2:04.
And then suddenly I wasn't waiting anymore.
I had to leave.
I left the bar with a determined energy.
Whenever he'd call it was usually around 2:30, which meant he'd probably be home from the bar soon.
It felt like I flew there I got there so fast.
I pulled into the driveway and saw him walk past the window in the living room.
He's home.
What are you doing? I asked myself.
I ignored myself.
I walked onto the porch and started knocking on the window.
He was standing directly in front of me in the next room.
I could see him talking.
He didn't hear me.
What are you DOING? I tried to ask myself again.
I started knocking on the door.
Was I knocking softly on purpose?
You're acting crazy.
I don't care, I finally replied to myself.
I started knocking on the window again.
He looked right at me.
If this was my life as a romantic comedy there wasn't a Peter Gabriel love song playing in the background.
There was slow, creepy, horror movie music playing.
He looked partly terrified and shocked and more timid than I've ever seen.
I was so angry.
Rage was what had driven me there.
I was standing there demanding an answer.
He slowly opened the front door and stood on the porch looking at me.
What happened? I asked.
Um...well....he slowly started.
And I could feel the anger swelling in my chest.
What night did we talk? Was it Wednesday?
And I held my breath in fury, he doesn't even know when we talked? I thought. Fuck.
Yes, I tried to answer calmly.
Well, he slowly continued.
And then he told me what happened.
And I just listened.
And it wasn't anything I'd ever imagined.
It was worse.
And he was a wreck.
And I just listened.
And he talked.
And tears formed in the corners of his eyes and he was so remorseful.
And I felt the rage in my heart slowly dissipate and my breathing slowed.
And then all I felt was love.
And I didn't know what to say there wasn't anything to say so I wrapped my arms around his neck and just held on.
It's okay, I whispered.
And the next hour was sad.
And there was a moment I looked down and saw these ridiculous socks with blue monsters and hearts on his feet.
Those are cute, I pointed out.
Yeah I get fun socks every month. I belong to a sock club.
No you don't.
Yes I do.
No.
Yes.
What?
I've had socks on every time we've slept together.
What?? No you haven't.
And then there was a moment he seemed angry.
Why are you being mean to me?
I don't know. Maybe I don't know how to react to you. I don't know if I should just cry and say I'm sorry. I don't know if we should sit down and share funny stories. I don't know if I should yell at you and tell you to get off my porch. I don't even know what to do with my hands. I look like I'm praying right now. I don't even pray.
I took his arms and wrapped them around me and buried my face into his chest.
And he told me things he still didn't understand, those nights he'd open up with me and tell me things and not know what it meant.
And how I still scared him.
Yeah but you kind of love it.
And I kind of hate it.
I thought that's why men climb great mountains and go to war.
I don't climb.
And all I remember is that I kept playing with these white buttons on his shirt, his black and white striped shirt and I kept touching the buttons on his chest, like it was keeping me grounded so I didn't float away.
You're so handsome.
I got a haircut today.
I'm so happy to see you.
And I held his face in my left hand.
You said we were gonna meet for a drink.
That's not a good idea, he said. But you've been drinking tonight, haven't you? He asked softly.
I nodded slowly.
And I didn't realize right away but there was a moment he seemed to be saying goodbye forever.
And I knew there was nothing to be done, that fate had stepped into our lives and separated our hearts intentionally, and I hadn't known what to say, so I mostly hadn't said much of anything.
Except my eyes.
My eyes had been pouring love into his the whole time we stood there.
It's hard to look at you, he'd said.
But then there were moments he couldn't look away.
And our eyes seemed to be singing all the things neither of us could say.
And those moments we just stood there staring at each other in silence, those felt the most honest either of us had ever been.
And I guess there are some times you don't need to say anything.
A look is powerful enough.
And as I tried to accept what he wasn't saying, and imagined the reality that this might be the last time we ever saw each other, I simply asked if I could kiss him on the cheek.
And he must have sensed what I was doing, he must have felt the farewell with which I intended the kiss to be, because he suddenly wasn't calm anymore.
And he shook his head and was pulling away from me.
I'm freaking out I need you to say goodnight say goodnight please say goodnight.
And as I continued holding on to his hands not wanting to let go, not wanting to say goodbye, wishing I had said something more, something beautiful and poetic, wishing I could just stand with him there all night, I saw the urgency in his eyes, and quietly said, Goodnight, and let him go.
And he went inside and I left.
And I was so sad.
And he was moving in the morning.
And if I wasn't so fucking crazy I probably wouldn't have shown up at his house at two in the morning.
And if I hadn't gone I may have never found out the truth.
I was gonna call you, he'd said.
And I knew something was wrong.
I knew something had happened.
And I'd texted his friend to see if he knew if he was okay.
He doesn't know me, he'd said.
They don't know me.
And I knew.
I'm not gonna be better tomorrow, he'd said.
I know, I'd replied.
And there was nothing I could do.
And nothing more I could have done.
But he'd made the decision to change his life the day we'd talked on the phone.
And that had to be a good thing.
Me in his life had to be good.
And now I wasn't gonna be anymore.
And maybe never would.
And one day I'd learn to be okay with the pain, the heartache of losing a soul mate.
But maybe he didn't really want to say goodbye.
Maybe he wouldn't let me give him one final kiss goodbye because he knew it could never be goodbye.
Just goodnight.
He'd offered me a drag of his cigarette and I inhaled deeply.
That first night together we shared a cigarette.
It has always been a fantasy of mine to share a cigarette with you after sex.
You look ridiculous, he'd said, smiling.
I was wearing the same red dress I wore tonight.
I remember, he said.
And here we were, months later, sharing another cigarette, like some symbol to the end of this story.
Two cigarettes.
One hello.
One fare thee well.
Did you mean anything you ever said to me?
And he'd softened.
If it was nice, I meant it. You're a wonderful woman.
And for the first time since meeting him fifteen months ago I hadn't wanted to sleep with him.
It was the first time I'd ever felt so connected to him on an entirely new level.
It really was something altogether different.
And I discovered this just as it ended.
And it was over.
At least this chapter.
And I didn't know if there would ever be another one.
But there was something in his eyes, something about the length of our gaze, that made it hard to believe all this, this passion and pain and fervor that never left us, was leading up to this quiet, somber, summer end.
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