Old Love, returning...

August 9, 2009

Wow. What a day. I just returned from a night that felt like a roller coaster ride—bringing me full circle to closed doors of my past. I am not actually quite sure how I feel at this moment of my weakness to allow these doors to be reopened, even for a short while. Well, what happened tonight? I decided to go meet my ex-boyfriend,Mark, out in our town for a few drinks.

Of course the invitation always sounds harmless and innocent—he was driving back from Phili the same day my family was driving on the turnpike home from the Jersey shore. Through text messages, we decided that it would be nice to see one another while we were both in town. Oh, folks you don’t know the long love battle I had with this boy, and I have struggled with most fibers of my body to block even the possibility of him reentering my life seriously. You do not know how much effort that required over the years.

I guess that it is pertinent to say that he and I dated over four years ago starting when I was a freshman in college, he a senior. It lasted a little over a year ending in a point where I had decided that I needed to grow up more independently. A long story short and much drama later, we have had several years of sporadic contact and different stages of emotional recovery and growth. First you pass through the furious and wounded stage, then the stage of denial and anger, then that of “destroying the documents”--erasing everything from the brain, loss of sensitivity. After this point, obviously the boy appears back into your life and you realize that he isn’t really the monster that you built up in your head for self-preservation. NOOOO! Obviously this news is unacceptable because that image of him was your salvation—how the hell can I rationalize from now on?

Let us say that it took me nearly three years to “get over him” and really accept him without many negative emotions—some justified and some self-created. I literally warped him into some crazy-looking demon out of a horror movie—complete with slime and nastiness; let me tell you how much I ached when I realized he wasn’t deformed and walking out of some bad movie. He was still Mark. Mark-repeat-Mark—The same guy I loved, and I felt bad for giving him such an ugly mask to wear.

There were two different short periods after our breakup, starting two years ago, that we began “seeing” one another. I know, I know, that is not advisable with ex-boyfriends but it happened despite my good-sense. When I say “seeing one another, “ I will admit that it was far from any healthy and normal type of “fresh start” with care-free dating. Both instances, we found ourselves briefly in the same city, and we initiated contact as “friends.” It was intense. We were walking on ice with surface smiles because there were still many unresolved sensitive subjects infused with a lot of stale bad feelings, no closure—now you add our continued affection, and you have a volatile potion. This combination made it almost impossible that our initial reckless attempts would be worth our while. In fact, it felt like we were just putting ourselves through unnecessary torture—it was mutually unfair. A never-ending emotional train dragging your heart in the dirt along the way. Does that seem too graphic?? To me, it was a draining experience! Soon after, we opted for space—or I opted for it—Who knows; I always displayed my inability to accept the idea of “us” more visibly and bitterly. I found that running away was the only solution for peace of mind.

To be honest, as much as I resisted and still resist, it is undeniable that I still love him and have feelings for him. It is terrible to admit or even write down, but I thought that I was over him for good a year ago. I looked at him at a wedding, and I thought that I had finally conquered the beast. I had an exuberant sensation that I had finally resolved this conundrum that remained hidden but always looming in my subconscious. I had control!! GRRRRRR!!!! It feels as if this will never end! There are two issues, maybe three that may make our situation particularly difficult.

1. I had made up my mind that Mark was not “right” for me during these post break-up years, and I can be insanely stubborn. I always looked at love like puzzle pieces—there might be two or three that you can shove into place, and they fit; however, there could be one, even two in this world that are perfect fits, happening with complete effortless ease. The greatest love of your life should lift you to be the best person you can be—allowing you to be the greatest version of yourself with including much room to grow, individually and together. I convinced myself that Mark and I were perfect in many ways, but were we the right fit? I decided “No”, but was I right?

2. Neither of us has found a special significant other to fill the place that was so profound in our relationship. On my side, I have dated a few outstanding men, but there was always something that did not click.

3. Mark is convinced that we are “meant to be together.” We lead completely separate lives, me travelling in Italy, and he being very successful with trading in Phili; we have occasion to speak rarely. We are both busy following our own roads, but despite the time and space, Mark has continued to press upon me of his conviction in “us” during the little contact that we share. He is so rock-solidly sincere in his continued love and affection for me that I can’t help but throw into question my own determination. Head above heart, reason above nature, yada yada yada, it is enough for a girl to go mad!

Mark has always been incredibly patient and understanding, and I have to say that he knows me more than most people. His instinct about my moods is uncanny, and he always knows the perfect thing to say to cheer me up or push me onward. He treats me with a respect that at times seems almost reverential and protective, and he has always been incredibly considerate. I have always appreciated how he supports my passions, and he taught me how important that quality is.

