Crazy alcoholic

NOTE: If you think you may be in an abusive relationship, please call this number:
1-800-799-SAFE (7233).

If you are involved with an alcoholic, you may be able to find help here.

I moved to DC in July 1999 for a research job at [Federal Agency]. When I arrived in DC I was still trying to finish my PhD dissertation in [social science] and I was at the avoid-working-on-it-at-all-costs stage. Unfortunately, work wasn't very busy, so I spent a lot of time on the internet, exchanging emails with friends and reading on-line newspapers. If real work came my way, I was eager for it. I must have spent some time on the dissertation, because during my first year in DC I managed to procure a grant to get the data I needed and get my proposal accepted (finally), as well as doing any work my boss gave me. Still, I felt horribly lazy. I was delighted to have a real job, some money in my pocket and be out from under the peon-student status of grad school. All I needed was a boyfriend. I met him at a party in February 2000.

The party was at a big group house in Mt. Pleasant. The living room was dimly lit and crowded with clumps of beer-drinking people dressed in black and ugly green, some of whom also wore hats and scarves. It was cold outside and there was a little snow on the ground. I got stuck talking to some acquantainences and I had my back against the wall. I wanted to move around, meet some of the cool kids, but one of my group handed me a beer so I didn’t have a good reason to leave. I had a good view of the front door, though, and I kept track of everyone who came in.

I saw one guy in sharp focus and I stopped listening to the conversation. He looked like trouble, gaunt and dissipated in his surplus store Navy coat and his black jeans. He had that bit of a slouch that a lot of tall men have. He walked past me and was gone. I thought, “That one. Why don’t I ever get to talk to that one?” I downed the rest of my beer and asked, “Do you know where they keep the beer?” I walked away before I got an answer.

I thought, 'I'm not looking for that guy. Right. Who, exactly, are you trying to convince? It's not like you really want more beer. Cheap date.' When I got to the back of the house, he wasn't there. There was no beer either. No fridge, in fact. I heard talking in the basement, so I went downstairs. And Trouble was there. He smiled and said, "Are you looking for beer?" 'No,' I thought, 'I'm looking for you.'

I stood on the last step of the staircase and never got any farther. Hemming me in were two fridges and three good-looking guys. Trouble (real name: Matt) found me a beer. He said, "Let's not use our real names." He called me "Julia" (Spanish pronunciation). He kept giving me "the look." Sustained eye contact. I knew what it meant, but I couldn't believe it. This guy? This very cute, dangerous looking guy was giving me the look? Frumpy, plump, hair-in-ugly-pony-tail me--that couldn't be. I hadn't bothered to wear a skirt, do anything with my hair or even put on lipstick (the only kind of make up I ever wear). Yet, I knew that look. And I looked right back.

The other two guys were Dan, a friend of Matt's, and a random guy--whose name also turned out to be Matt. Dan flirted, but not much. There was a flirting tug of war between the two Matts, though. It wasn't that much fun because it was hard to believe that these super cute young(er) guys were fighting over me. That made no sense so I just focused on "my" Matt. After a while he said, "I'm going out for a smoke." I said, "Ok." He said, "Are you coming?" I followed him upstairs and right out of that party.

Dan came outside with two women who I hadn't met yet, Kasha and Magdalena, and the five of us walked a couple of blocks to Dan's place. The boys got stoned but the girls didn't. I was tipsy and I laughed a lot. I explained to Dan that the water filter attached to his sink needed to be changed. Dan wrote down my number and stuck it on his fridge. I asked him why he wanted it and he said we would hang out again. I hung on Matt and he kept his arm on my shoulder for most of the night. Magdalena asked me if Matt was my boyfriend. I said we'd just met. "You just met, tonight? At the party?"
"Yes. Tonight. At the party. Like I just met you."
She asked, "Are you ok? If you want you can come over to my place and sleep on the extra bed."
"I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself."
"Are you sure? The extra bed is really comfy."
I stage-whispered to Matt that she was awfully worried about me, but I knew what I was doing.

