Picking at scabs

Once upon a time, I dated a frog…let’s call him… LT.  Several years ago, LT and I met through work and instantly hit it off – although at the time, he was in Chicago while I was in Boston.   Then, LT announced that he was moving to Boston to prepare to swim across the Atlantic.  Although this seemed far-fetched, it was completely in keeping with his over the top personality and we feverishly traded emails, texts and phone calls, counting down the days until our first date on the day he arrived.   Well, it turned out that the truth was more mundane, instead of facing sharks and cold temperatures, he was here for graduate school.  After all of that anticipation, our date was, well, drunken  and may have ended when he ran out of my apartment before he puked.  The very next day, I met a new frog, J, who I fell for deeply and LT became absorbed by his new graduate school life. 

We always kept in touch and last spring, almost a year ago today, he stopped by a party I was throwing and… it happened.  That elusive thunderbolt  of “I need to be with this person no matter what” struck both of us.   I was dating someone else at the time who was much more stable, mature and not moving to NYC to take a 100-hour a week job at an investment bank.  Although I tried to be reasonable and logical and, for once, make a smart decision, I couldn’t resist the electric chemistry and broke up with my boyfriend for the wildly charismatic puzzle that was LT.  We enjoyed a couple months of absolute bliss… long conversations until 5 in the morning, the amazing feeling you get when someone tells you that you’re the most important thing in the world to them, strolls through the Common, dates to Celtics games,  the most fun ever and laughing… We’d never felt that way before about anyone else. 

Unfortunately, reality then struck and LT became really busy with his job in NYC… we started fighting over not spending time together, religion and the different places we were in life.  As happy as I’d been, I felt equally miserable.  One night, after a particularly grueling “conversation”, I was sitting in my window, drinking wine by myself and smoking cigarettes (which I hadn’t in years) and I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself.  The next day, I broke up with him over email.  Cowardly I know, but I knew if I talked to him face to face or over the phone, I wouldn’t have been able to end things.  Afterwards, we talked and emailed a bit, but it was just too painful and we resolved to forget about each other and move on.   So, I got back together with the dull boyfriend and tried to forget.  But, it was hard, everything reminded me of LT… things we’d talked about and both loved, songs on the radio (Eminem’s Love the Way you Lie and U2’s With or Without You were particular favorites if that tells you anything about the dysfunction) and I would forget about the misery and just miss the happiness.  

But, as with anything, time, as well as a sense of “God, you’re pathetic,” made things easier.  And, just this week, I remember thinking “wow, I’ve made a lot of progress – I think I might be over him. “

Cut to last night… I was getting dressed to meet my friend S for dinner when my phone started ringing… I looked down…. and it was him.  LT.  What would you do?  In a state of shock, my heart pounding, I answered the phone.  It turned out he was in town for work and wanted to see if I would like to get “a drink or two or zero or a cup of water” either Thursday or Friday night.  I told him that I had dinner plans, but could meet up afterwards if it wasn’t too late.   I thought, “wow, I’m an idiot…. all those months of progress down the drain…”  But, I knew that if I didn’t go, I would always wonder what he’d wanted to say and that might end up being worse.  So, I went to meet him after dinner.  We started talking and it was like old times…. Inside jokes and, even though a lot of time had passed, it seemed like we remembered everything about each other and our brief relationship. 

Beware the giant, white elephant in the room. 

He started talking about his job and his “problems with authority” and how that fed into his control issues.  “I have problems doing things other people tell me to do if I don’t think it’s my idea as well.  Things need to always be my idea.  I hate the feeling of not being in control.”  And, I remembered why we didn’t work out. 

Then, he asked, “are you still stuck on staying in Boston?  Would you ever move to a different city?” 

And he said it “I miss you… I think about you a lot.”

We left the bar and he grabbed me and kissed me on the streets of Beacon Hill, like old times.  Then he asked me if I wanted to go back to his hotel room.  And the answer came suddenly, “No.  I don’t want to be some random girl.”  “It’s not like that at all, but I respect your decision.”  “Why did you call me tonight?”  “I missed you and we have so much in common and the same sense of humor and I want to be back in your life.” 

Same old LT.  All the pretty words, none of the commitment. 

I left and went home.  I guess I don’t know why I feel so sad and no sense of the closure I so desperately wanted.  Maybe because when you pick a scab, you bleed.