Sunday, August 18th, 2013 (Part 1)

Despite how late I got home last night and how drunk I was, I woke up this morning at 8AM. That’s fucking early for a Sunday, and really early considering I couldn’t hear a single one of my thoughts my hangover was so splitting.

Even though I was up, I decided to lie still in my bed in the dark and think. It’s kind of like meditation time for me. I replayed last night in my head. Let me tell you how my first night out as a single man went.

After spending the day with Meredith, I headed over to Scott and Amber’s apartment. Jeremy, my super tall and thin friend from college, joined us to pre-game. (You know Jeremy. You both work in advertising. You like him even though your friends don’t seem to.) Then Scott, Jeremy and I had plans to go out. They’re my go-to gays now. Now that I don’t have you.

Amber was there, too. She had her best girlfriend, Jenn, over and they had plans to go Latin dancing that night. So we all decided to pre-game together. Scott pulled out a deck of cards and we played a few games while we drank and talked – mostly about you. I hadn’t told Jeremy anything yet, so I filled him in.

I had had a realization in the middle of the night before, when I’d been home in my bed, trying and failing to get to sleep. My head buzzed with thoughts of you. And eventually it hit on something you had drunkenly said to me early on in our relationship. It must have been two or three months in. We had been out drinking that night and stumbled back to your place. We were lying in your bed, naked even though we hadn’t had sex. (You always liked to sleep naked. Me not so much. But I got used to it with you and grew to love it.)

So we were lying together, cuddling as we began to fall asleep, and you whispered something to me, stumbling over your words a bit. You said “Don’t be the guy who disappears.” And then you repeated yourself, driving your point home.

I don’t even know if you remember saying it, you were so tired and drunk. But I remember it. And last night, sitting in my bed alone, thinking about you, thinking about how you’d blindsided me with this break-up, your words from over a year ago floated back to me and I realized that you’d done exactly that. You’d disappeared. You broke up with me suddenly, without a single warning, and vanished.

(Poof. Like Houdini or something. If you’d done it with more flare maybe David Blaine.)

And the worst part was that you left me alone.

Jeremy commiserated with me. He’s had his share of nasty break-ups. His come in the fighting variety, though. So I don’t mind that we ended things quietly.

I had never hung out with Jenn. I’d met her once or twice at Amber’s birthday parties, but we’d never really spoken. She’s wonderful, though. Pretty and down-to-earth. Funny. She has one dimple, this cute little indentation in her cheek that comes out when she smiles. (It’s infectious, her smile. Especially with that dimple.)

Jeremy also has one dimple. I had never noticed it before. According to Jenn’s grandmother, dimples come in pairs. When there’s only one, their partner is somewhere out there, waiting to be reunited. Soul mates.

Were we soul mates? I guess not since you broke up with me. But then, just because you’re soul mates doesn’t mean you don’t make mistakes, right? Soul mates can be together and not realize it. Did you make a mistake in breaking up with me? Am I making a mistake in not fighting for you?

Do you even believe in soul mates? I don’t think I do. But then belief alone doesn’t make a thing true or false. God. Aliens. Global warming. People believe and don’t believe in all those things. They can’t all be right.

Do I believe that we’re over for good? No. I don’t. But that doesn’t make it true.

It doesn’t make it false either.

Maybe I should add soul mates to the list of unknowns. When it comes down to the end, will I be on the right side or the wrong side?

It doesn’t really matter. You broke up with me. We weren’t soul mates, at least not in your mind. And since I don’t believe in them, I guess that’s that.

(But if they do exist, you’d be the closest I’ve come.)


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