Something strange is happening. Men I thought were lost to me forever, who seemed to have disappeared into space never to be seen again, have somehow returned to my orbit.
First there was Shawn, who, after breaking my heart and making a few random appearances afterward, I lost contact with for a good long while. In the past two weeks, we've hung out, strictly as friends - or so I keep insisting - three times. Last week there was Jonathan, who magically appeared at Woody's last week after I hadn't seen or heard from him in months. Even my good friend Brent is suddenly in my life on a more frequent basis. He wasn't really lost to me but it often felt like it - he was simply busy with his soul-destroying relationship, which took up every ounce of his existence. Even when we were simply going out for a casual drink, he was talking about his boyfriend, complaining about his boyfriend, on the phone fighting with his boyfriend, and would have to leave early - to be home for his boyfriend.
As of Saturday night, he no longer had a boyfriend. He has been returned to me, though right now he's a little broken, the poor guy. On Monday night, while waiting for Brent to come over to my place to cry and spend the night on my couch, my phone rang. It was the Personality, asking me if I would be around later. I run into him all the time, and I assumed our one night together would remain just that. The last thing I ever expected was for him to call me.
So Brent and I ended up out for a few beers and the Personality joined us. We talked, we flirted, and it was pretty obvious he was hoping to come home with me again. It would have happened were Brent not staying at my place, which, probably foolishly, I told the Personality later that night via text message (which incidentally appears to have become my favourite mode of communication.)
His response was "I know, sweetie."
Yesterday, the dancer and I tried to make a date - once again via texting. Our schedules clash horribly, so I offered to drop by his work to chat him up at the bar tomorrow night while he's on the job. Which is a bit weird, but I feel if I'm going to keep seeing him I should make some sort of effort. He seemed delighted. Or at least as delighted you can seem on a digital display without actually writing "I'm delighted."
As I was walking in the door on my home from work last night, my phone rang. It was the Waiter, calling at long last. Despite the urge to ignore him, I answered. He wondered if I was free to meet him for a half-hour or so?
We met at a local patio, where we drank green tea and he told me he was nine days sober and planning on staying so until Pride. (Why does everything always revolve around Pride? Everyone's always working out to get buff for Pride, staying single until Pride, quitting smoking, but not until after Pride. It's not a celebration of gay liberation anymore - it's Gay New Year. Next thing you know we'll have our own fucking zodiac system and a giant disco ball that drops on the stroke of midnight). He apologized for "dealing with our situation by not dealing with it" and then talked completely about himself for the rest of our meeting.
This was a conversation I would have been quite happy to have via text messages for all the good it did me. And stupid nice me - we walked together up the street and, before parting ways, we kissed goodbye. Nothing crazy, it was all very chaste, but still... And I told him to give me a buzz sometime! I hope I said it dismissively, but I doubt it. I'm only truly rude when I'm not really trying.
Oh well. I can just blow him off should he call. Sober or not, I need more than he could ever give me. Or rather, what I need is not something he can give me.
Fell asleep last night wondering about Shawn, who I called a couple of times on the weekend but never heard back from. He had friends from Ottawa visiting last week, so I had a feeling he must have gone back with them for the weekend, which I told him on one of the voice mails I left him.
During the night, I had a dream about him. We were in a cute little farmhouse or cottage in the woods, in bed together. I remember us kissing, and my hands on his face, caressing it, the two of us looking into each other's eyes. I remember us snuggling, sleeping in together, taking our time to get out of bed and begin the day. I remember feeling happy, and peaceful. Content.
I woke up feeling... well, I guess annoyed is the best way to put it. Annoyed at myself for having such a dream. Annoyed at myself for enjoying it so much. Annoyed that, when the alarm went off, disturbing my reverie, and the dream came back to me, washing over me in waves, my bed had never seemed so empty.
It was one of those dreams that stays with you all day, coming back to kick you in the face at inopportune moments, drawing me in with it's false promises of what will never be. At work I'd find myself staring at paperwork, lost in thought, forgetting what I had been working on in the first place.
McDreamy status notwithstanding, at least I am realistic about Shawn. My subconcious may be harbouring false hope and slipping romantic notions into my REM time, but the reality of the situation is decidely different. We're friends. That's all it will ever be. And that's okay.
Of course, reality being the twisted bitch it is, Shawn called me tonight. Turns out I was right, he was in Ottawa. And when I said that, sure, I would go out with him tonight, he sounded pleasantly surprised. Happy, even.
I'm not going to make anything of it. He's told me I'm one of his favourite people, so it would follow that seeing me would make him happy. And the fact I knew on some gut level he was in Ottawa, and that I thought about him all day after having a romantic dream about him and then he called me, that I, in fact, kind of knew he would call.... I'm not going to make anything of those things either. It's not some weird connection or coincidence, it's just a reasonably likely occurrence.
Right?
Right.
1 comment:
RIGHT!
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