Posts Tagged ‘No. 1’
Reawakenings
Guess who I saw two nights ago completely unexpectedly, completely out of the blue, completely by accident? No. 1. I was in his house. I was standing on his floor. I was drinking coffee that he made me. I’d heard on the grapevine that he was in Dubai.
He saw me first. I don’t know if I would’ve even known he was there if he hadn’t yelled my name and pulled down his fake beard upon my request. I was surprised that he recognized me, the girl who was nothing more than someone who was once in one—no, two—of his classes, who liked him and tried too hard to talk to him. And then I thought—why is it a surprise at all? We had been friends. I’ve told myself this and I recognize that it’s so sad that when I look back on that year I remember him as the guy I liked and only recall after several minutes of nostalgic pining that he was my friend first. And maybe that’s why we’re not in contact anymore: I didn’t make the effort because I didn’t feel like his friend, I felt like one girl out of so many who liked him, and thus not entitled.
He said something to me in German that got lost in the din, and we tried to catch up while costumed partygoers squeezed past us in the narrow hallway. He leaned close so that I could hear him over the music and the confusion, and I looked into his eyes, and they were just as blue as I had remembered. He said, “I really want coffee—do you want coffee?”I replied, “YES. Youaremykindoman!” That last in my head.
And then he went to grind beans and start up the stove (because that’s how hipsters make coffee, apparently) and I was left standing there, my mind abuzz. For the record, I wasn’t sober, although he might have been. Perhaps I made a bad second-first impression. I determinedly tried to remember Leone, how much I care for him, how much more perfect he is than No. 1. How Leone can give No. 1 a serious run for his money in the looks department, even with those dash-your-heart-upon-them baby blues. No. 1′s arms were probably no thicker than mine, and his caveman costume was uncomfortably short in some places, and yet I stood there and wasn’t sure if I still wanted him.
I don’t think I did. I think that maybe I would want him in a schoolgirl way, just to want him, but ultimately I don’t think I like him anymore. Nor am I certain anymore that we would fit together perfectly. It’s hard not to want to throw yourself at him (I saw several girls batting their eyelashes at him throughout the night), but if anything the party was a confirmation that those loose ends are finally tied. I felt immediately guilty for even thinking that I could still like No. 1 somewhere inside me that’s been dormant for three years, and later in bed with Leone I tried to pretend that he was No. 1 to see if there was anything there and my own mind slapped me back like a shot.
But still, I miss him as a friend, and I think finally I’ve let go of my like for him enough that I can just be his friend, nothing else. I think. I think? I’m no longer entirely sure. Maybe I’ll never be free of him, but it doesn’t matter, because it doesn’t interfere with what I have with Leone, and I’m not going to let it.
Wanted: Anti-Flop Spray
“True…but this might be one of those things that flops.”
…Said Buttercup, after I told her about coffee with Leone today and reminded her that I was 90% sure this would all end well. I guess I should’ve meant, 90% sure that he liked me back—it’s more like 98% sure now—because, of course, I’m no % sure this wont “flop”.
Sad Hearts
It’s funny and a little more than a little scary how easily old feelings come back. I ran into No. 1 (remember him?) today. He was standing outside the room I had just come out of, waiting for his class to begin, and the moment I saw his familiar, beautiful face I wanted to wrap my arms around him. I didn’t, of course I didn’t, but it was a close call.
And we chatted briefly, and I think I talked too much because I was just so damn excited to see him. And I’m a little suprised he remembered me, which probably attests to how in the course of wanting him and liking him and pining for him like a schoolgirl (which I am, actually, so the analogy is useless), I’d forgotten that he’d been my friend. I’d noticed it before, how at some point I’d started thinking of him more as a crush than as a friend, which he was first and foremost.
Not a Lunch Date
Back from my lunch with The Chemist. I don’t know what I expected. I don’t know if I expected anything at all. That’s good, right? That I have no expectations to get shot down?
We grabbed lunch and went and sat on the grass on campus, watching a swingdance class and people passing by. A couple feet to our left a trio of guys sunbathed without their shirts on. A couple of feet in front of us a pair of (lesbian?) girls giggled and put their arms around each other teasingly, then lovingly. A couple feet to our right a couple lounged in the grass; the girl lying down, the guy sitting up and watching people like we were. When The Chemist lay down I looked over at the other guy and we shared a companionable smile.
Sometimes I meet a guy I can just talk with. Don’t have to force conversations with. Have to hold ourselves back from talking all over each other with. Bus Stop Guy. Rosemary’s friend who (giggle!) thought I was very funny. The guy who works at the Peets we frequent. Laundry Room Guy. No. 1*. But The Chemist? No. Just, no. I don’t know if it’s the I-sucked-your-cock tension, my own misgivings about him, or the fact that we just plain don’t fit.
Lost, Lost
I honestly don’t know what to do. I honestly don’t know what to think, don’t know where I stand. I don’t know. I don’t know.
Please, please help me? Help me. Goddamn