Anyways, I drove to see him at his parent’s house, and I knew the road well. He came out in his yard to greet me, and I was excited and nervous. After a horrible park job, I hugged him for the first time in over a year. He gives the best hugs, and he smells the way I remember him. The first thing I noticed about his house was the absence of Chance, his dog. I blurted out, “Where’s Chance!” just as I remembered that he had passed nearly a year ago. How sad. Mark showed me Chance’s ashes kept in his room.

mark had a surprise that he wanted to give me. He brought out a huge wrapped-up picture frame into the room with an explanation that he “had to get it for me.” I opened it up, and it was a large framed photo print of Ruth Orkin, “American Girl in Italy” from 1951. I had never even heard of the photo before, and it is absolutely stunning! There could be no present more fitting for me, and I flipped out over it! The image is of an American girl walking down a street in Florence with Italian guys standing around, looking and whistling at her. I looked up the history of this photo, and apparently Orkin, a photographer with a love for travel, met a fellow American girl in Florence, post-war Italy. This girl was a student artist, and Ruth followed her adventures around Florence for the day. How lovely!

Mark was very thoughtful to have gotten this for me. He said, “I walked in this store at the mall with practically all Michael Jackson posters-don’t ask me why I was there-but this was practically the only other picture there. I had to get it for you.” Apparently he had seen it a while ago and wanted to get it for me, but he forgot the artist’s name. After this surprise, he and I went out for a couple of drinks at different dive bars in the area.

When I say “dive bar” there probably aren’t enough colorful descriptions that you could throw at these places—they are definitely home grown like lopsided, warty pumpkins—something that can only breed and take life on that turf. Music blaring, dart boards, Steeler flags, the regulars already hunched over the bar or getting rowdy, and the fact that it was Sunday really made for a genuine welcome back to Burrell bars, which is the town next to mine. We did not fit in very well with the crowd of circa 40-50 years of age, tattoos, mullets, bikers, regulars, one with sunglasses, and another guy sporting a GI Joe T-shirt. Mark and I screamed catch-up conversation over the music, and we traveled to three different bars to change up the scene. The last bar offered karaoke, which was incredible –let me tell you. The seriousness with which sunglasses guy sang “I wanna know what love is” was humorous and slightly sad.

We had a great conversation, and when we were tired of fighting the noise and the bar atmosphere, we went back to his parent’s house to hang out. Well, it can be noted that he hasn’t changed many of his qualities that I find endearing. I love that he browses in gas stations, I love that he looks around when he is searching for his thoughts, I love how he pronounces “doing,” I love his stories that sometimes rival mine in being pointless, I love when he says “mmmm” before responding to a question. His eyes are milk-chocolaty brown, and he has a cute dimple in his chin. Physically, my favorite feature is the rib that pokes out from his chest because it was broken in a bad accident he had before we started dating. We joked around a lot, laughed, but Mark left me with some food for thought as well:

“As long as I know that you are happy, I will be content even if we don’t end up together—knowing that I loved you with my whole self will be enough because what I have for you is real.” (That is a summary). What a Romeo, right? He said many heart-felt things to me, including why he felt we were eventually meant to be together. I know he has put a lot of time into thinking about us, and I hope that he gives other options a chance instead of being a hopeless romantic. Mark is very pensive and philosophical, and he is convinced that there couldn’t be anyone else but me.

I end up feeling guilty or responsible for his heart, and I tell him that I want him to do what is best for him, urging him to date and unchain himself from his strong feelings. He is very unselfish and determined in his “quest” as he states, “You never have to worry about me, I will always be a constant in your life without requirements or stress.” Basically, he knows what he is doing—being sure of his love for me and hopefully keeping his mind open at the same time. He admits that his love for me is the one thing in his life that provides frustration because he doesn’t have any control. He is so gentle and patient with me, and his candor makes me shy and scared knowing that I hold a portion of the “power of decision.”

I left happy, sad to say goodbye. Mark and I are very similar people—we are both deep thinkers that can slip into weird philosophical and intellectual conversations; we can be intense and goofy. We vividly display our lack of common sense and un-charted brain paths for arriving in simple places. The two of us telling stories together would be a train wreck of digressions, run-on sentences, and dropped-thoughts—a comedy team of daydreamers or “space cadets” as my friend, Emily calls me. In one sense, we understand one another. However, sometimes I think our greatest downfall would be these close similarities because certain traits would go way unbalanced. Being together long enough could make some qualities obnoxiously exaggerated—and by our 80’s we could maybe make one another crazy. Who knows!

One day I imagine dating an amazing man, and if that day comes, I fear that Mark will be ever-present in my mind like a rich book left partially unread. I hope it doesn’t leave me in a love predicament—like that in the “Notebook” or something. Mamma mia, this is not good. We will see where my story with this boy leads—it has been a complicated road, our continued affection is undeniable because we are a match considering puzzle pieces, and it makes me a bit anxious talking about it.