Moves in Mysterious Ways
I was young and naive and completely infatuated with your mysterious ways that summer.
Last Thursday night I went to see the vampire. The day before I had proudly declared I was not going to see him any time soon. I meant it—except that made it inevitable that within a few days I would see him.
The few times this year when I wanted to see him my plans always fell through. Whether it was a call from him saying his girlfriend’s work schedule had changed or if the timing just wouldn’t work out, I wouldn’t see him for several weeks or months. But each time I said with conviction that I would not see him, any time I told him “No, I won’t drive out to see you” then of course I would find myself in the car on the highway rushing to be at his side.
I made it from December, right after I lost Shifra, until March without visiting him. That day in March is burned into my memory—first the police car driving by us that Sunday morning, and then it stopped behind us. Watching him getting handcuffed for the most ridiculous of reasons (I admit that there are plenty more legitimate reasons for him to be arrested—but at that time it was beyond ludicrous), walking through the rain soaked grass to a picnic shelter and calling my sister and then Bethany in Texas. He was released, the car was towed, and we walked to get a cab to take us to the train that would get us back to my car. What transpired afterwards was so traumatic I cried for several days and laid in bed. I vowed to let him go because he had hurt me so badly in invisible ways he could never know.
I told him point blank I didn’t want to talk to him or see him.
A little over a month later I was back downtown on another Sunday morning—this time on Easter and the blasphemy of it still makes me cringe—and he was dealing with a cocaine hangover. I wore baggy jeans, my favorite Spokane t-shirt and flip flops. Unlike before we were not confined to a car or wandering around downtown. This time we were at his friend’s high rise apartment overlooking the lake. That was a beautiful morning. He slept from fatigue. I wondered what on earth was I doing there…I had to make Easter lunch for my family…it was seven in the morning…
The joke was on me when we returned to my car and the back window had been smashed out of it. I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. A sign from God. That was the only explanation. I still laugh a little because there is nothing I could do about it after the fact. He pulled me into a fierce hug and told me it was okay—we just shouldn’t see each other on Sundays anymore.
The next time I saw him was the last day in May. It was a brief visit—not planned like people think. I called him an hour before I left the house and said I would be in the area with my family. He jokingly suggested we should see each other. When I agreed and he knew I was serious, he called me three or four times to make sure I wouldn’t back out.
After that I didn’t speak to him for a while. I called him on my birthday when I had been drinking—but otherwise communication was sparse. It was sometime after his birthday in late June that he called me while I was out shopping. I ended up talking to him from the time I was checking out with my purchases to about a half hour after I got home. He said he was hurt that I hadn’t wished him a happy birthday. He told me he knew exactly what my “problem” was, he has me figured out, and it’s that I either hate him so much I wish I never met him or I want to be with him in the way that I can never be. I said that wasn’t so hard to figure out since I had told him that much already. The phone call ended with me in tears after he reminded me that he remembered the loving things I did for him, that he knew the sacrifices I had made because of my love, and he didn’t take it for granted. Whether or not I believe he meant the words, it was that he bothered to say them at all that made me break down in tears.
For a week or so he called me every day. It made me feel alive but as soon as it was over I would cry and sink even further into depression. He was using me, stringing me along, making sure that he still had control over me. Yes, he did, he does, he always will.
I tried to meet up with him before I left for Texas but it didn’t work out. I almost saw him that night I went to watch the Perseids shower instead. The next week I found myself at the last minute driving out to see him. I sat in the parking lot at night during the week—the first time we would meet up as we used to spend time together—for two hours and read Harry Potter And The Order Of The Phoenix. He called me to tell me he was still with a customer, he was running late, he would try to get going soon. Then he showed up and it was as if the waiting had been worth it. I brought cookies and he wanted to eat them all. He had to go home—for the first time since I had known him he was not returning to the work release center but to his girlfriend’s house since he was now on parole.
We hugged goodbye in the parking lot and he lingered for a moment, reaching out to take my hand for the first time since I had known him. He grasped my fingers tightly and I wish I could have died right then. My heart wanted to stop in that moment because the brief glimpse of affection, unwarranted, and entirely unwanted, was too much to bear.
I reacted by grasping his hand tightly for a moment and letting go. He hugged me, kissed me gently and we got into our respective cars. I cried on the drive home.
I started to ignore him. He would email me, I wouldn’t respond. He called a couple times. I didn’t say much. From August until October he wanted to meet up a few times but I made excuses, then he made excuses. For a while there was no conversation at all—an entire month without a word! It felt good.
Back in March, the day after that first time seeing him this year, I vowed to workout and eat better. I lost weight, I felt really good. From June through August money was tight so I didn’t buy groceries and working out seemed so pointless. I gained back a couple pounds but nothing too bad. Something in mid September clicked and I realized I couldn’t give up the head start that I had. I fit in sizes I haven’t been able to in ten years but look even better now than I did then. I would be a liar if I said that losing weight didn’t have everything to do with wanting to impress the vampire when I go to see him.
And so in October he wanted me to come see him. I tried to meet up with him the morning I dropped Bethany at the airport but he wasn’t at work and I had no way to get in touch with him.
He tried to reschedule and I said no, maybe in a few weeks, maybe more…but until then I didn’t want to see him, there was no reason to. It would cost me time and money I didn’t want to spend on him. But playing take away always has the desired effect—drawing the person in, making them crave what they can’t have and don’t even really want. It’s just the thrill of the hunt.
