One of my closest friends from college was in town with his med school crew for the new year. I was up to my eyeballs in moving details on NYE so I ended up staying home on the 31st. But yesterday I finally got all my ducks in a row--with some special decorganizing help from my homohusbands whom I adore to no end, so I was all jazzed to meet my friend and his posse out on the town. Make Jan 1st my NYE, so to speak. I had been having trepidation over going out with all his peeps (12 deep) and was trying to coax him and his gf to just come by my new place so we could hang out and actually talk to one another. But by the time I showered off the 10 hours of moving dirt and grime, and picked out something to wear, I managed to turn my attitude around about the whole night.
He and his army of pals went out to dinner and so they didn't get going anywhere until 11. I headed out, singing the top ten hits of 1987 (thanks to 100.3 The Sound LA) as I cruised down Venice Blvd to get to Main street Santa Monica. They were stationed at Main on Main so the gals could get their dancing shoes worn in. I walked in the door in my cute red glasses, long black coat and silver flats. I sort of wandered through the throng trying to pick my friend outta the crowd. I'd never been to Main on Main so I didn't know how big the place was. I was walking through the doorway that led to the restrooms when a man came through from the opposite direction. We nearly ran into one another. I looked up at him as he said, "Scuse me" and slid past. I froze.
It was the one-legged-man.
The last guy I dated. I hadn't seen him since May. The last time we spoke on the phone was September, and the conversation took place at 7am when he called to demand I tell him why I didn't want to see him anymore. This was after we'd spoken only a few times in as many months. He'd all the sudden started txting me like we were still thick as thieves even though we hadn't had any contact in six weeks. His communication style was one of the major reasons things didn't work between us. My style is; open, frank, upfront but without accusation. I'm not big on communication that feels like a hostile confrontation. His style was; if there's something I think you need to know, I'll tell you, otherwise--leave it be--if I want to talk to you, you'll hear from me. He was also going through a rough time with this friend of his whom he'd moved up to Santa Monica from Huntington Beach to live and go into business with. The whole time we were dating, I never met this friend. Only saw his profile once. I never met ANY of his friends, actually. He ended up having to move out and back down to Huntington. We barely saw each other. We barely spoke. He never invited me down to HB to see him--put me off when I offered. We only saw one another when he was up in LA for "business" of some type. He wouldn't tell me what kind of business. When I tried to talk to him about my confusion over what was going on between us, he just shut down. "I think we'd better just agree to disagree and drop it before things get said that can't be taken back." I was floored when he said that, I mean, it's not like I was accusing him of cheating on me or anything--we weren't even official or exclusive or anything like that. I just couldn't keep playing this hot and cold game. I told him that if he needed sometime to get everything sorted out with his new place to live/job/etc it was fine. He could just call me when he was settled. So he blew up at me. "I don't know how much more of this (his name)'s-an-asshole speech I can take. You, basically, just told me to get my shit together and get back to you, right? Damnit, don't you realize what you're doing? You insisted we have this conversation and now it's the last one we're ever going to have. Why are you doing this?"
What the fuck!? I felt like I'd fallen through some worm hole into a parallel dimension. I tried to quickly go over what I'd said to him in my head to try and find where I'd been mean or harsh or bitchy/needy/whiny etc--but I hadn't! After that conversation things were pretty much over. There were a few other details that I'll leave out that cemented the one-legged-man's status as one of the worst dating situations I'd managed to get myself entangled in.
We'd met as result of a craigslist experiment I tried. He seemed like an interesting, attractive, intelligent (border line genius), colorful character. The night we met I learned just how colorful. Within the first 15 minutes of sitting down with him I found out he'd been sober for 7 years and had served 2 years in a state penitentiary when he was 20 for nearly beating a man to death (which he described "I really hurt this guy's feelings...").
He and I went for a stroll and I learned more. He'd had a heart attack 5 years ago from a heart defect, the kind that kills marathon runners in the middle of mile 18. And just 2 years ago he was dying of what doctors were calling cancer. On, what he thought was, his deathbed, he looked around and saw there was no one there with him. He'd made a lot of money in sales, had a lot of "things", but he wasn't helping anyone or doing anything fulfilling. Then he went to an eastern medicine specializing doc who took out a couple cysts from his neck, and he got better practically overnight. That was all the encouragement he needed. He gave away everything he owned, quit sales, tried to reconcile with his family, and went to work doing freelance web writing to build up capital for a web based support group for disabled folks. He'd lost most of his left leg as result of a birth defect and had been learning how to feel and live "normally" his entire life. He was 33 at the time.
I was completely bowled over. He was so confident, strong, passionate, and yet so humble. He laid it all out without shame or apology. I admired that. Talked about how he wanted to do things differently than his parents. Wanted a best friend and a lover, not just some arm candy who laughed at his jokes read Vanity Fair like it was the bible. But as we got to know each other better, I found out how hot his temper really was. I discovered that there were definite walls that separated the life he lived and the life he wanted to share. To him, not telling me about parts of his everyday life (like what he was doing for a living, where he was living, who he was getting involved with) didn't mean he wasn't being honest. There were a few other incidents and a nail that that definitely sealed the coffin on our mating dance, so, needless to say, seeing him came as a complete shock.
He didn't look down at me, we didn't make eye contact. I couldn't even be positive that he recognized me. I was wearing glasses and have a different haircut/color--he looked exactly the same. It was such a bizarre feeling that swept over me. I felt my face burn, chest tighten, and heart race. Yet, at the same time, I couldn't find any reason to really let it bother me that he was there. I knew he wouldn't start anything with me, and it was possible that he didn't even realize I was there. It was like I'd split into two separate people. The rational me and the stupid flighty me. Maybe it was just the shock of seeing him when it was so unexpected, and having him walk right by like he didn't know me. I txtd my friend to meet me by the bathrooms. He knew the whole sordid tale about the one-legged-man. He came back and coaxed me out to the table where he and his friends were all congregated. He bought me a drink and he and his gf sort of walled me so I could hide. Such an irrational response to seeing him! My hands were shaking, I wanted to run out the door. I had to laugh at myself. Am I so anti-confrontation that even the threat of saying hello felt like Chinese water torture? We didn't stay long, but the whole time my eyes stayed glued to the back of his bald head bobbing on the dance floor as he danced with some girl that I assume was his date. I tried to chat casually with my friend's gf and shake off my ridiculousness. I let my pal convince me to go out for a cigarette after I started feeling okay. We fought our way through to the front door--which is the only way in or out so we were pressed body to body until we found fresh air. As I finally saw sky the next thing I clapped eyes on was the one-legged-man having a smoke right outside the front door. I spun on my heel and bee-lined it back to our table.
Check, please!
We left soon after. I was exhausted, and they were all planning on starting the drive back to Tucson the next morning. On my way back to my cozy little studio I tried to breakdown what exactly it was that made me have such an adverse reaction to seeing him. I really didn't want to ever see him again after our last conversation. Wanted to--thought I HAD--put the whole thing behind me, but if seeing him rocked me that much I must not be as over it as I thought. Was it that he didn't acknowledge me at all? Was it that he was with some other girl? Was it fear that he'd make a scene or disappointment that really nothing happened? Embarrassment that my old friend and his gaggle of goons saw me get so affected by it? Probably all of the above.
I'm trying not to be too hard on myself about the whole thing. I'm only human. I can only feel how I feel, accept it and try to figure out why. It's like Billy Crystal says in When Harry Met Sally "It was bound to happen sooner or later, a million people in this city and I happen to bump into my ex-wife."
Do they have "The Moth" in LA yet?
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