surprise endings

Listening to a voicemail from an old lover is surreal, in part because you kind of forgot they were still on your phone. 

It's also validating because life, the fact he never accepted your Facebook friend request not even after that night in his car, really him in particular, have led you to feel slightly insane over the whole debacle. 

So even though it feels like a lifetime ago, I can't bring myself to delete the voicemail messages. 

In part because it's tangible evidence that I am not crazy (at least not in regards to that).

And also.

Men don't leave voicemail messages very often. 

It feels kinda special.

But I had something new, special, happen this past week.

I guess special probably isn't the appropriate word. 

But it felt special to me.

I got mad. 

Inordinately pissed at this guy.

Because when something has all the fun of being new it also has all the propensity for not understanding each other. 

Enter Reese.

He seems like a really sweet guy.

They all seem really sweet at one point. 

But due to my interpretation of his texts I lost my super sweet self and channeled my alter, bitchier ego and let him have it. 

Now it's been my experience when I let my rage reign men go pouting into the night. 

And I was actually prepared, nay, expecting this to be our end. 

And then as my phone beeped, I went to read his reply, anticipating my rage met with indignation and as my eyes skimmed the words, I'm sorry Teresa....didn't mean to aggravate you....I apologize. 

I was stupefied. 

Let's just say the message I sent was so harsh my girlfriend told me she would have thought fuck it and never talked to me again if I'd sent her that.

And she's a Charlotte.

You know, the really sweet, believing the best, loyal friend from Sex & the city.

And she told me all I know is I wouldn't have responded calmly to that.

And he, realizing how upset I was, calmly responded and apologized. 

I'm sorry, but--

What?

I genuinely didn't know what to say. 

In fact I didn't text back for an hour. 

Not because I wanted to be cool and wait because I was like, mouth hanging wide open, phone in hand, sitting dumbfounded on my couch, not comprehending his response. 

The only response I'm used to stirring in men is passion or hatred. I don't generally incite a calm reaction. 

Who the fuck was this guy?

In the end, all was well, and it's like the misunderstanding never even happened. 

Except it did. 

And I learned it's okay for me to be angry.

That may not seem like a big deal, but generally, the men I date punish me for getting angry.

I've felt, in most of my relationships, I'm not allowed to be upset because the men can't handle it.

I've dated two men, my entire life, I felt it was okay to get angry with and it wasn't the end of the fucking world. 

Now here was number three. 

Cool as a fucking cucumber.

Oblivious to the fact that I kinda just really got excited to be dating him.