Saturday, November 15, 2003
i used to be a covert operative.
i've never mentioned him here, but the first time i came to new york, it was to visit somebody i thought i was going to marry. we weren't engaged; we weren't even really dating. we'd just been living with the understanding we were soulmates for a few years, and i was ready to do something about it.
it ended badly. to this day, i think we were pretty great for each other, although in retrospect he had some issues about communication that i think would have made longevity a challenge. i'd been in love with him big or small in one way or another since my freshman year of college, but when he finally blew me off, it hurt more than it had to. there were many months of him sort of refusing to speak to me, and not acknowledging my concerns that things were going badly. when i finally cornered him on the phone, he'd not returned three phone calls in as many weeks. he was suitably abashed, and used the word "promise" to assure me he'd call me in the next few days. he didn't.
he did call the next week, and i sort of knew the only conversation left to have was the one where we ended everything. still, though, i was upset to learn that there was someone else. or, rather, that we'd done some sort of weird dance in the months after i'd come to visit new york, rather than him just telling me what had happened. we had a three hour conversation. at one point he admitted he wasn't sure he was making a terrible mistake, but he felt a need to try things with this other person who had potential. he wanted to know if we could keep talking. i didn't want to lose all contact with him, but i wasn't sure i could handle phone conversations, so i told him he could write me a letter, and i'd write back. he got very intent about doing that--i'd just moved, and i started to give him my new address. he didn't have a pen.
he's a journalist. he didn't have a pen in his entire apartment.
i finally agreed to email him the address the next day, but i felt weird about it. i felt like i was leaving a door open for him to hurt me. i asked him three or four times if he was really going to write to me, and he said, "yes. i promise."
he never wrote, and now it's years later, and we've never spoken again. i called his apartment on september eleventh. there was a woman's name on the answering machine; they'd moved in together. once i found a story he wrote for his paper online about a trip they took to peru. it sounds like he made the right call--and i'm happier than i've ever been, so i guess everything turned out right. except i still mind that never called. i wish we were friends. and i wish he hadn't lied to me.
yesterday a friend said he'd run into someone who knew me from college. it turned out to be the journalist guy's ex-girlfriend (not the one he chose over me, but a different one--one who hated me while we were all in school because the guy and i were in love and acted like it, even though we weren't dating). i was pretty sure she still hated me, but he said, "she said you'd say that. she said to say she forgives you, and she thinks you're a really good actor, and she thinks you're going to make it here."
she didn't have to say that, and i'm actually very touched. but really, what's happened is this: she's still friends with him, and now he's gonna know i'm here. i had pictured this happening years later, on my terms. i thought i'd send a postcard or an email, and say simply that i was here, and if he wanted coffee we could have it. if he didn't, he didn't; but if he did i could finally find out what he thinks about all that bullshit that happened, and about how bad it felt. worse, now he's being told by an ex girlfriend who has the very friendship with him i wish i had.
anyway. that happened.
it ended badly. to this day, i think we were pretty great for each other, although in retrospect he had some issues about communication that i think would have made longevity a challenge. i'd been in love with him big or small in one way or another since my freshman year of college, but when he finally blew me off, it hurt more than it had to. there were many months of him sort of refusing to speak to me, and not acknowledging my concerns that things were going badly. when i finally cornered him on the phone, he'd not returned three phone calls in as many weeks. he was suitably abashed, and used the word "promise" to assure me he'd call me in the next few days. he didn't.
he did call the next week, and i sort of knew the only conversation left to have was the one where we ended everything. still, though, i was upset to learn that there was someone else. or, rather, that we'd done some sort of weird dance in the months after i'd come to visit new york, rather than him just telling me what had happened. we had a three hour conversation. at one point he admitted he wasn't sure he was making a terrible mistake, but he felt a need to try things with this other person who had potential. he wanted to know if we could keep talking. i didn't want to lose all contact with him, but i wasn't sure i could handle phone conversations, so i told him he could write me a letter, and i'd write back. he got very intent about doing that--i'd just moved, and i started to give him my new address. he didn't have a pen.
he's a journalist. he didn't have a pen in his entire apartment.
i finally agreed to email him the address the next day, but i felt weird about it. i felt like i was leaving a door open for him to hurt me. i asked him three or four times if he was really going to write to me, and he said, "yes. i promise."
he never wrote, and now it's years later, and we've never spoken again. i called his apartment on september eleventh. there was a woman's name on the answering machine; they'd moved in together. once i found a story he wrote for his paper online about a trip they took to peru. it sounds like he made the right call--and i'm happier than i've ever been, so i guess everything turned out right. except i still mind that never called. i wish we were friends. and i wish he hadn't lied to me.
yesterday a friend said he'd run into someone who knew me from college. it turned out to be the journalist guy's ex-girlfriend (not the one he chose over me, but a different one--one who hated me while we were all in school because the guy and i were in love and acted like it, even though we weren't dating). i was pretty sure she still hated me, but he said, "she said you'd say that. she said to say she forgives you, and she thinks you're a really good actor, and she thinks you're going to make it here."
she didn't have to say that, and i'm actually very touched. but really, what's happened is this: she's still friends with him, and now he's gonna know i'm here. i had pictured this happening years later, on my terms. i thought i'd send a postcard or an email, and say simply that i was here, and if he wanted coffee we could have it. if he didn't, he didn't; but if he did i could finally find out what he thinks about all that bullshit that happened, and about how bad it felt. worse, now he's being told by an ex girlfriend who has the very friendship with him i wish i had.
anyway. that happened.
