I met this guy. Sorry, I met this man, who is the most amazing man I’ve ever met! And, although it is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me, it is also one of the scariest. It’s one of the scariest, because I’m trusting him so completely. It’s one of the scariest because, I’m loving him and I cannot really explain why. It’s like I haven’t got the right words for it. Here, I am a writer and for the first time in my life I do not have the right words. Sometimes my thoughts seem consumed by him, and other times, I realize they are not! But, more importantly, I wonder if I want them to be. When we talk, my senses are full of him! I can taste his lips on my tongue. His voice rings like music in my ears. I imagine the way he would smell if I was cuddled up close, so that my face rested in the crook of his neck. His words touch my heart like fuel ignites a flame. So, that long after he is finished speaking, there is this resonance of truth that I cannot forget.
The other night we shared, intimate details of his life. And, even though he is numb to them, I know that they still affect him. And, while he related them, I felt what it may have felt like for him then. I felt what at 19, he may have felt. And, I felt what at 25, he may have felt, and it broke my heart again and again. I have this overwhelming urge to just pull him close. He is this man, that attempts to hide all his fears and his insecurities through building and creating a physical wall out of his body. And, all I want to do is break down those walls, and then build our own. I wish to wrap him up under this protective shroud and never let him out of my sight for fear that some harm will come to him.
And, I’m scared because I want to love him more than I’ve ever wanted anything for myself before. I think about my dreams of future and my dreams about comfort in my life. I think about my need for success and peace of mind. But, when I think of him, I no longer care about these things. I almost want to own nothing, so as to remind myself everyday that he is my most treasured possession.
I am scared because I want so much, and it seems too soon, and it seems so unrealistic. I’m scared because there is this uncanny sense of foreboding and dread, where I feel that I am not pretty enough, and I am not fit enough, and I am not smart enough to associate with him. And, there is really no way to know if I am, until, I just feel it. And…on the flipside…I cannot slow this process down. I feel like there is this man in front of me that can see inside my soul, and holds the keys to my heart, and may one day know me better than even I know myself. And, I sit here wondering, is this not what I have been asking for? Is this not what my dreams are about? Is he not what all women dream of, with his infectious laughter, and his movie-star smile? With his, enigmatic demeanor, and his arresting sense of humour? Is he not the same man that I closed my eyes and prayed for God to send me? Have I even thanked God yet, because he has sent me a possibly pleasant alternative to my future?
He is what I’ve always wanted. Someone who understands my idiosyncrasies, without being hurt. Someone who listens in the exact same way you’ve wanted someone to listen to you. He gives advice with the wisdom of a wise old man. His dreams are so big, you just want to forget yours, and dream with him. And, although he doesn’t love you, you hope that he will someday. And, although nothing is guaranteed, this is one guarantee that you want granted to you, because it cannot feel so good, if it is not meant to be.
He sort of deliciously interrupted the chaos that was my life. I was in the middle of handling everything, without really handling anything. I had boyfriend issues, and family issues. I had self-concept issues and I had existence issues. In short I had issues!
When I graduated, I graduated second in my class. Except there was one major problem. I wasn’t entirely sure I knew what I was doing. Here I had spent the past four years of my life in law school. I had spent the last eight years in post secondary school, and I tossed my cap in the air with the rest of the grads, but doubted my ability to be successful at being a lawyer. The firm I had articled at, Johnson and McRae, offered me a term position, with the potential of becoming a full time. I had accepted it, because I didn’t really know what else to do. I was to start in late August, almost three months after my graduation. I remember standing as the rest of my classmates raced to meet their families, and present their diplomas, and hugged and kissed each other. I stood surrounded by a sea of black gowns with white ribbons. I turned one way, but it looked as though it would be too difficult to get by. The other way was even more packed. So, I stood still, lamenting my inability to make a decision. I knew what it was; they all seemed to know their direction in life. I couldn’t even decide if I wanted to turn left, or turn right to get out of my aisle. And, then I turned towards the high-rise seats, where I knew my family was sitting. There was my oldest sister Thalea and her fiancé Kevin. The two of them, stood sharing a joke with Aia, and Aia threw her head back and laughed animatedly. My youngest sister, Izzy was on her phone, seemingly engrossed in an intense conversation. And, Mom, where was she? She wasn’t even there anymore. But, it was my Father, who held my attention. He stood, as I imagined he use to stand in front of his troops when he was a Colonel in the military. His hands firmly by his side, his shoulders squared back, his chin high, his posture proud. His face broke into a smile then, a proud, prominent smile, as he raised his hand in a semi-ebullient manner and waved at me. We looked at each other, sharing a special moment. It was as though I was no longer lost in a sea of caps and gowns, but that they were in fact infringing on our space. And, even though I wasn’t sure what I was going to do tomorrow, that day I knew I had to hug my father.