It was after 3:00am and the girls left. Dan went upstairs to sleep. Matt took me to a back room that only had a twin bed shoved against the wall. There was a tiny basement window and no lamp. I wasn’t sure how we were going to sleep, but Matt was so skinny that we both fit on the bed almost comfortably. We kissed, but not for long, since the alcohol caught up with us. Dreams about the party and Matt kept waking me. I also promised Matt I would get him up in time for him to go to work at 8:00 am (he was a waiter and was working the Sunday brunch shift), which led to my waking every hour to check my watch. We still overslept. He walked me through the snow to the metro. We barely spoke. I said, “I don’t have your number.” He said, “No. I have yours.”

On Sunday I didn't wait for Matt to call because I was still sure he would. On Monday, I waited all day and started to doubt that I would hear from him. By Tuesday I was sure he wouldn't call. At 10:00 pm I was in bed, reading, cordless phone beside me. It rang. I said, "I wondered if you were going to call."
"Did you want me to call?" Matt asked.
"Of course."
"I wasn't sure if I should call you. I asked all my friends if I should."
"What did they say?" I asked.
"They said, 'If you like her, you should call her.'"
"You should listen to your friends."

Our first date set the pattern for the rest of our relationship. I met him at the top of the escalator at the Columbia Heights metro. He gave me a back-bending hug. We were really happy to see each other--it felt like it had been a long time. We walked to Adams Morgan and ran into the "other" Matt from the party. I didn't recognize him, but my Matt did. They did a little chest puffing thing before the "other" Matt went on his way. "He's not happy. He was pretty surprised to see us together."
"Really, are you sure?"
"Oh yes, he was jealous."
"I didn't even think he liked me."
"We all liked you. Dan liked you too."
"No way. Dan wasn't interested. I don't think I'm his type."
"You are. You're everyone's type." That made me smile.

Over dinner at an unremarkable Indian restaurant, Matt talked a lot. He gestured a lot. We both smiled a lot. After dinner, we went to Tryst and I got hot chocolate. It was a weeknight, so I wasn't inclined to drink. I can't remember if Matt had beer at the restaurant, but he must have had something. I don't remember what he had at Tryst. I remember that I didn't want the evening to end. It didn't end until the next morning.

After that first date, I thought of Matt as my boyfriend. We couldn't stop touching each other. It was intoxicating.

Matt was certain that we were meant to be together. He would tell me how wonderful I was; how perfect my body was. How guys who liked skinny girls were crazy. "Most men want women who look like women--but they can't always admit it. I used to be like that." I would smile and nod. He was crazily, constantly affectionate. He called me several times a day. He left rambling, affectionate (drunken?) messages on my answering machine telling me I was beautiful. I guess it's impossible to underestimate the power of affectionate actions and flattering words.

Being with Matt left me in an almost constant state of sleep deprivation due to his late night and irregular work schedule. That's life as a waiter. We wasted nights and afternoons in bars and never actually went to the movies. I believed him when he said that we would last. He was younger than me by six years, but had had a couple of year plus relationships. I took this as a sign that he was capable of having a long term relationship and that we were beginning one. Eating breakfast in the Engels Diner in Mt. Pleasant, a few blocks from his rented room in Columbia Heights, he told me about his downward mobility.

I said, "People think we shouldn't be together. They don't understand. They think you're bad for me, but I think you're good for me." He said, "Would you date me if I still owned a car? I had to get rid of it because it was too expensive but it has saved me from drinking and driving." I impressed him with my excess of education, but he never asked me about my dissertation. I floated along on his enthusiasm for us and his displays of affection.

I remember watching him pace around my apartment, telling me that he didn't have a problem. "I just like to drink, that's not a problem. I don't know why they think I'm an alcoholic. People don't drink like they used to. I don't have a problem." I would sit there, watching him walk back and forth and just agree. "I don't think you have a problem." I wondered why he was explaining all this to me. I believed him. I was stupid.

