I’m Not That Boy, Part 4

FYI—Missionary Monday looks like it will soon become a reality. Due to high demand for the current series (and the fact that I haven’t contributed to it in a couple of days), however, I see that happening next week.

Unresolved Cadence

I went home very unsure of what I should do. I enjoyed Anderson’s company a lot, but I couldn’t get past some of the details that limited the relationship. I tended to focus on the fact that he was always so busy pursuing his acting dreams because that was easier than focusing on the other limitations to a relationship with him. I puzzled over this for a while. Was it okay to just have fun when I felt like he wanted to go somewhere more serious or had the time come to stop whatever was going on between us?

I am not proud of what followed.

Two days later on Connexion (the gay Facebook), I received a message:

We met the other night at Gracie’s. I just thought I’d say hi and tell you you’re hot.

~Derek

I considered the possibilities. There’s nothing wrong with a polite response. Said polite response (something along the lines of: “Thanks. It was a fun night.”) quickly escalated into flirting and then some thought-provoking chats. He forced me to think even more about why I wasn’t satisfied with Anderson and vocalize what I wasn’t necessarily prepared to vocalize otherwise.

My birthday was approaching and I wasn’t happy. Everyone was demanding some time to celebrate and I was just not used to that much attention especially in a romantic sense. Friends and family wanted to throw parties. My co-workers surprised me with a card and a party. Anderson wanted to take me to a nice dinner. Ianto wanted a night in watching a movie of my choice. And Derek, too, had something planned—“You’ll never forget your 24^th,” he said.

The eve of my birthday, Anderson and I went on what would be our final date. He had planned something simple because I told him it would be a hectic night. It would be, but it was also because I didn’t want it to complicate things as the end seemed near. Following this date, I had a reception and another date.

We went to dinner at a little Italian place, La Ferrovia. It was the kind of place out of a romantic movie. Local and under the guidance of a matriarch who served us that night. However, the whole experience seemed like an ordeal. It was a conflict of being out of place as I put on my best face. We were surrounded by happy couples and families, but that’s not where I projected us in a few weeks or a few decades. He belonged there. He deserved that ideal. I couldn’t give that to him, though. The conversation blurred together that night—mostly small and superficial talk unrelated to what was going on in my head—and the only sensation that remains completely engraved in my memory is one of sinking. I was becoming too heavy for the situation welling up around me.

After dinner, we stopped by the mall for a moment. He introduced me to his sister and we continued our now-forgotten conversation. Finally, we ended up back at my car. He pulled a surprise out of his messenger bag.

“I got you something, too,” I said, “for Christmas.”

I knew exactly what it was. I’d seen it in his eyes on our last date. They were the shoes I refused to buy for myself. Cheap red leather, pointy-toed, shiny, perfect angles… it was the type of shoe unique enough to fit into my collection and be used regularly. My gift of two measly CDs (Ingrid Michaelson and Kristin Chenoweth) just didn’t seem to cut it and I felt worse. We sat in the car listening to his new CDs for a while, then I turned off the radio and took a deep breath.

Then and there I knew I wouldn’t have the courage to say it would probably be our last date. I just thanked him and gave him a quick, unimpassioned kiss, and said goodbye as he left for his own car.

I took another deep breath, deeply unsatisfied with what had happened and turned the key in my car. Nothing happened. I tried again, but to no avail.

The battery was dead.

End, Part 4.