Mission Aborted

I moved back in with my parents for the summer. I had planned to do little else other than work for three months to save up for graduate school expenses in the fall. But someone got in the way.

Someone, a Mormon, and fireworks.

My coworker threw a birthday party for me last month. It was a rager till 10pm when she, her husband, and their newborn had to go to bed.

Everyone left except for two guys. A really cute someone (let’s call him E.F.) and his odd Mormon friend. They were committed to waiting up with me until midnight, so that I could have a “real” birthday celebration.

Any good celebration calls for fireworks, right? So off to Wal Mart we went.

While it’s legal to buy fireworks, it is illegal to set them off unless it is Independence Day. After illicitly lighting just one in the parking lot, our Mormon companion was too morally conflicted to let us continue. He insisted we call it a night. He held the car keys, so call it a night we did.

Utterly absorbed in his moral monologue, he failed to notice he had driven half a block past my house.

E.F. got out of the car to walk me down the street to my door. And on the porch he asked me out. I said yes.

We went to dinner a couple of nights later. I can tell within a few minutes whether the guy is going to get a second date. Rarely does that happen. I don’t like to waste my time.

E.F. was a true gentleman. A Left-Circler for sure. He picked me up, opened doors for me, paid for dinner, took me to a Jazz concert.

We talked in his idling car for over an hour when he dropped me off.

I was absolutely terrified when I wanted a second date, and a third, and so many more. E.F. was NOT in my summer plans. I was NOT supposed to get attached during my hiatus from real life.

Yet I let myself fall for him anyway. I knew I was opening myself up for a world of hurt, whether we decided to do long distance or write us off as a summer fling.

I was happy simply living in the moment until we went to a pool party with his friends, his sister among them. 

While E.F. and the Mormon were parking the car, the sister interrupted my conversation with one of the guys about his long-distance girlfriend to ask me how she should introduce me to a person in our group who hadn’t arrived yet.

“Are you my brother’s girlfriend, or what? I have to tell her something.”

LDGF guy came to my rescue. “You could just say her name, like a normal person.”

The sister wasn’t having any of that. “She’s my best friend. I can’t just be like, ‘this is so-and-so.’ She’ll want to know WHO she is.”

My turn. “Look, we haven’t put a label on anything, but I don’t think your brother will correct you either way, whatever you tell your friend.”

Cue E.F. and Mormon. They approach. We all quickly change the subject. The sister’s best friend arrives. The sister introduces me by name, sans epithet of any sort.

My heart sinks. I wanted to be E.F.’s girlfriend. Dammit.

It bothered me for the rest of the day. When he would grab my hand and kiss it unexpectedly, or wrap his arms around my waist, or look into my eyes for a little too long…I felt my heart’s defenses crumbling.

For the next couple of weeks, I kept a note on my phone of all of the things I wanted to say to him, but couldn’t. We were doomed from the start, so what was the point of saying things which would only make it harder in the end?

And then I drew for him. I hadn’t picked up a pencil since the semester before I started this blog as a stupid class assignment. I was still pretending to be an artist then.

So not only had I not drawn for myself in nearly two years, but I also hadn’t drawn for another person in four. Yet I did for him.

And when I gave him the drawing, he played guitar. He played guitar like someone else never did.

Every chord exposed a new chink in my pathetic armor.

And so when E.F. asked what my response would have been had his dad asked me what my intentions were with his son, I knew. I would have said that my intention was to treat E.F. the way he deserved, and not the shitty way every romantic interest in his life before me had. This man lying in the dark beside me had suffered more than I could ever comprehend. My pain was a raindrop compared to his ocean.

It was my mission to show him how beautiful love could be, and how much more beautiful it could grow if you work on it every day.

His mission was to understand me.

We enjoyed 11 dinners, 3 concerts, 3 movies, 2 rounds of fireworks, 1 art festival, and 1 ice cream run. I don’t regret a second of it. I learned a lot about an amazing human being, and a lot about myself, too.

I learned that regardless of how many times I’m beaten down, regardless of how hard I try to keep my heart closed so that no more can get in and nothing can get out—it doesn’t matter. Sometimes a single word can make a heart open.

“Are you my brother’s girlfriend?”

And all those things I didn't say
Wrecking balls inside my brain
I will scream them loud tonight
Can you hear my voice this time?

No, E.F., you can’t. Because this is an anonymous blog post. My occult following in Germany is more likely to hear me than you are. Because, according to my page view tracker, I’ve a lot of fans across the pond.

But I don’t need you to hear me. I need to hear me. I need to hear me admit that after every heartbreak, I become a better version of myself. And that for whatever reason, you and I weren’t meant to be. Not right now at this moment.

I’ve been single, I’ve done hook ups, I’ve done long-distance and long-term relationships…and I’m not sure where this Ephemeral Fox-shaped puzzle piece fits in, but I’m happy I got to walk through a month of life with you.

You said that you hoped the next guy I introduced to my dad was worthy. He was. I just wish you had met him more than once, so that he could see what I saw.

I went to our park earlier today. At sunset. With red wine (concealed in a thermos cuz I’m classy), Nutella, and pretzel sticks. The thin kind.

As I saw something very close to your favorite color, I thought about how you’ve got an unsigned drawing, and how I’ve got an empty 18x24 frame (with an unpaid balance of 20 kisses).

You’ve also got a full set of fireworks, minus one. I’ve also got half of a pizza leftover in my fridge, and an unopened copy of your brother’s book.

We’ve both got a collection of ticket stubs and restaurant receipts. And a "To Do" date list with 2 out of 23 items checked off.

Those 11 dinners, 3 concerts, 3 movies, 2 fireworks shows, 1 art festival, and 1 ice cream outing were worth the tears I shed with each keystroke.

We should have kissed goodbye.

Mission aborted.