This happened more than once. Matt was this tall, wiry guy--he was full of nervous energy. He would walk so fast I would have to skip a little to keep up with him. He was jittery and he had a hard time sitting still. I think the pot he smoked and the alcohol he drank were, partly, a form of self-medication. He would have been better off, probably, if he'd just stuck with the pot, but it's a lot harder to come by.

One night, about a month in, we were at my studio apartment. Matt was leaning on the kitchen doorway and he said, "How can you be so sure about us?" I didn't understand him at first. I said, "I just am." He hugged me, bending me back uncomfortably because he was so tall and he forgot to bend his knees. I thought, 'I'm sure because you're sure. But if you're not sure…then what are we doing?'

The same night we had a discussion about money. He was upset and told me that he didn’t like me to pay for so much. He knew his drinking was expensive and I didn’t drink as much as he did. "We're going out all the time and you don't really drink that much."
"It's fine. We can drink more at home, if you like." He'd already finished my year-old bottle of bourbon making Manhattans. He replaced it with Wild Turkey.
"No, that's not it. You can't be paying all the time." He wriggled around, his long arms and legs twisting as he stretched closer to the crack in the window.
I didn’t understand. "It's no big deal. I don't mind paying. I have plenty of money." This wasn't exactly true, because I'd been fussing at him about money just a couple of days before.
“No, no,” he said, “that’s not it. I have to be more responsible.”
I wanted tell him I could help, but I didn’t say anything. I just stood there, looking at him as he blew smoke out the window, and felt the lines forming on my forehead.

Once he asked me, "What do you see in me? How can you like me?"
"How can I not like you?" I said. "I see so much in you. You're so smart, you're so interesting. You could do anything you want." He beamed down on me and wrapped his arm a little tighter around my shoulders as we walked to the metro. I could see so much potential in him: he had a lot of interesting ideas. He was sharp and smart--but all he did was run away from it. My expectations were like a burden. I didn’t figure that out until after we broke-up.

We were supposed to go see the reissued Vertigo at the Uptown. I've seen it before, but I really like that movie and Matt said he would go with me. He said, "I don't want to stand in line."
"Me neither, but if we go to the matinee it should be fine."
"I know where we can get a drink before--the Park Bench Pub is right across the street. I know the bartender there." He knew the bartender at a lot of places.
"Why do we need to get a drink first?"
"I can't go watch a movie completely sober. We have to get a drink."
"Okay, but I may not have anything. I don't want to fall asleep." We sat in that bar for a long time and never made it to the movie.

We spent a few weeks planning a driving trip to North Carolina that never happened. We each had a friend who wanted to go, so we were going to rent a car and the four of us would split the costs. We were sitting on his stoop on a warm February evening, discussing the plan. "You won't mind if we smoke pot in the car, right?"
"What?"
"We might need to have some beer too."
"I don't think so. It's a bad idea. I'm not getting on the freeway and driving to North Carolina with you guys smoking pot in the car. Or with beer. That's crazy. What are you thinking?"
"I knew you would say that. You need to relax about that stuff."
"If you knew what I would say, then why did you ask?"
"I can't go on a road trip with nothing to drink."
"Look, I don't care if you smoke or drink before we get on the road, but you're not doing that in the car if I'm driving. I'm renting the car anyway. You can't do that. It's not ok."
"You don't understand. You know how I am."
"You don't understand. You know how I am, and you know it's not ok with me. And that's all there is to it."

I think I must have gotten my first qualms about him after that conversation. I mentioned it to my good friend, Spesh. "He wants to smoke pot in the car. I said no."
"He's a pothead. Only a pothead can't go 4 or 5 hours without smoking."
"He said it was a road trip and that's the only way he can do a road trip."
"That's stupid. He's a druggie. That's all it is."
"I don't know. I don't understand it." Maybe "I don't want to understand it" would have been more accurate.

