I wanted him to go back to school and date a bunch of girls, experience things, learn stuff. Have a full year and all of that. But now, when I think about it…the thought of him coming back with a girlfriend…it really bothers me.”“If he didn’t have a girlfriend, would you want to start things up again?” I looked out the window and sighed, mostly to myself. “I don’t know.”
Only a half a year ago, I had been riding my bike down that same slope-y road on a September morning after closing the book for the first time on him, on us. The sense of lack, then, was different…it was more persistent, more troubling. That hallow space inside, that I kept expecting someone else - him - to fill. Until I realized that it hadn’t really been about him, it had been about me. About figuring out what it was that I felt was lacking inside, and what I could do, on my own, to fill it. It was the reason why I was happy when no one else was around and so scattered when they were…because they magnified it. I didn’t have to think about it when I was just concentrating on myself, but then he blew in “with his hot face and awesome body and smart words and fucked it all up for me,” I had joked in an email to a friend, at one point.
And I wanted to believe that I was getting better at this..that even though I don’t always perceive my own best interests, I knew enough to know when it’s time to call it quits. I really liked him - really, really liked him - and was grateful for the time we spent together and what I learned from him, but it just didn’t feel like it was the right time for us. I still had a hard battle to do with my own heart, and I liked it him enough where I knew I had to do it on my own, instead of making him endure those particular brands of bullshit. And I had already started to see that I was sending it over to him - naggy, dumb texts over stupid things that bewildered him and embarrassed me. So when fall came around, we said goodbye, wished each other well. Thanks for the all the memories, have a good year at school, maybe I’ll see you next summer.
And it was good for me, to be alone this year. I worked really hard to fill that void, to figure out how to love myself more than anyone could, more than I could expect anyone else to. It’s odd to me, how this comes so easily for other people. It feels like such a revelation, to me.
But it also felt fragile, when confronted with the idea of putting it all into practice… and it had gotten harder, the more opportunity there had been for him to come back into my life. I had to make a decision, a few months ago, of whether or not I wanted to open that door again. In the end I did the right thing, the professional thing, the hey-my-heart-is-elastic-and-I’m-cool thing (That should go on my next resume: “Is able to move past the faults of failed romantic relationships for the sake of mutual professional advancement and community gain.”), but it bothered me, how much it made me think about him.
“I’d like to see if there was at least potential. For maybe starting over, trying something new.” I told Meg, as I stirred my drink with my straw. “Do things differently this time.” Sighing, I stared out the window. “But what if he totally doesn’t even want to see me again? What if he just blows me off?”“He’s not going to do that,” Meg reassured me. “I bet he’ll be just as excited to see you as you are to see him.” “Yeah, maybe,” I replied, stirring my drink with my straw. “But maybe not.”
It had been planned for months. Looking at the calendar back in January, Meg and I had decided that it would be one of the events we would make a point to cover this year. When, a couple months later, someone mentioned that he would be back for it, I was careful to keep my expression placid, my reaction neutral.
“Part of me is hoping that he got totally fat and ugly so I don’t have to think about him anymore,” I joked. Meg laughed. “And, I really kind of hope that he doesn’t have a girlfriend,” I admitted, growing serious again. “I know it’s totally not fair of me to want that, because when we ended things, I wanted him to go back to school and date a bunch of girls, experience things, learn stuff. Have a full year and all of that. But now, when I think about it…the thought of him coming back with a girlfriend…it really bothers me.”“If he didn’t have a girlfriend, would you want to start things up again?” I looked out the window and sighed, mostly to myself. “I don’t know.”
Only a half a year ago, I had been riding my bike down that same slope-y road on a September morning after closing the book for the first time on him, on us. The sense of lack, then, was different…it was more persistent, more troubling. That hallow space inside, that I kept expecting someone else - him - to fill. Until I realized that it hadn’t really been about him, it had been about me. About figuring out what it was that I felt was lacking inside, and what I could do, on my own, to fill it. It was the reason why I was happy when no one else was around and so scattered when they were…because they magnified it. I didn’t have to think about it when I was just concentrating on myself, but then he blew in “with his hot face and awesome body and smart words and fucked it all up for me,” I had joked in an email to a friend, at one point.
And I wanted to believe that I was getting better at this..that even though I don’t always perceive my own best interests, I knew enough to know when it’s time to call it quits. I really liked him - really, really liked him - and was grateful for the time we spent together and what I learned from him, but it just didn’t feel like it was the right time for us. I still had a hard battle to do with my own heart, and I liked it him enough where I knew I had to do it on my own, instead of making him endure those particular brands of bullshit. And I had already started to see that I was sending it over to him - naggy, dumb texts over stupid things that bewildered him and embarrassed me. So when fall came around, we said goodbye, wished each other well. Thanks for the all the memories, have a good year at school, maybe I’ll see you next summer.
And it was good for me, to be alone this year. I worked really hard to fill that void, to figure out how to love myself more than anyone could, more than I could expect anyone else to. It’s odd to me, how this comes so easily for other people. It feels like such a revelation, to me.
But it also felt fragile, when confronted with the idea of putting it all into practice… and it had gotten harder, the more opportunity there had been for him to come back into my life. I had to make a decision, a few months ago, of whether or not I wanted to open that door again. In the end I did the right thing, the professional thing, the hey-my-heart-is-elastic-and-I’m-cool thing (That should go on my next resume: “Is able to move past the faults of failed romantic relationships for the sake of mutual professional advancement and community gain.”), but it bothered me, how much it made me think about him.
“I’d like to see if there was at least potential. For maybe starting over, trying something new.” I told Meg, as I stirred my drink with my straw. “Do things differently this time.” Sighing, I stared out the window. “But what if he totally doesn’t even want to see me again? What if he just blows me off?”“He’s not going to do that,” Meg reassured me. “I bet he’ll be just as excited to see you as you are to see him.” “Yeah, maybe,” I replied, stirring my drink with my straw. “But maybe not.”
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