unavailability, part 2

On the Unavailability of the Ideal Man or, On the Ideal Nature of the Unavailable Man 

     

    The wise and thoughtful Popeye recently posited the theory that he has subconsciously arranged his romantic life, post-divorce, with intent to fail. With all respect due him for being first to blog it out, I feel compelled to share the personal results of my ruminations on the subject. It's not flattering. 

     My earliest "serious" memory of having a crush involved a boy named J.A. He went to a different school than I did, but we saw each other a few times a year for music events in which we both participated. At the time that my interest began, there was absolutely no indication that J.A. knew that I existed. Because we went to different schools and because he was literally unaware of my presence in his world, J.A. was unavailable to me. 

    Fast-forward a couple of years to Earl, the recipient of my first kiss. He was a year younger than I. I'd expressed an interest (through friends, of course; that's how things are done at that age) and he'd reciprocated. We made plans to meet for real after {chagrin} a music event in the evening. We did so, and after a convoluted set of circumstances, ended up behind the city library. It was more than one kiss, and it was really quite something. I liked it a lot, and I thought he did, too. I thought he liked me a lot. Since physical contact and affection are one in the same for most females of that mental level, I was pretty certain that we were A Couple. Imagine my surprise when, the following day, I heard (immediately upon arrival at school) an exact retelling of events between Earl and me, from someone who (obviously) wasn't present. He had, what, gossiped? bragged? regardless, it was news, and it was horrid, because I was, as of that point, Easy. Therefore, regardless of my feelings (tiny little green shoots of tender plants coming up from the just-thawing ground, as they were), Earl had become unavailable to me. 

     J.A. and I went to the same school by now. My approach became more heavy-handed, and he became aware of me in a big way. We nursed a sort of love-hate relationship, in the sense that I told him I loved him and he told me he hated me. J.A., clearly, remained unavailable to me. 

    My other crushes (whose names are inexplicably yet blissfully escaping me at the moment) were simultaneously Out Of My League and insulting. The guys that I did spend time with were "just boys," just friends, justjustjust something, some excuse made in my mind to distinguish them from what I wanted. There was a boy named Chris who had these amazing parties. Co-ed parties. Big-deal parties. We made fun of them, but they were, really, looking back, terrific parties. Our parents would drop us off at his house, which was on a cul-de-sac in a really nice part of town, around 6:30 or 7:00, I guess. The boys would usually have been there for the afternoon, playing some sports or something. There would be food and drinks (nothing illegal). We would play silly games like hide-n-seek, but it was fun when we were in 8th or 9th grade to do that, in the dark, paired up in couples either with someone we were "dating" or someone we kind of liked who had been invited for the evening. Chris was in tune to that sort of thing and made sure that there was the right number, and the right mix, of people there. We would hide in the woods around his house, and when we were found it was hilarious. We would dance, too, and just hang out and talk. It was like being "big kids" without the pressure. His parents were there for the first few parties but after a while I think they trusted us so they'd go...somewhere. Next door? Who knows, but we didn't hold back from pairing up in a more serious way when we knew they were gone. And for some reason, Chris and I always ended up (why do I say "ended up", as if that absolves me of any responsibility for having made a conscious decision to put my tongue in his mouth?! Not that I was too conscious of the decision ten minutes before I made it, but there was some, "Oh, shit, here we go again" running through my head, and I did it anyway) together. By the last couple of parties it was almost as if I was the "hostess" of the party, and I received some odd deference from the others. I remember with particular anguish one night during the leather high-tops era, when I learned the leg-around-his-leg trick, while kissing standing up. I thought I was a fucking genius, and he thought I should take my shoes off before I broke his knees (I found out later). Oh, well. Experimentation! After the heady fun of those parties abated, though, I always turned my attention to the Out Of My League guys. And the boys like Chris faded into the woodwork again. Both sets, then, were, in one way or the other, unavailable to me. 

    My first real, steady boyfriend was named Paul. I don't recall the exact order of things now, but in some combination, he dated me, my friend S, and my friend S.R. Of course, the three of us weren't very happy with each other or with him at the time. I think S.R. was first, then me, then S. It doesn't matter. The point is that during the period when I was Paul's girlfriend, we would go to movies and dances at school and hang out at Stone Circle. We could go to parties at Andrew's and at Ben's (oh my God, some of those parties at Ben's were wild). Paul was the first one that I did any amount of, um, experimentation with. I think I've quoted it here before, that he actually sang this to me once and claimed to mean it: "I love the way u kiss me, not with your lips but with your soul." I melted right there in the plastic chair in which I was scrunched next to him, next to the steps that led to the English wing of our high school. Mmm, Paul. OK, so what was my point? Uh, we would do all of those things, but I never went to his house. We would even park, in my car, outside of his house, but I wouldn't go in. I always sort of figured that either things would get out of control and we'd get caught doing something that we really ought not do [yet? there?], or that his parents would not approve of me on general principles because I Wasn't Good Enough For Him. So no matter how many times, and in what ways, he asked me to do it, I never went to his house. He finally tired of it and started picking fights with me, and eventually started dating S. Paul was unavailable to me, either because he was Too Good For Me, or because I couldn't let him get close. 

