I have learned by now that when things do not go away, when they permeate your daydreams and night dreams, when your mind wanders aimlessly to their vicinity, when your heart reaches out to be nearer to it, that you should pay attention. Take seriously your pleasures! I’ve been heard proclaiming the sentiment. Thinking mostly of long forgotten passions, dormant creativity or hidden talents we do not indulge for fear of judgment ridicule or rejection. We mark them as “silly” and pack them away in the box of forgotten things in the room of no return and allow them to collect dust, when that is not their rightful place. But something has told us they are trivial, not worth pursuit, and to put them away. The childish things. However, what if it’s not a thing?
I had, what could be categorized as a one-night-stand for all intents and purposes. He was in town on business. He asked me out for drinks. Then dinner. I obliged. We spent the third night together and in the morning he boarded a flight back home and he was supposed to disappear into the queue of expired desires. Only he did not, has not. He’s lingered and my thoughts race to him as though he was the finish line.
Since the initial meeting, he’s been back to visit. He calls. He texts. He says “good morning beautiful” because he knows I like that sort of thing. He got a promotion and warned me I’d hate it because he would be less available. I thought it was a good sign he even considered me, though I would not allow myself to feel joyous about it–I,instead, made it mean nothing and tried not to care. It did not work.
After his last visit I stopped dating other men. Before I knew it two months had gone by and all I wanted was him. I told him, in much fewer words. Hoping to guise my covets in simple language with no seasoning. He saw through me and devoured the idea. “Can I come to you in November?” “Can you come any sooner?” Scheduling conflicts. More travel. More responsibility. More considerations of the man who was supposed to last only as long as his business trip.
Waking up at 3 am with tears in my eyes, I wondered what I was dreaming about. As I reached for my phone to check the time a message from him comes through, “Good morning beautiful”. I smiled with my liver. He lights me up.
Instantly I recalled our last being together. I’d just washed my sheets. Just like tonight. I’d just cleaned my room and made things just so for his arrival. I’d waited and anticipated. I’d sat nervously at work unable to concentrate on a single thing for wishing he were here already. And when he did come, standing on my tip-toes to kiss him. The breadth and narrowing in his back from years of basketball that fit my hands just perfectly. His asking if I missed him. His knowing of that answer. The tour of my condo he asked for but did not want. The noticing of my vision board and the thoughtful inquisition of the abstract wishes. The eye lashes. The hands. The smile. The laugh. The heavy New York accent I’d misplaced behind the Boston nickname and the hat he kissed me beneath like mistletoe.
He was my thing. My thing I tried to box up but would not stay hidden. Tucked away. Forgotten. I wanted this man and more than that, I wanted him to want me in equal (okay, slightly more than equal) measure.
Unsure of what future or what possibilities lie in keeping him, I ignore what could be all together. Settling for and nestling into the right now of him. The immediate presence of delight and joy which fills me at thought of him. That’s enough isn’t it? To simply know the right now. To lay your head on the chest of what is and drift off into all the nows you can inhale which are scented with his cologne. Today it will be enough that in this moment he is my wish. And I cannot think a second beyond it.