There was another time when he called me at work. He said he was off early and wanted to see me. He was going drinking with Dan and would call later. I waited. I made dinner, cleaned the house, watched TV. Around 11:00 pm I knew he wasn't calling and I started to cry. I thought, "How can he do this to me?" I tried to sleep, to read, but mostly I was restless and sobbed. I felt stupid. I didn't want to care, but I couldn't stop caring. I hoped I could get over it but I didn't know if I should. I couldn't tell how bad it was. It was after 1:00 am and he was at the door. I let him in and he could tell I was upset. He was drunk. "Where were you?" He tried to leave. "Coward." I said. We sat on the couch and talked. "I said I'd come over after work. I know I should have called."
"You should have called. I was waiting. I feel terrible."
"I'm sorry." I still felt bad, but we got into bed. He fell asleep almost immediately. I think you might call it "passing out" though I didn't get it at the time. I couldn't sleep. I sat on the couch for a while and read and that's where I slept. In the morning he saw me and said, "You're still there."
"Where would I go?"

I realized that his drinking wasn't just a peccadillo. It was a serious problem and it would ruin us faster than any thing I could do wrong. I was gearing up to talk him about it and then he almost stood me up. I wonder if he knew. It wasn't exactly a stand up, but an abrupt and unacceptable last minute change of plans. He said, “I’m not coming over to have dinner with you tonight. I’m going out with my friends and it will be too late.”
I said, “You're breaking our plans”
"Yes. I don't think I can do this."
"What? You don't want to see me?"
"It wouldn't be a good idea."
"Why? Why? This isn't right. No. No." I was crying. "You can't break up with me over the phone. You have to talk to me."
"I'll come over as soon I can."
We hung up. I hung up mabye a little fast. I waited. He never called. He never showed. I sat in the bathroom for a long time, crying. I needed to be in there for easy access to the toilet paper. I was out of kleenex.

I only slept for a couple of hours. I woke up at 2:00 am and tossed and turned the rest of the night. I assumed that we'd broken up. The next day was a haze of sleep-deprived misery. I couldn't take the day off because I had a site visit to Loudon County scheduled--my job involved managing research projects carried out by contractors. This was the first time I was actually going to join the contractors in doing part of a project. It was also the first project I managed completely on my own. I sat in the backseat of the contractor's car and closed my eyes, tried (and failed) not to think about Matt, tried (and failed) not to cry. I told my tale of woe to the two nice women I was traveling with and they listened and tried to encourage me. "Maybe he thought you hung up on him. Maybe he was just tired." Maybe. I spent the day finding phones and calling Matt at work. It was all terribly unprofessional. I arranged to meet him at a bar that night.

I got to the bar early and sat there, drinking a beer slowly and trying to read my book. Matt found me and introduced me to the bartender as his girlfriend. I said, "Still? Weren't we breaking up? What could he say to convince me to stay with him? Should I listen? He was sorry. He said he'd gone straight home and to sleep instead of going out with his friends or seeing me. I said, "You can't do things like that. I can't take it. I won't stick around for that." He said, "J, you were really upset. You hung up on me."
"Matt, you know very well I did not--anyway, you cancelled. I was upset. What were you thinking?"
"I don't know." I was miserable but oddly relieved. It was enough that he was sorry. I was grateful that I still had a boyfriend. The next week we even met some of my friends for dinner. He was late, but there.

Two weeks later we planned to meet a friend of mine for a drink. Matt never showed. My friend cancelled too, which was fine because I was a wreck. I thought, 'This is it. There is no recovering from this.' Spesh threw pebbles at my window that night (he could never be bothered to learn how to use the intercom). As soon as I let him in he could see I was in distress. He sat next to me on the couch and I told him I thought things were over with Matt and he tried to convince me I was wrong. "How can you be sure? Maybe something happened. He might have a good reason for not being here." I said I was sure there was no good reason and that it was over. Spesh was meeting some of the fellas and invited me along. I said I couldn’t bear it. He said we could skip the fellas and go to the movies instead. I thanked him and said, "Keep your plans, because I can't go anywhere. I have to stay here. I can't go out." I had a vigil to keep at my house, just in case Matt called. I knew he wouldn’t call, but I still had to be there.

