You Never Know What's Next

***WARNING***WARNING***WARNING***WARNING***

What you are about to read actually happened. If you are reading and you know this person, it's OK, you do not have to be angry at him - AND, if you'd like to be angry at me, wait until you get to the bottom of the page and then we can talk. As always, I thank you for your over protective anger. If you are this person, I do care and this is not meant to hurt you - or me - but it's a story I feel needs to be told. If you are someone who doesn't know what the hell I'm talking about, then just read and draw your own conclusions.

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For six months he had this strange power over me - a power that always made me go to him whenever it was convenient for him and one that, towards the end, always made me leave feeling bad about myself.

At the beginning I felt wanted, which was nice because he was attractive and had that cool California surfer look to him that always makes me swoon. We would spend hours talking about life and everything and nothing all at once and it was nice. We had an easy, comfortable rapport between us. He made me feel sexy and smart and special.

It didn't take me long to figure out though, that I was being used to fill a void and I'm sure it didn't take him long to figure out that he could call or text me and, without thinking, I'd toss everything aside and run to him, be there for him, with no regard to myself. But I let it continue.

I lived that way for a long time, letting late night phone calls followed by 15 minute drives rule my life for the thrill of spending a couple of hours with him. Often getting there to find and empty bed; one that I would shamefully crawl into and no matter how pissed off I was about it I stayed. I listened to the apologies when he'd come in at 2 am but I knew he never meant them. And in the morning I'd drive back to my apartment almost always in tears about the whole thing, cursing myself for staying and cursing him for treating me this way. I my friends was the definition of doormat.

And although I realized my doormat status long before I could ever get my wits about me, I finally came to. Almost two years ago, I marched into his house (I had really cute pink high heels on), dropped off stuff I had of his and said I couldn't do it anymore. He didn't argue (ok, well, he really couldn't - in his defense he was recovering from an emergency appendectomy, but still, he didn't argue). He only said "can we talk about this later?" (meaning it was inconvenient for him because he was drugged up, um hi? no excuse). And then, I walked out and it was done.

I moved around like a zombie for awhile after that. Crying constantly, holing up in my apartment, not wanting to do anything. I was sad. Mostly I was sad that I was so stupid to think or believe for one second that this person actually cared about me or how I felt.

The good news is, something snapped in me that May. I realized that I did have worth and that I needed to put myself first and make sure that I was taken care of which meant getting off of my ass and getting to the gym. It meant changing my eating habits. It meant reassessing things in my life from food to friends. It meant taking a good, scary look at myself in the mirror and confronting things I hadn't wanted to before.

I saw him a year later - 75 pounds later - and it was a polite run in with each other. Kind words were exchanged and he apologized for the way that things ended with us. I took his apology, smiled politely and rejoined my friends. I then ran into him a couple more times at a local watering hole where it was always the same, a kind smile, a nod of hello, but nothing more and I was ok with it, I was really good with it. It was always friendly and deep down I knew he really meant his apology.

Then, out of the blue, I texted him a question that I knew he'd know the answer to right away, it was something stupid about a band. I still have no idea why I did it. Did I really just have a question or did I want to be friends? I thought so. And then, I felt sorry for him when he lost his job and I genuinely wanted to do something to help, if I could, and began to reach out periodically. I genuinely gave a crap about him because he's a person and it's what I do and more importantly, I knew that he had been through a lot and I have a hard time not caring about people who have been in my life.

And then, I did it. I threw the "we should catch up some time" out there. But I really meant it, I really wanted to see how he was doing and see what was new. And, after months went by, we eventually set up a time and a place, at a location that I knew would be comfortable for me to be in and not get drunk and let emotions take over and either yell at him or swoon again.

There was no dinner.

There were drinks.

The night before our scheduled dinner.

I knew that at 10 pm, which is when I finally was available to go (in his defense, he wanted to meet at 6), it would leave me feeling funny in some way, shape or form. I knew I shouldn't go, but I did.

I met him on his turf, at a bar that he knew. We immediately fell into conversation that was easy and fun. And although easy and fun, it turned flirty way too quickly. He again apologized for the way things once were and I again accepted. We danced to the juke box, laughed and talked, had some beer and before I knew it, the bar was closing and we were the last ones standing.

He asked if I wanted to continue at his place and I rambled on about how I wanted it to be different this time, I wanted him to respect me and I bought that it would be.

So I went, and it was fun. He stated, more than once not to leave him. We talked about things in a "to be continued" way and as I left early Thursday morning, although I knew that would never happen.

I drug my ass to work on Thursday with an hour or two of sleep, no work out and a feeling of disappointment in my gut (mainly because I knew I couldn't actually TELL anyone about this because my friends would murder me if they knew, and I love them for that).

The thing of it is, I like him. I really think that he is a good person. I enjoy his company and I really did have a great time with him. That's always the kicker. I always think that part fits and something will change and make everything different, but it doesn't.

The one thing that is different though is that I let him off the hook when he asked for a raincheck on dinner. I told him that it would be ok if he really didn't feel like making a rain date. And I meant it. I'm not mad. I'm not bitter. I'm not even sad about it. The thing is, I still care about him and I have a funny feeling that somewhere, deep down inside, he appreciates something about me and probably even cares a tiny little bit.

Maybe I did it because I wanted to know that I could. Maybe I did it because I wanted the perfect ending to his chapter. And, strangely, in some way, maybe I got it. We had fun and I made the best out of the moment. And, while his chapter in my book of life may not even be over yet, I've learned from him, from our prior relationship and from our last night together.

Gilda Radner sums it up perfectly when she said "I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. "

Here's to lessons learned and whatever happens next...