Sometimes I have these amazing vivid dreams, sometimes they’re weird, and sometimes they’re sweet. Recently I had a sweet one. I was at some sort of awards ceremony or graduation-type thing; in the haze of dreamland it’s not clear exactly what’s going on but I’m there, dressed up, alone. I was getting restless and about to leave early when I heard a name announced that sent a jolt of electricity through me, the name of an old love. I looked to the center aisle to see her, to see if it was indeed my Steph. When she came into view my breath stopped, my heart sped up. It was her, grinning and walking quickly to accept her award/diploma or whatever it was. Her eyes swept the crowd and suddenly locked with mine.
She came up short, her eyes widening, as startled to see me as I was to see her. That chemical connection crossed the space between us, leaving my skin tingling and flush. Her grin broadened, but then she suddenly realized where she was, looked forward then back at me. I nodded for her to go on and she did, still smiling as hugely as I suddenly realized I was.
I made my way to the back of the auditorium, where I somehow knew she’d be passing. As the crowd of people walked by, it was as if they were transparent– again, our eyes locked, the connection leaped between us. She walked up to me and stood there, looking at me.
I took her in. God, she looked good. Tall, nearly as tall as me, with incredibly long legs, dancer’s legs. Her light brown hair was pulled back but long, flowing down half of her back. Her smile illuminated her lovely face, the high cheekbones, those luscious lips. I vividly recall our first kiss in her car as she dropped me off one night from the movies, those lips every bit as full as Angelina Jolie’s, so incredibly soft. The kind of kiss that stops space and time. The urge to kiss her now was incredibly powerful, but instead I pulled her into a hug. Her body felt perfect in my arms.
She slipped her hand in my arm and we left the auditorium, making our way to a little coffee shop down the road. Small talk quickly turns nostalgic, and we slow-dance our way towards discussing what happened to us. It was tragic something so right was undone by petty little things. An unreturned phonecall. A broken date. Hurt feelings unexpressed. A confounding confederacy of stupid things.
I decide to steer the conversation towards better times. “Do you remember when we first met?” I asked, and her warm smile affirms. She remembers.
I had first seen her across the room at a meeting with the short-lived VCU English Club; we hadn’t spoke then, but over the next couple days I kept seeing her in passing. Whenever our eyes would connect she would smile until my shy eyes slid away. What would a gorgeous lady like this want with geeky, bookish me?
But I kept seeing her, and she kept smiling at me. One day we passed each other, she smiled, I smiled back and looked away as I always did, but then something stiffened my backbone this time. Say something, an all-too-rare affirmative voice deep inside urged. Despite the racing heartbeat, the coiled nervousness deep in my stomach, I forced myself to turn around. “Stephanie,” I called, having noted her name from the English Club meetings. She turned around and I walked up towards her. My heart felt like it was pounding in my throat. “I was wondering if I could get your phone number and give you a call sometime?” I was terrified of this moment, where our wonderful little flirty game stood at a crossroads, never to be the same again. Would this moment turn awkward and banish forever her warm smiles and eye contact?
Luckily, my answer was another warm smile, that electrifying eye contact, and her phone number in my hand. The winning ticket. Jackpot!
We hit it off fantastically, but sadly for me and my intentions, she was just looking for a friend. I had to curb my intense attraction to her and assume the role of confidant and adviser as she was in the midst of a tricky love affair and needed a friendly male perspective. Any role was fine with me, since we fit together perfectly, even as just friends. I remember many times being called to stay over, me laying on her fold-out foam chair/bed, talking and laughing throughout the night, trying hard to not dwell on the fact she was just a foot away, wearing nothing but a thin tee shirt and boxer shorts, warm and snug and desperately deserving someone who would treat her as the amazing woman she was. There were a handful of times, especially when we’d been drinking, when there’d be a look, a touch, that would send delicious voltage through my skin, an enchanted moment when those crossroads would appear again. Do I make a move and pray we tumble into bed and down the glorious path of being friends and lovers? Or do I make the move and and end up injecting awkwardness and weird feelings amidst this amazing friendship? Each time I didn’t dare, there was too much at stake, things were just too complicated.
In retrospect, I think I blew it; I should have seized one of those moments and plunged ahead. After all, we’d gotten to this point by my being bold enough to overcome my self-doubts and ask for her number. It took a long time for me to build up self-confidence around women, and the me of those days didn’t have much of it.
We eventually stopped seeing each other so much; it wasn’t anything overt, just each of us got wrapped up in other things. She and I both got serious with other people. But over the next few years, one or the other of us would call the other out of the blue, and as we talked the intervening time would fall away and we’d reconnect. The friendship would flare up strong and vital as we’d get together and catch up with what each of us had been doing.
Then one day we got together to go see a movie, both of us getting over recently ended relationships.
The sight of her still thrilled and electrified me, but I had long since set aside those feelings, boxed them up and shoved them to the back of my mental closet. Until she leaned over that night in her car and finally kissed me. My hands were instantly in her long hair, as our tongues playfully danced. So many times I’d imagined this moment, a precursor to all my fantasies about Stephanie. In the warm haze of connection to her, I tried to call to mind some sort of clever way to invite her up to my apartment.
But then she pulled back, leaving me a bit dazed, every nerve in my body singing and my brain overloaded. “That was nice,” she said, smiling at me, and I knew she meant nice in a good way, not the that was horrible but you’re my friend so I’ll be nice way. “Call me soon?”
“Most definitely,” I replied, still near to swooning. As she drove off I stood there, still in total shock and amazement that, after all this time, she kissed me. Her lips were so incredibly soft and her kiss was perfect, with the right amount of pressure, the right amount of tongueplay, her mouth not too wet. I already knew our minds and personalities were a great match; now I knew our mouths went great together. I couldn’t wait to explore what else we could find that went great together.
The next six months were bliss, and I entertained the notion of spending the rest of my life with this wonderful woman… before everything softly and stupidly imploded into nothing.
So, here we were, years later in the dreamland of my subconscious. Her image in front of me resonates with what we shared. God, I was crazy about this woman, how did I fuck things up so badly? I reach out and take one of her hands and it feels warm and strong and right. The moment lingers.
I know she’s married now, so apparently my subconscious decides that this is as far as it goes. When I wake up I’m flooded with nice warm fuzzy feelings, of old love and friendship. I’ve also got a tinge of annoyance– I mean, seriously– it was a dream, why couldn’t we have had an affair in the safe alternate reality of my synapses? And then I wonder… do I ever appear in her dreams and waking thoughts?
That is very sweet!
thanks, Kate– glad you liked it!!!
I nominated your blog for two awards because Iove it and I wanted to share it with others. You can find more information here: http://narcissistsblog.wordpress.com/2011/12/30/drum-roll-please/.
Love – Teri
thank you Teri!! 🙂
I can only hope that some old boyfriend thinks that fondly of me! 🙂
you’re a sweetheart Beth, I’m sure they do! 🙂
It’s nice to see a guy’s perspective on love-lost. Very moving post, Ben. Thanks for sharing.
thanks, Stacy 🙂
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