My voice faltered.
It was one of those rare instances where I couldn't tell the truth.
Because I love you.
I was afraid he'd hang up on me.
'Be..cause...I....care about you. And I want you to be in my life.'
It wasn't a lie.
It just wasn't the whole truth.
He was so angry with me.
It was kind of unnerving.
Especially since it wasn't that long ago that I'd seen him and he'd been so playful.
But instead of reacting, which is certainly what I was normally prone to do, I was frighteningly calm.
The kind of calm that would overcome you if someone held a gun to your face and the only way to stop them was to talk them out of it.
'You seemed happy to see me, were you not?'
"I wasn't expecting it."
'But you were so interactive with me.'
"It's my job to be nice to customers. I was actually really stressed out having you there."
I was quiet again.
I was starting to feel like an asshole.
'Why did you pay for my drinks?'
"Because you said I owed you a sazerac."
I was beginning to think I'd completely misread all of our interaction.
I had told Mother that he'd looked at me like I was a hot fudge sundae.
It's hard to get that look wrong, she'd said.
But apparently I was completely fucking wrong.
"I'm sick of this. We're not good for each other. It's gotten too crazy."
I tried to say that I thought the circumstances had been crazy and bad but that it wasn't our dynamic, it was just all he'd been through.
"You have no idea what I've been through. I had to put my dog down."
I was quiet again.
Shit.
Couldn't just a fragment of a rainbow enter his life?
The whole time I'd known him it had been storm upon storm and I felt so helpless.
"I already have enough to deal with and I didn't need to deal with this on top of it."
'I'm sorry. I don't want to add to your stress. I want to offer you support.'
"You know what? When you make a list and the bad times outweigh the good..."
I interrupted, 'But we don't even have that many times together. I don't think that's fair.'
"I disagree."
'You hugged me for a really long time. I don't think you would have done that if you don't care about me.'
"I have a hard time pushing people away."
'Why do you have to push me away?'
"I don't know why you're trying so hard to hold onto this."
'Come see my show. Will you come see it?'
"I don't see the point."
I held my breath.
That's exactly what he'd said when he broke things off on the phone.
I'd asked if I could see him that week and he'd said, "What's the point?"
It was then I realized his tone of voice had the same frantic level of anxiety he'd had then.
And it made me sad.
'Because it's important to me and I care about you and I want you to be there.'
I felt like I was a freshman in high school again.
I felt small and stupid and like everything I thought was wrong.
Like I was the same band geek crushing on one of the cool jocks who didn't even remember my name.
He hurriedly got off the phone and I was in shock.
But to my surprise I wasn't angry.
All I could think was--
He's hurting.
And I wanted to do something.
If he thought the memories were bad I wanted to make a good one.
But I didn't know what I could do.
I got out of rehearsal early and was going into the city to go on a run, which I was grateful for because since the show started rehearsing I haven't been able to run as much.
And I haven't liked that at all.
I wanted to go see him.
Which I knew made absolutely ZERO sense since he'd just been a fire breathing dragon.
And I also knew that I'd just read an article about what happens to the brain after a breakup and I was doing EXACTLY what it said I would--
In this new context, the reward system is now the part of your brain that's going to motivate you to do something really dumb. Like drunk calling your ex or initiating breakup sex.
Yep.
My reward system was prompting me to be an idiot.
But moreso, someone I cared about was hurting and I had to do something.
How could I not?
He hadn't meant it to (in fact, he likely meant it to do just the opposite) but when he'd said I don't know why you're trying so hard to hold onto this, it struck a chord in my heart, it fanned the flame, it smacked my heart right in its face.
Because it reminded me--That's. Who. I. Am.
It's who I want to be.
A woman warrior who follows her heart, follows the love overflowing from her heart, regardless of everyone and everything trying to convince her she is wrong.
And then I knew what I wanted to do.
I went and got a bottle of fernet, which was his favorite, and a cigar the sales clerk helped me pick out.
And I headed to his bar to drop it off.
It was the only thing I could think of that might provide an ounce of comfort.
I walked in and another bartender saw me.
"Sazerac, right?"
I smiled.
He'd made my drinks awhile ago when I'd been there one night by myself.
'Right,' I said.
I was flattered he remembered me.
That happened to me at another bar a couple weeks ago.
It felt like bartender speak for, You're that hot girl.
He pointed me in the right direction to make my delivery and I found him around the corner.
When he saw me the look on his face was calmer than I'd expected.
He looked surprised but not with the level of intensity he had before.
(The look that had made me think he wanted to bitch slap me.)
This look was one of sheer curiosity.
I handed him the bag.
'Here, this is for you. I'm sorry about your pup.'
He shook his head.
"I can't accept that."
I was mildly embarrassed.
I hadn't even considered a refusal.
'But I got it for you. It's fernet. And a cigar. I even had him help me pick it out for you. He said it's a good one.'
"I can't take that. If I take that I'm gonna feel like an asshole."
I tried to insist but to no avail.
I said ok and I left.
I didn't even ask for a hug.
I didn't think I wanted to know the answer.
But I was still glad I went.
On the phone he sounded like he hated me.
And looking into his eyes I didn't see hate.
I just saw a man pushing me away.
Because I guess that's what his heart drove him to do.
And at least the last thing I did was loving so his last memory is of me standing there.
Trying to love him.
And accepting that he won't receive it.
But I was true to my own heart.
And that's all I can do.
That's the most any of us can do.
And I'd hold onto that cigar because someday someone would accept it.
Possibly even him.
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