The next day at work I couldn't stop crying. I talked to a friend on the phone and he asked me what I was doing. I didn't know. He told me to go home. I said there was nothing wrong and I had to work. He asked, why do you have to work? Then I realized I could just say I was sick and get out of there. I walked home slowly. It was a sunny spring day, the first week of April, flowers were open and the air smelled sweet. I was dazzled by the sunlight. It was as though I'd spent the last two months in the dark. I sat in the Bartholdi Park, wrote in my journal and figured out what to do next. The only way to reach Matt was to call him at work, which I did as soon as I got home.

I said, "Does this mean what I think it means?" He thought so. I was crying and I told him it was really shitty and he could have at least called me. That was the last time we spoke.

NOTE: If you think you may be in an abusive relationship, please call this number:
1-800-799-SAFE (7233).

If you are involved with an alcoholic, you may be able to find help here.

The Republican

I met The Republican at the Halloween swing dance at Glen Echo (October 2004). I was having a lousy time even though it was fun seeing all the costumes. I didn't dance much and spent too much time avoiding the scary guys. It was a breezy, warm night and I saw a few people outside on a little porch. I wanted to go out there, but I couldn't get the door to open. I walked away, but a guy on the porch opened the door and called me back. He asked me if I knew how to dance. I said yes and he said, "Can you teach me? Show me."
"No." I always say no.
"Oh, c'mon. Just show me the basics."
"I can't. I don't know the lead. And you'll hate me."
"I won't hate you. Why do you say that?"
"It's never turned out well when I try and give someone a lesson."
"I promise not to hate you."

I tried to show him a few things but he was talking so much that we stopped dancing and stuck with talking. He was smart, funny and silly. I'm likely to be serious and I like to be with someone who can bring out my silly side. There were leaves falling and he said, "Catch one. It's good luck!" And we ran around the little porch trying to catch leaves.
"Is everyone different, like snowflakes?" I asked. "I've never heard that about it being good luck."
"I just made it up!" We laughed and kept trying to catch leaves.

CK, who I met at the dance, came out and said she was heading home. I introduced her to Mike. A few minutes later Mike and I left. He walked me to my car and I said I would drive him back to his. When I got to my car (the Flexcar), I couldn't get it unlocked. I'd left the dome light on and the key card wouldn't work. I called the emergency line at Flexcar and they said they would send someone, but that it would take at least two hours. I wasn't upset, more like incredulous. Mike and I dicussed what to do and he said, "Let's go get my car and we can wait here for them."

We parked his car next to mine and sat there, talking, laughing and generally having a great time for something like three hours. It didn't seem very long because the time passed so quickly. The tow-truck guy finally found us, Mike dealt with him and I got the car started. There was a long hug and a couple of kisses goodnight. And a problem.

Mike hadn't wanted to mention it, but after an hour or so of sitting in the car and a few probing questions (Why are you living at home? Why are you at that job you hate?) he told me that he was getting divorced. He was separated, but they were still settling things. The divorce was not final and might not be for a few months. And he was still angry. While I believed that his wife didn't treat him well, I think it takes two to tango and I was sure that he had his fair share of blame.

And I have a rule about that: don't date men until they are actually, officially divorced. I don't have this rule because of personal experience, it is based on my parents. When my parents separated, my dad started dating other people. My mom thought they were still working things out. They did, in fact, get back together. Being separated doesn't always mean the same thing to both partners. It's best to wait until the divorce is final. I have no rule against being friends with a guy in this situation, but ideally I would hold off on the romance until later.