    In and around everyone else I saw in high school was Scott. We worked together. He went to the other high school in town. He was a year younger than me. I thought he walked on water. Honestly, I've no clue what he thought of me. We would go out and do stupid shit together, petty vandalism, nothing more than a misdemeanor's worth each night. It was fun and funny, and it always ended with these fantastically athletic make-out sessions in stupid places like on the sidewalk in front of his house, or on the couch eight inches away [through the wall!] from where his mom was asleep. I fell hard for him, but he clearly considered us "friends with benefits" and cut me loose--terribly gently--when I gave him an ultimatum. Because he attended a different school, and because he was clear from the beginning and never went back on his opinion that we were not meant to be, Scott was unavailable to me. 

    I went to a work party when I was a freshman in college. There were, literally, a couple of hundred people there. Most of them were catastrophically drunk, myself included. (I'd been at a pre-party drinking vodka lemonades until I couldn't stand up so I wouldn't have to pay to drink at the party, only to discover that it had an open bar, damn it.) I vaguely remember eating...something. A roll? Some turkey? And having a few drinks (a few?!) before the dancing began. I firmly recall saying to my friend Rita, "He Is Cute!" and pointing at a dark-haired guy with a mustache who was wearing a blue sweater. She said, "Wally?! Oh, God, no." "Wha--? Why no?" "Jesus, Amy, his nickname is 'the freshman fucker.'" I'm pretty sure that I don't need to tell the rest of this story. Suffice it to say, Wally was unavailable to me. Thank God. 

    My friend Shawn was also one who wove in and around some of the others, through high school and into college. He seemed to pop up when I least expected him. For a long time it was an unrequited romantic thing on my part. After a while (a predictable "while", unfortunately, as some of the females reading this will appreciate) he shared my interest, if only in a one way. I don't mean to imply that we were not friends; we were. But we were mostly compatible in small doses, after which we would simply avoid each other. Shawn was clearly not available to me. 

     I've spent a lot of time since college trying to categorize my relationship with Brian-the-Army-guy as some kind of joke. How can I explain what happened, literally? We went out for a while, but spent most of our time 'in'. He was the first adult that I dated, though he wasn't much more mature than I, despite the 4 years he had on me, and the Army experience. The time that we had together was good, but he was ultimately not good to me. I broke up with him, but he gave me my first taste of betrayal. Brian was perhaps the most obvious example in this story: he was literally unavailable to me. He was engaged to someone else. I had not known. 

    I was 19, almost 20, and having the time of my life when I met Russ. I drank too much, far too often. I was living with another girl and two guys in a disgusting rat-hole apartment that suited me just fine. I was going to parties two or three nights a week. I worked two jobs, so there was always enough money for one more [case of] beer or another insanely-tight mini-skirt. I went to a house party with my friend Mary because she wanted to hang out with some guys she worked with. They had a summer roommate: Russ. Tall, blonde, objectively gorgeous. He's one of those people who, when you see him, your first reaction is to touch him to see if he's real because he's so good-looking that you think he's a hologram. In case it's unclear, I was instantly smitten. Nah, "smitten" is pretty tame; I was immediately knocked over the head by the combined baseball bats of love, lust, and adoration. I didn't just want him, but I wanted him all for my very own, and only for my own, so I was going to put him in a room someplace--and take good care of him--but not ever let anyone else lay eyes on him, because I knew I'd lose him if anyone better than me got a chance with him. I lay siege. He didn't resist. He was even relatively chivalrous that night. We spent hours talking (poor Mary was on her own). We went for a walk in the park; he didn't toss his jacket over a puddle--he picked me up and lifted me over the puddle. Being 19, and being an idiot, I had no art whatsoever. It was either the first or second time I saw him that I said, fully feeling it, "You're perfect, and I'm...just...me. I'm going to lose you!" He sort of playfully tapped my chin and said, "Yeah, but why not just enjoy me while you have me?" Looking back, I wish I'd just beaten him with my shoe while I had him. But you're only young and stupid and acquiring stories like this once, so I had to learn. So I stayed, and enjoyed. And then he left. We went out, he stayed over, he left in the morning, I went to work. I came home, and he didn't come over. I called, he wasn't there. As in, he'd moved out, during the day. His roommates were pissed, since he hadn't paid rent or utilities for that month. They didn't know where he'd gone, and were hoping that I would know. They mentioned someone named Laura, which was my first clue that all was not well (I was so fucking dumb). The details are gory, so I will simplify. He left for a week. He came back, he called, we saw each other. Then he did it again, and that time was for good. I never saw him again. So, perhaps even more than Brian, Russ was unavailable to me, since he knew that he had all the power in the relationship. And since he was dating Laura (his future wife) throughout (though I didn't find that out until I'd sleuthed it, much later). And since he literally skipped town in the middle of the night. 