One thing led to another and he was telling me to come see him on Thursday or Friday. I didn’t want to—better was that I didn’t need to see him. On Wednesday he was getting impatient with my indifference. I would tease about coming to see him but never commit to it. He was getting fed up. Thursday he tried to convince me to see him. I said well, maybe…
He told me to just forget about it. I gladly said okay and left it at that. The response was I was being difficult and he had better things to do, business to take care of, and a training meeting to attend. I didn’t say a word. An hour later he told me the training was over. Silence. Less than an hour after that he threw it out there—“I leave in one hour. I have to go drop something off. I have to be home at 7.”
I caved and asked what time he thought we could meet up. He said the time and told me I had to let him know right away.
I took a shower, got dressed, and called him. It was with less than an hour before he would get off work and I live an hour away. I locked up the house, leaving the living room light on and the one above the sink as I always do, set the alarm and drove out to see him. Of course I forgot to bring his book, which was my reasoning for going to see him that night because otherwise there was no point that benefited me.
He showed up at the meeting point and parked at the curb, getting out to open my door for me. We drove to a Starbucks where I got the caramel frappuccino I was craving and he did whatever it was he had to do in that neighborhood. (Although technically it was illegal, it didn’t involve drugs so there was that small consolation.)
We talked for a bit. Conversation was light. I sipped my drink and he toyed with the CD player. It was comical to watch him grab the stack of CDs from the center console. Who on earth carries CDs around with them anymore? I teased him about it and he said he liked having the liner notes and album art. I informed him that that’s included with digital downloads from iTunes these days. We were listening to AFi and one track was a quote from a movie.
“For the past fifteen minutes, you’ve been droning on about names. Toby. Toby? Toby? Toby Wong. Toby Wong? Toby Wong. Toby Chung? Fucking Charlie Chan. I got Madonna’s big dick coming out of my left ear, and Toby the Jap… I don’t know what - comin’ out of my right.”
The vampire is giggling and laughing. He thinks the quote is hilarious.
“That’s Harvey Keitel…you can tell by the voice…but what movie is that from? I can’t remember…”
“I’ll find out.” So I pulled out my phone, typed in “Harvey Keitel Toby Wong” and within a minute of him asking I could tell him the name of the movie. “Reservoir Dogs.”
He glanced at me as he was driving and asked, “How did you find that out so fast?”
“I searched for it on my phone.” I waved it around.
“But what did you search for?”
I told him and he just smiled.
He can tell you the life history of band members and the different incarnations bands have had over the years, discussing their different musical style. He is obsessed with music—he remembers lyrics with astonishing accuracy. It was one thing he is extremely passionate about. I don’t like all of the same music, but that doesn’t matter. He put in a Type O Negative CD and the growling voice of Pete Steele filled the car.
We parked in a lot adjacent to where my wagon was and sat in the dark. I jokingly said he should take me to dinner.
“There’s no time!” he exclaimed.
I laughed at him and said, “I meant to your girlfriend’s house!”
He glared at me and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. She’d know right away I was fuckin’ lying.”
“You could say I’m an old family friend!”
It was more to tease him than anything. I would never expect him to do that nor would I go along with it. That’s how the words “awkward” and “shame” become defined.
He dropped me off at my car and as I got out he thanked me for coming to see him. I said sure no problem ha ha. I was going to shut the door when he said, “You’re looking really good!”
A very nice, simple statement but devastating to me.
What had been a relaxing and fun evening shared with my favorite person (for all the wrong reasons) turned into a nightmare.
It wasn’t that I thought he was lying. It wasn’t that I thought he was trying to butter me up. It was that he said this without preempt, with no reason to do so except to tell me that he thought I looked good—attractive.
And that was the final nail in the coffin.
Of course I wanted him to think that. I want him to think I’m attractive. I wanted him to notice that I’ve lost weight, I’m in better shape—which is all for his benefit anyway!—but never in a million years did I expect acknowledgment of the fact. I didn’t fantasize about him noticing and remarking on the changes. That would have been pointless and setting myself up for disappointment.
But having him say that? Out of nowhere? I wanted to die.
You weren’t supposed to notice! I was supposed to wallow in the misery of you never realizing that I changed at all! You should use me, abuse me and throw me away!
As Adam put it quite neatly, “Your parents lost the manual you were born with and he found it.”
Yes. Something like that. The vampire has me for as long as he exists…
My only regret is that he doesn’t want me around except for a tryst every few months.
We are both Geminis. He feels like my other half in many ways. I used to know him so well. Now I don’t know what the hell was a lie or what was the truth. I can’t seem to care enough to tell him to fuck off and leave me alone—because I don’t want that. I never will.
And so I thanked him for saying that, and I asked if I was even going to get a hug goodbye. Even that was marred by the perfection of getting what I dream of but never expect. When I ask for a hug, I want a quick friendly embrace. I don’t want him to come to me and wrap his arms around me, holding me tightly against his chest for what seems like eternity.
Don’t give me what I want. Don’t give me what I need. I want bare bones politeness. I need the distance of indifference. I can’t stand the brief glances of what I wish could be between us.
We broke apart and he went back to his car. I told him point blank that I never intended on seeing him. I even swore I wasn’t going to. He scoffed and said, “You can’t stay away. Don’t even try. If you say you’re going to stay away, you never will. I stayed sober for a long time by telling myself I would get high tomorrow but I always put it off.”
Was he offering me a way out? I know that’s how it often works—but isn’t that only setting myself up for seeing him more if I seek it out hoping that it doesn’t go through? Once committed to the idea of seeing him, hell, high water nor a really, really bad snowstorm and the brakes needing to be replaced on my car can keep me away.
I’ll grow up one of these days. I’ll finally accept that the vampire is a myth.
At least, that’s what I promise myself for my own sake.