When I met Mike, I was pretty sure I was going to break my rule. It was a dilemma. I really liked him. I told him about the rule and he asked me what I was going to do. I said I wasn't sure. I never thought for a second that Mike would get back with his wife. The problem was, could he handle a relationship?

A day or two later, I emailed him. We made plans for dinner. The night before our date I called him, I think just to confirm, but maybe to say hi since we hadn't talked since the first night. He said, "What are you doing right now?"
"I'm walking home."
"Want to have dinner?"
"Now? Sure. Why not?"

He picked me up at home and we went to dinner in Chinatown. It was November 4th, the day after the election. Mike said, "I'm really happy today."
"Oh, why's that?"
"Because of the election."
"What? You're happy?"
"You're not?"
"You're kidding. Wait. Are you a Republican?"
"You're not?"
We stared at each other. I couldn't believe we spent all those hours in the car talking, telling each other our life stories and this never came up. Not a whisper of it.
"I'm not even a Democrat."
"What are you, a socialist?"
"Yes."
More silence. We finished eating and split the bill.

We drove around and went to the Jefferson Memorial. We talked a bit about politics. He wasn't just any Republican, he was a Bush-lover. But he wasn't an anti-abortion, more-God type. He believed Bush was better for national security than Kerry. I strongly disagreed, but it's not the kind of argument I enjoy. I said, "Maybe we could just not talk about it. We obviously have enough to say to each other without getting into politics." That's pretty much where we left it, although once in a while he would tell me "You really are a Republican, you just don't realize it."
"Does that mean you're really a socialist?"
"No."

He took me home and came in for a while. We cozied up on the couch and kissed a little. He said, "So, I'll see you tomorrow?"
"What?"
"Don't we have a date tomorrow?"
"I guess so, but I thought--I thought tonight was the date."
"No, we have plans tomorrow too--if you still want to."
"I want to."

He wanted to take me to a pizza place in Arlington. (He grew up in Virginia.) I suppose we would have gone, but I was burglarized. I got home, the door was ajar and my dvd player, portable cd player and (more heartbreakingly) my computer were gone. I was stunned but not angry. I called the police. I called Mike. He was upset and asked what I wanted to do. I didn't know. I wasn't thinking that clearly. He said he would bring a pizza over and joked that he thought that he would get there before the police. He didn't. By the time Mike showed up I was a little dazed. The burglars had gotten in by forcing the locks on the back window and after we ate some pizza Mike asked what I was going to do about the window. I didn't know. He said, "We have to go to the hardware store and get a bar or something to secure that window."
"I guess so. I don't want to go."
"I don't want to go either. We have to go. Get up."
We went to Home Depot and found something to use for the window. When we got back, I realized that I didn't want to be alone. I didn't exactly ask him to stay, but I didn't insist that he leave. I made it easy for him to stay and he stayed. (No, we didn't have sex. In fact, while we fooled around quite a bit, we never had sex. That was a line he wouldn't cross. "I'm married. We can't do that.")

After that, I saw Mike almost every day for the next three weeks. He called, I called. The next time he came over, he practically moved in. He brought a bag full of stuff: toothbrush, shaving cream, razors, and shampoo. His own set of everything. It was nuts, but I didn't say anything. I didn't actually mind. I felt like I'd known him forever. And for the little time that we were together, I couldn't imagine that it would ever end.

I went away for 5 days to Amsterdam. We missed each other. He came over to turn lights on and off and play with the cat while I was gone, even though he was highly allergic to cats. I called him a couple of times and we sent email. It was sweet.