That summer I visited Vancouver, and literally stumbled upon him in a club. His drink flew everywhere, our bodies collided, but in mid motion, my eyes managed to focus on his, and I knew that it was fate that I had chosen to invade his space at the time and place that I did.
And six glorious days later when we sat on my hotel room bed, knowing each other without touching, he managed to connect with the warmest recesses of my heart.
“And…you. You’re perfect.” He said certain of this fact.
“No…I have a scar here.” I said, and turned my knee outwards so he could see the inside of my thigh. “Snagged it on a nail on the playground once.” He looked at my scar. It was about an inch long, and a little raised and roughed. I had always hated it. He reached out and ran his fingers gently across the scar. I felt as though our hearts were synchronized, because I swear I heard it as he pressed close enough to me, to touch the scar. Then he raised his eyes from the inside of my thigh, and looked into my eyes.
“I love this scar.” He whispered. His body was so very in my space, yet other than his finger still on my leg, we weren’t touching. The warmth from his breath touched the edge of my shoulder, and I shuddered slightly yet in a delighted kind of way. I was about to reach out and kiss those super juicy lips, except I couldn’t move. He broke our gaze for a second, and I followed his eyes. Lips, he was watching my lips as if to memorize them. Subconsciously I licked them.
“Don’t….don’t do that.” He whispered.
“Because, it upsets me.”
“Because, I am trying damn hard not to touch those lips. But, it becomes increasingly difficult when your tongue comes out and caresses them that way. You know, then they get all wet and moist, and mhmm…tasty, and uhhh…juicy and luscious.” He whispered. I noticed then that he had voiced what I was thinking about his lips right then too. I needed to kiss them. Our faces moved slowly, it seemed like it might take a lifetime for us to reach each other.
“Mhmm?” I mumbled.
“I love you.”
My brain felt full of him. I felt drunk on him. My heart felt consumed with affection for him, and I exhaled, pushing some of the pleasure I was feeling out between my slightly open lips. I wondered if he could smell my attraction for him, because I imagined it was oozing out my pores.
The interruption seemed almost off in the distance. It came as a faint banging sound, distant yet in reality right outside the door. I tried to ignore it. But, then I noticed he was looking at the door and moving from me. No…not yet! The banging came more urgently, and suddenly wasn’t so far away. That wasn’t the banging of someone wondering if I was here. It was an emergency knock. He got up and opened the door. It was Caselle. She stood frozen looking past him into the room where I was still on the bed. Her hair was dishevelled. There were fresh bruises on her face, and her lips had that swollen puffy look. Her clothes were torn, and the hem of her shirt, had a dark wettish colour, which I prayed was not blood. And, then all at once, we all unfroze, Caselle fainted, falling forward, directly into his arms, and I raced towards her in horror.
Sometimes, when I sit and think about that day, I am ashamed of feeling somewhat upset at Caselle for coming to the door when she did. I know, I know. I have every reason to feel ashamed. I mean, I just wish she could have been at least five minutes later. I wish that I had been able to share that kiss with him. But, I wasn’t able to. And, actually haven’t to this point had the opportunity to share that kiss.
And, now only days later after Caselle is released from the hospital, and I remember my growing passion for him, I call his hotel room. I call his cell phone, and I call his name in my sleep. Yet, he is gone. I have no idea where to reach him, and I wonder if I just made him up.
It appears that at the most pivotal moments in my life, I am always interrupted.