i am sitting here utterly bemused and more than a little frustrated.
in an attempt to move through my annoyance with the dating scene and come to grips with the flood of interest i’m feeling in the idea of ‘him’ without any manifestation of ‘him’ that has not immediately been imploded or otherwise blown out of the water, i decided tonight to go play Magic:The Gathering with Alicia and Conor (my roomie’s niece and her husband).
i drove in to the shop and only realized once there that it is the one Martin had pointed out to me during one of our dates. Martin being the fellow I really liked (still do) and who turned out to be obsessed with being sexual and more than happy to call me irrational for wanting to take my time and wanting some form of commitment from him before handing over the entirety of myself.
sigh. yes, i still think about him. i still wish he’d been different. the things i liked about him were very, very strong resonance here and i’m still melancholy for it. you know how i am. =/
so. anyway. the card/comic shop.
i get there, register, get my boosters and proceed upstairs.
there, at the first table, is a man who… well… i just can’t really describe the effect. i’ll try, but it’s likely just going to sound stupidly corny.
first, allow me to say that i definitely have ‘a type’. there is a certain coloration and countenance in a man that will turn my knees to jelly, make me giddy just in its appearance, and insure that i go on ‘red alert’ every, single, damned time.
for the record — deep blue eyes with black hair, a ready smile, a calm face, and a physical presence that radiates sincerity, confidence, and good humor (all of which imply intellect, even if not intellectual).
so. yes. there he sat. laughing with someone. i felt my heart kick my ribs. i’m sure there will be a bruise. i mean, it was just… THAT instant.
attraction. without reservation. utterly. had he walked over to me and asked me anything, and i do mean anything at all, i would no more have been able to say ‘no’ than to stop breathing.
i spent the rest of the night in torment. my entire mind was focused on where he was in the room. i could pick his voice out and did. often. i was torn between trying to catch his eye and being afraid to do so because i don’t do subtle very well. =/
he was the genial gentleman. talked with everyone. mingled well. laughed a lot. made others do so, too. i hovered near, but not quite in range. i felt like a schoolgirl stalking a crush. (wry grin) i actually ached for him. it’s stupid. silly. but i couldn’t help it and i didn’t want to help it.
the introduction round came and i learned his name was Ken. i spent the rest of the night looping it in my head. even as i played cards. he sat by me most of the evening, playing various opponents as i and the others did. i could feel his warmth in the space between our chairs. i felt like i was leaning into it, but i couldn’t have been, as much as i checked my posture. hah.
complete and relentless infatuation. even now. it’s been almost two hours since i left and i can’t stop thinking about him. he got a text message as he ended his last game and looked across to his opponent and quipped that ‘his woman’ wanted him to bring coffee when he returned. he turned to his buddy and asked him to remember that “Kimmy” wanted coffee.
it was like being poleaxed. i swear, i thought i was going to cry. he has someone. and her name is “Kimmy”. i envisioned some young, svelte, toned thing and could feel my inner cat rise up to run the litany of barbie curses. i felt bitter and angry and frustrated. i also felt a little despairing.
he has “Om Mani Padme Hum” tattooed in sanskrit on his left wrist. i asked him what it was and he said, “It’s ‘Om Mani Padme Hum’, a Buddhist mantra.” I smiled and said, “I know. I was wondering if you did.” he nodded and returned to his game and i immediately felt as if i sounded “superior” or “sarcastic” and suddenly felt like it was just so utterly pointless to try and talk to him.
the games ended. the winners were announced and he cut up with me about how we were the last two in the ranking. i managed to bite back the worst Freudian slip of my life and spent the next few minutes congratulating myself for NOT saying, “Well, if we’re both there, you can be on top, I don’t mind.” Oy.
did i mention i was completely, stupidly smitten?
so much so that when he offered his phone number to the girl he’d played last to join ‘the crew’ at the local pub for weekly play i both wanted to slap her hair off and cry for not receiving an offer myself. he and his buddy went downstairs to hang out front (end of evening ritual, i think) and i itched for thinking of how i might have given him my number or gotten his.
then i thought of “Kimmy” again and wondered why i was trying to pretend this was more than my own stupid wishful, wistful thinking. he has someone. he brings her coffee. and she has no problem with him hanging out with other women whatever… as evidenced by his easy manner. obviously whatever they have going is strong.
i was so envious of that unknown woman with the barbie name that i couldn’t breathe. i felt the sense of ache so strong that i thought i was going to bawl like a baby. so i quickly said my goodbyes to alicia and conor and got the hell out of there.
as i was walking to my car, a voice hollered from behind me, ‘good night, bonnie! night to meet you!’ and i just about fell onto my face. i turned around, beet red, and stammered, ‘nice to meet you too, ken.’ and all but ducked around the corner of my car to get into it.
he remembered my name. he made a point of saying goodnight to me. it felt … good. so i reminded myself he was the kind of guy who would say goodnight to everyone. it didn’t mean anything. just that he was being polite.
i couldn’t wait to get away. it felt so much like stupidity to me that i was humiliated. i was so glad i’d managed to keep it to myself. that it wasn’t as obvious from the outside as it felt inside my head. visions of it being obvious and having him or his buddies snickering behind their hands at me fluttered around my head and i gunned the motor and leapt out of the parking lot, hell bent for leather to the highway.
i think i broke land records getting home. now, of course, here, i am crying. and pondering if i can go back there again, knowing he’s going to be there. pondering if i can work up the courage to find the way to give him my number or try to get his. pondering if i really care that “Kimmy” exists.
and, of course, pondering that very likely i’m the only one thinking about any of this.
this, this is the story of my life.
i sigh. i sigh and prepare the final period in the final sentence and try to ignore the flip-flopping of my heart. i tell myself that the very nice fellow i went out with yesterday is still very nice indeed. and he is. but he isn’t the sapphire-eyed man with the raven hair who, with one smile and a handshake reached into my ribcage and set a hook in my heart.
it’s just infatuation. it’s just infatuation. but i feel as if the man who doesn’t exist has unexpectedly walked in the room. he is the mirror of my dreams, or so the back of my head tells me.
my intellect still hasn’t quite recovered from the ambush of my emotions and physiology.
i’m sure when i wake up tomorrow, sanity will have returned and i’ll have a hundred reasons why none of this matters and i should just sweep it carefully under the mental rug and pointedly pretend it doesn’t exist.
i wish i didn’t have to.
i don’t want to.
i wish… well… lots of things, i suppose.