    My ex. Unavailable? Yes. I think I chose him, if it can be said that "I chose him" and not that life conspired to bring us together, because he was so unlike anyone and everyone I'd dated before. He was kind and considerate and helpful. He was emotionally giving and demonstrative and eager. He was friendly and caring and .... And now we're not together. Since we've been apart, he's dated two women. Both of them have been older than he is, and he is older than I am. So how do I mean he's unavailable to me? Well, I've maintained from the beginning of our separation that we were always meant to be friends, and that maybe we should've just been friends. I mean, at some point we probably should've just broken up, as a matter of course, and stayed friends. We could've done that, because he's a really great person, totally capable of handling something like that, and he's also a friend who's worth working for (which would compensate for what I lack in that area). However, I'm also starting to believe that we kept a certain distance between ourselves, however subconsciously, throughout our relationship. We just didn't get into some things that I'm finding are pretty normal things to get into. I'm talking about emotional territory here, serious disagreements and so forth. We could be astoundingly petty and manipulative (especially where our pets and our parents were concerned) but I'm struggling to recall a disagreement that ended with anything except an apology on one side or both. He was unavailable to me, and I was unavailable to him, because that's the way we wanted it. We were a unit, a pair, a couple, for almost fifteen years. But we were two very separate, very sad, very lonely individuals at the same time, surrounded by our emotional bubble wrap. 

     After the divorce, I was involved with someone who lived 2000 miles away. He meant a great deal to me, and I believe that it was mutual. I said I wouldn't get into it, though, so that's all I'm going to say. Unavailable? Yes. 2000 miles! The rest of it is immaterial. 2000 miles! 

    And the other one. The one who has been there all along, friend and then more. The one who owns my heart, the one who is "part of my DNA", as I so cleverly phrased it while on a date with another man, trying to put him in my past but still not fully able to do it. Suzanne Finnamore wrote in Otherwise Engaged: "I don't want to miss him so much. I want to be able to turn it down. Instead I live with a rock in my heart. I walk through Paris, carrying it. Maybe this is what they mean by the ball and chain." I know what she means. I went to Oklahoma to forget him and I ended up carrying him everywhere I went. Am I more miserable with him, or without him? Well, I suppose that remains to be seen. He is irresolute, selfish, preoccupied, and immature. He is blithely unaware that love is not always transcendent. He thinks that, even if it's not with me, it'll be like this again with someone else. I don't think that it can be like this again, for me, with someone else. It's never been like this before. It's never come close. None of it. We are the very definition of on-again/off-again. I know of at least one person who will read that last line and laugh out loud [Cat] and one who will probably either laugh, sigh, or grumble. Yes, I know that I have preyed too long upon the sympathies and considerations of certain of my friends, whose patience wears thin. I hope that they know that I did not seek this situation, that I am working to change it, and that I appreciate their forbearance. That on-again/off-again-ness? That means he's unavailable to me. 

     Christina Bartolomeo wrote in The Side of the Angels: "Sometimes it seems to me that, for every happy couple fate brings together just in the nick of time, there are five other pairs who miss each other by inches or miles. Do human beings just not want to be happy, deep down, or is it that we snatch at the easiest, most comfortable happiness, not the hard-won kind?" Why do I seek the unavailable? Do I want to be unhappy? Do I relish the sense of failure, again? Am I seeking, more than anything else, even love, sympathy? Or am I merely unlucky? Or is this all just a self-indulgent exercise in prose, a way of characterizing a lifetime of relationships that are in no way related simply so I can call attention to my myriad former boyfriends? I don't know. Isn't that pretty clear by this point? I don't really know.