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HE came back. You know who I'm talking about: him. He is my muse, my sometimes-nemesis. HE is my Mr. Big. He comes in and out of my life sporadically, as if he had the right to do so, and he always leaves emotional residue, with a certain warm and earthy man smell behind. It's infuriating, but it's hard to resist. For every moment of rejection, there is the scent of his skin and his cologne and just that "Him" smell that makes it so hard to turn him away. Then he picks up and leaves again, and I'm left with my blood boiling. He maintains that he is an "independent." He's been married; it failed. He doesn't want that again. So he sails along through life, doing his own thing golfing, billiards, work, boy stuff until he gets a little lonely and he shows back up. I dealt with it for a long time because, initially, he was perfect. He said all the right things, and did everything I never expected him to do, and melded right in with my children and I. Then he was gone. No explanation, no excuse, not even a phone call. And asking for a reason is like pulling teeth! There's NO WAY he's going to get into something that deep. So he went.
But then he came back. Again. And again. And each time he said the right things and did everything I never expected him to do. But each time, he'd leave when he was ready to leave, and I was left spinning.
Now, I've discussed this with my female relatives, who shake their heads and say, "It's just so baffling," and my close girl friends, who say, "What the hell are you doing?! Let this guy go!" And still.when the phone rings, and I see his number, I pick it up. There's an attachment that I still can't shake. It's been a year, and I still can't shake him.
Let me clarify. This is not a "booty call." I wish it were that easy. Sometimes he just wants to talk. Sometimes he just wants to sit together and watch a movie. Many, many times that's where it ends. The point is, when it ends, I never know if it's going to begin again. He has me hanging on a string, swinging precariously back and forth, like a pendulum. And always expecting that when he does ring, I'll pick up. He knows I love him. I fell for him a long time ago, when things were good, and now he knows, and he keeps me where he wants me without ever reciprocating. Other than the kind words and the tone of his voice, he never reciprocates. I tell myself at the moment that that's enough, and I'm willing to wait for him to decide. But then the reality of it sinks in. Don't ask him for a decision, or a commitment, or even a promise that you'll hear from him tomorrow. No. He's not that kind of man.
And in the meantime, I've become angry enough to meet other men. And date other men. Kiss other men. Yet, strangely, when this news has reached HIM, he doesn't like it, and he comes back in with fervor. He brings all of his charm and wit and beguiling beauty with him, and he snares me again. I always believe him, and I always end up empty again.
So he came back. Again. And I'm tired of it. He has my heart, but my exhaustion is overwhelming. So I didn't answer. Instead, he showed up on my doorstep, wondering if I was alright and if I got his phone message. His eyes were beautiful and sleepy and beseeching, and I could have easily folded up against him and been happy for a while. Instead, I stood on the step, wrapping my arms around myself to fend off the cold, and I told him yes, I got the message. Except that I meant it in a myriad of ways. I got the message. Now he was getting the message. I could see it on his face, converging like slow-moving syrup, covering the surface of his eyes and his expression. HE was getting the message. I was sure of it.
I was sure of it when I stepped away from him, and back inside, and closed the door softly. I left him standing on the porch, staring at the door, and he definitely got the message.
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Article added to SearchWarp.com on Wednesday, September 24, 2008 View other articles written by Doshia White(12)
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