One of the things Six and a Half remembered, well... had actually noted in his address book... was that I was still hung up on someone who had gut wrenched my heart to bits.
He remembered well - it's a story I like to call the ballad of Three Strikes. Not that there's a song, but it seems like there should be. A country song, that's wistful and such. And this is a long one... Sorry.
In 1999, not long after I moved out here, my friend from college got married a short plane flight away. She told me "I'm sitting you by this guy at the reception because you two are the only single people at the wedding. I'm not fixing you up. He's not your type."
And she was right, he was not my type. He had three strikes against him (hence the name):
1) Not Jewish
2) Geographically undesireable
3) Divorced with a kid (and at 27 years old, that was still a disqualifier)
Needless to say, we immediately hit it off. We were swapping flirtatious, biting barbs within moments. He taunted my football team, I taunted his... everything... After he left, the waitress came back with a slip of paper that had my favorite football player's name on it and a phone number.
From that wedding, Three Strikes and I sparked a little affair. I'd fly South, he'd fly North... we talked occasionally in between. We went to amusement parks and dinners, we played and got to know each other. We fooled around, but never crossed two lines: we never had sex, and we never attempted to have a committed relationship. He was spending so much time being a father to his son who lived a long drive away, and trying to make partner at his firm... I had just arrived in my new town and didn't want to lock myself into a long distance relationship.
Then he made partner, and needed a date to the annual partner retreat at a luxury resort. He invited me to be his companion. Over the course of the weekend, something changed -- from flirtatious to intimate. As if being surrounded by all these married partners, and having me on his arm sparked something in both our brains clicked that maybe... maybe... After that trip, he became slightly more... something... So I asked him about it. I was too young to express that maybe my feelings had changed, so I put it on him - had his feelings changed? did he want more?
He responded with denial. Then sent me an email that he'd found the perfect Liz Phair song for me: "Fuck and Run." And I cut off communication. I was beyond hurt.
And so from 2000 until 2003, Three Strikes was out of my life. I moved to a new city in late 2001 and by 2003 was struggling with my job, lonely, and as heavy as I'd ever been.
So I get an email on a random Monday night from Three Strikes. "I'm in Key West on vacation. How are you?"
I reply, "I need a hug. Why didn't you invite me?"
His reply, "Meet me in South Beach for dinner Wednesday night."
I reply, "If you are serious, call me."
And he called. And he was serious. He booked my return flight - if I would buy the ticket down there. A meet-me-halfway gesture.
I left for the office Wednesday morning with a bag packed and an undecided mind. Then my job pissed me off, and I hopped in my car and booked the flight en route. Then I called Three Strikes to tell him of my arrival time.
Those 36 hours constituted one of the most romantic, genuinely intimate, soul-baring amazing dates I've ever had. By the time we were halfway to the hotel from the airport, he confessed that I had been right three years before (lots of things in threes in this story!). We covered that ground, forgave each other, and just got lost in each other for the time we had. At this point, Three Strikes had moved to a new town in hopes of following his ex-wife and son, taking a job at a new law firm, only to be duped by his ex-wife who had moved across the country. He was earning a lot of air miles, and frequently connecting through my new town - and hating the new firm. Note another three - three cities.
So, we tried again... he would stay over a night en route to see his son, and "let me" fly to his new town to see him sometimes. He never let me stay at his apartment, I never understood why. I stayed with other friends in his new city (which is a city I happen to love, and had considered moving to independent of him), or visited one of my favorite cousins who lived not far away.
Needless to say, I realized I was always in third place in his life (not a good three). After his son, after his job, then there was me. I didn't want to start something in third place. The end of it for me was when I came to visit, and he refused to let me stay with him (again) - so I took myself to a romantic getaway for 4 nights just outside the city. I begged him to join me for even one night, and he didn't.
So that (slowly) ended that attempt of having a relationship with Three Strikes. And about then I met Grumpy Pants, we moved back to my favorite coast together, and had moved on. Three Strikes would occasionally get in touch, but I rarely saw him.
And all was fine and good.
Then after three blissful and challenging years, Grumpy Pants and I ended things. And I saw Three Strikes again - who had moved again, flipped coasts, closer to his son and on the oppose coast as me. He was in town with his son visiting relatives who live not far from me. We had dinner. It must have been the summer of 2007. This wasn't about dating... it was about... well, who knows. Maybe he wanted to start something up, but he would certainly never say it. In some ways it was so easy to be with him, to occupy space next to each other on the couch in that intimate way that couples who truly love each other can. But we said little, mostly meaningless things, and I kept him at an emotional distance. I couldn't let my heart go there. It was not long after ending things with Grumpy Pants, and I was fragile, protective of my heart.
In January of 2008 I got a CD in the mail. The list of songs went from Queen's Fat Bottom Girls and Ludicrous' Shake Your Money Maker to James Taylor's Close Your Eyes and Alexi Murdoch's Orange Sky. Despite the funny stuff, most of the songs were love songs, serenades to me... so I called Three Strikes.
"So does this mean something? What do you want to say?"
"What do you want it to say?"
And that was pretty much that. Well, except that what I thought was a few months later, I was in the town where he lived when we first met at a conference. I was met with a rush of warmth and loving feelings - maybe it wasn't over? Maybe... so I sent him a text message. He was en route to a business trip to the British Virgin Islands. I thought maybe I would tag along... he said he would call.
While I waited, I replied back with a CD of my own. You see, Three Strikes accused me of never opening up to him, of never letting him in. So I decided I was going to put it out there once and for all. In song and in written word, I told him he was probably the great love affair of my life... that I hoped he had moved on and found himself someone wonderful, but for once I wanted to put myself out there for him. Completely vulnerable. Come what may.
On Friday I mailed the CD to him, before I lost my nerve. On Sunday he called. It had a been over a year since he sent me that CD. He was now engaged. I felt genuinely excited for him, if not confused. I asked about her... the engagement...
"What's she like?"
"Kind."
(Because I was never that... so he had told me, many times over the years... )
And immediately the spell was broken, and I realized that he was the one who would never open up, that he was the one who never let me in - he was projecting some version of the relationship that allowed him to be the good guy, and me to be the one who broke his heart with my callous, distant ways; that he would do anything for love, I refused to take the risk. Except I know that isn't truth.
In that call, he told me he'd imagined how he would propose to me, that he would always love me. And I wasn't flattered. I felt sorry for his fiance.
Three times we tried, three times we failed. Maybe I sealed it, naming him "Three Strikes" from the day we met. This is a story I need to tell and let go if I'm really going to move on. So here is my gift to myself - letting go.
And just when I'd forgotten about that CD I sent, it came back unopened in the mail 3 months later, marked "no such address." Every once in a while, the universe kind of looks out for you, right?
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