A Case of the Irrationals
(Or proof that I am, after all, a girl)
Since I’ve come back from Thanksgiving break, Leone has seemed extra affectionate towards me, something which he’s never been lacking of in the first place. I chock it up to our not having seen each other for 4 days, which is probably the longest time we’ve been apart since he came back in August. Oh, and a few days ago we had an anniversary of sorts, really the first one we’ve actually acknowledged/been able to identify: that day one year ago was the first time he started talking to me online (I remember because he greeted me with the date in the message). It was right after I returned from last year’s Thanksgiving, and since then hardly a day’s gone by when we didn’t
talk. Not counting, of course, when I was out in the middle of the ocean faced with $6/minute phone rates, or when our schedules didn’t match up/we didn’t have calling cards while Leone was in Europe—because who could blame us then?
Anyway, last night after Leone left the apartment after hanging out and watching TV here for a few hours, he called me to tell me a piece of news, and added that he’d like to drive out during my 1.5 hour break to have lunch. He’s going to his grandma’s later today to celebrate his birthday and won’t be home until the evening, and even though we usually don’t see each other on Tuesdays/Thursdays until the evenings and had made plans for him to come over when he got home, it would be nice to hang out for a little before then. That is, if he’s able to wake up in time. Since he graduated in May, and until he finds a job/goes to grad school Leone has been sleeping in until noon-1ish every day, a life that I would lead if I didn’t have to drag myself to class, and a life that I, as a night-owl, envy very much. I knew that it was unlikely that he would wake up in time to make the narrow window and I teased him a little about not getting my hopes up, but he implied that he would make the effort.
Monday is usually our sex/hang-out day, because it’s the day I get off the earliest, but Leone had forgotten (even though it’s a weekly thing) and was scheduled to help his grandmother around the house. Since it had been so long since we’d last been together (ie: had sex) Leone was playing around with the thought of waking up at 8 (earlier than early, for him) so that he would be back by 2 and then I could come over. Sunday night, he said he’d call me when he got back. I didn’t expect him to finish by 2 because I didn’t expect him to get up at 8, but I also didn’t expect that when he texted me at 1:30, it would be to say that he’d just gotten out of bed. I was disappointed, but not very much so.
When the clock tolled 11 this morning, I craned my neck to look out of the classroom window on the off chance that Leone would be standing outside waiting for me. It would be, after all, the best optimization of our time. He wasn’t, but I’d expected that. Then, I thought he would call me as I was on my way home, but it wasn’t until I’d given up and was eating a frozen dinner (at 11:40) that my cell rang.
“Too late,” I said cheerfully. “Too late?!” he repeated. It turned out that he’d thought he’d heard me say that my break was until 1 instead of 12:30, and he had woken at 11 only to get a call from his uncle which had kept him until now. I teased him some more about not waking up on time. I said, “well, even I didn’t have to go until 1, it would still be too late now,” and “what would have been best is if you had woken before 11.”
And suddenly I was getting all choked up. It was so abrupt and unexpected that at first I didn’t even know it was happening—the tightness in my chest, the lump in my throat. When I did realise I was about to cry, I was bewildered, because I didn’t think the issue had been that big of a deal to me. But there I was, on the verge of tears, trying to hold them in until finally the call dropped (Leone’s apartment gets horrible signal) and I let them slip out. When he called me back, I paused to blow my nose and steady my voice before picking up. And sat there with silent tears streaming from my eyes while he went on about his new computer. And answered his questions with one-word replies. Then the call dropped a second time, and then a third, and each time between calls I unstopped the dam and bawled with my face buried in my hands, at times weeping out loud, at times silently, shoulders shaking.
It was still almost twenty minutes before I had to leave, but finally I told Leone that I had to go to get ready. He questioned the timing, I made up a half-excuse. “Are you mad at me?” he asked, and I told him no because I didn’t want him to think that I was being unfair, and because I wasn’t, really. At least, I didn’t think I was. “I’m sad at you,” I said, and left it at that. Finally, he let me go with a promise to call me later.
I sat alone in the kitchen crying for a few more minutes, and would have wallowed a bit more if I didn’t actually have to go. On the way there, my eyes still feeling puffy and red, I thought—so I’m not the cool-girlfriend I’d prided myself on being after all. Because everything he said made sense, and every reason he gave was understandable, and because he had gotten up in time, if not at the earliest time possible, and because his uncle had been in the hospital with stomach flu, so of course it was good that Leone stayed on the phone with him. Maybe it was hormonal, I thought. There’s two days each month when I’m suspectible to unexpected and unwarranted sadness. But, no, it didn’t seem like the right time. I can’t explain what made me break down for no reason, except to say that maybe I was hurt that twice in a row Leone had seemed to care less about seeing me than sleeping in. Except that I know that’s not true, and I know how hard it is to pull yourself out of bed in the morning. I don’t know what else to say about it, save that I’m confused and embarrassed and at a loss.
Fortunately, I feel all better now, though no less perplexed, and I don’t think this little episode is symptomatic of anything more of being human. And weird.