He took me to his family in Gettysburg for Thanksgiving, though it was probably a mistake. I had no plans for Thanksgiving and I was sad about it. Everyone was going home, my brother in NJ didn't invite me, and I couldn't afford the time for a trip to Seattle to be with my mom. I hinted around about Thanksgiving to Mike, but he thought it was a bad idea. I said, "It would be fine. You know I would like to meet your family."
"I know. And they would like you. But I don't think it's a good idea."
"If you're not comfortable with it, I understand. I'm fine. I'll go to the movies." I was completely sincere. I would have been sad, but it wasn't a huge thing. Late the night before, he called me, "Do you still want to go?"
"What? Go where?" I was half asleep.
"To Gettysburg. For Thanksgiving."
"Sure I do. But, really, I don't need to."
"What are you going to do?"
"Nothing, just be lazy. I'll go to the movies." I'd actually started looking forward to the time alone.
"Don't do that. Come with us."
"I wish you'd told me earlier. I wanted to make a pie. I have all the stuff for a pie."
"You don't need to bring a pie. They have pie. There will be lots of pie. It would be weird if you brought a pie."

I met his mom and stepfather and I got along with everyone really well. The whole darn family was Republican, but I kept my mouth shut, made polite conversation with everyone and I think they liked me. Going to the movies would have been better. I'd forgotten how completely stressful it is meeting someone's family.

He took me shopping--a lot. He took me to Trader Joe's. He took me to Costco and insisted I buy vitamins when he found out I didn't have any. He drove me all around Virginia. He was a little scared of DC, especially after my burglary. I'd invite him out with my friends and he'd say he wouldn't come, but then he would. He never met Princess.

He was burying himself in our relationship to avoid dealing with his divorce. I told him that and he knew it was true. I said we could spend less time together, I could help him find a new job. He said he wanted my help, but he never followed through.

He would fuss at me and tell me not to ask for reassurance. He was a great kisser. He said he wasn't going to be around to have babies with me. It was a crazy, intense connection and absolutely believable, until he backed out.

A week after Thanksgiving he said he wanted to be friends. "I think I should come over so we can talk."
"What is it you want to tell me? Tell me now."
"I can't do this anymore."
"Ok. I think you should come over." He came over and he paced around, words spilling over, thoughts whirring all over the pace like a hummingbird. I said, "It might help you sort things out if you wrote some of your thoughts down."
"I don't know how to do that. Like a diary? What do you write, what do you say?"
"I just write what's on my mind. Usually I only write a lot when there is a guy around."
"So is that journal all about me?"
"Pretty much." I laughed.
"Let me read it."
"No. But I can read some of it to you--if you want an idea of what I write." I read a little, but he couldn't focus.
"Let me read it. I have to read it myself."
"You can't read this one--but, wait, what if you read an old journal? I have tons of them."
I gave him a journal from when I was fifteen. I'd been using it as "source material" for a story I was working on. Mike took it and started to read out loud. He read the whole thing (it was a very small book). "I can't believe you wrote this when you were 15! You were 15? I can't believe it. You sound just the same! It's like a play--you wrote it for an audience. They should be doing this at Arena Stage!" He was excited. I was flattered. It was a good feeling--even though we were breaking up, I felt close to him. I felt like he appreciated me. Like he knew me. (Maybe he did. Who knows?) Of course, that journal was all about boys. My journals always are.

The next-to-last time I saw him was after the break-up. We already had plans for the movies and we kept them. Afterwards we stopped in a bookstore. He asked me to point out pictures of haircuts that would look good on him. He found all these magazines about writing and brought them over to me. "You need these because you're a writer."

I thought about being friends with him. I called him to say I would try and then I didn't hear from him again.

I called once after that, about two weeks later, and we met for dinner the same night. I got him to take me to Home Depot so I could buy some ice melt to use when it snowed. It was a 50 pound bucket and he insisted on carrying it into the house for me. That was the last time I saw him.

I kept some hope after that. That he would resolve the divorce stuff and that I would hear from him. But that was way back in December. I finally gave up. I deleted his numbers from my phone and I've not contacted him since.

Recently, I had an extra ticket to a baseball game and I was having a ridiculously hard time finding someone to go with me. Mike popped into my mind. I almost immediately dismissed the idea of calling him. It was tempting. I wondered if he'd managed to settle things, if he'd moved to California like he'd talked about--if he was happy. But I let it go.