The History Of The Month, Part Two!

As I sit down to write the next half of the "Saga Of August", I’m writing my blog entry for the first time in a completely new way.

As an early birthday present this year, my parents decided to get me perhaps the greatest and most useful present I’ve ever gotten. They bought me a brand new laptop. (And yes... Dude, I got a DELL!)

So I find myself, for the first time, sitting by the water, in a beautiful park along the westside highway, watching the people walk by, and the sun shine down on the water as I take a little toke and continue my story ...

When last we left our stupid homosexual (that’d be me) he was in the back of a stolen car, headed to Long Island.

The details of the trip were made clear to me as the journey progressed. Apparently the plan was to meet up with a man named "Shug" (Natch, what else would his name be?!) in Long Island, who was apparently supposed to take possession of the car we were delivering, and provide Major with goodies for us to return to the City with.

Not quite what I signed on for when I left the hotel and left Tara and "Shane" waiting for me. I was drunk, and I was rapidly becoming freaked out. So trying to hover quietly in the backseat of the SUV I started texting for help. I didn’t know what kind of help, or who was going to provide it, but I was convinced I’d either end up in jail or dead if I didn’t do something.

In the end, it was truly just luck that I didn’t end up either... I very well could have. The meeting with "Shug" didn’t pan out, and eventually I ended up being the voice of reason that persuaded the dynamic duo to head back to Manhattan, and drop me off safely at the hotel.It was 9:30 in the morning when I returned. "Shane" and Tara had fell asleep in the bed. I’d messaged Tara several times about my predicament, but ultimately there was nothing anyone could do to help me. I laid on the floor for a while, and watched the two of them sleeping peacefully. I knew they’d been worried sick. Shane deserved it, but it still made me ache a little. And Tara had done nothing but try to be a good friend to me.

They woke up, and Tara had to run off to work. "Shane" and I were left to talk ... he went on to tell me how worried sick he’d been ... he hugged me and kissed me ... and told me everything was going to be alright. I needed that after the night I had ...

I napped for a while and got ready for work. That night I came home again and waited. Waited for him. Waited to have a conversation. Waited to see if the relationship really was something we should be fighting for.

I waited till 9 the next morning when he came home. Thursday night he was only out till 4, but again I waited. And again I ignored him when he finally did come home. Friday I decided to be proactive about it. I told him before I went to work that I wanted us to talk when I got out. That I was going to wait for him, and expected him to be there.

He called me a little bit after midnight that night, with a ridiculously concocted story about having to go to Boston, to meet some famous producer’s wife. I’d been listening to these ridiculous stories all week as explanations for him being out all night. I’d seen him come home with a suitcase of clothes that fit him perfectly, with no real explanation about where they’d come from. I’d seen him growing apart and more distant. I knew there was someone else, but anytime we’d try to talk about it, I’d sense dishonesty and I’d just shut him down.

That Sunday I got home from work, and again he wasn’t there. I decided I was in the mood for the Duplex, so I left a note (in case he wandered home) telling him that I’d be there and to come join me.

As it turned out he did. I’d just struck up a nice conversation with a math teacher from Jersey, who was flirting with me and making me feel wanted again. It was nice. I hadn’t actually expected that "Shane" would show up... but he did. He did and we almost immediately started fighting. He’d claimed to have been so excited when he saw my note, inviting him to meet me at "our place" ... but I was not in a complacent mood. I wanted honesty from him if there was to be any great "Reconnection At The Duplex" ... I wanted honesty, but he again skirted the issue. Admitting that there was someone else, but denying that anything had ever happened with that person.

We fell asleep that night, arguing over honesty. In one breath, he’d tell me that he was being honest, and in the next he’d admit that perhaps there was something to what I was seeing. It was frustrating. I lied there next to him, holding him in my arms, wanting so much for the connection that I was clinging on to, to just be a little bit stronger.

The next day we were to stay at Tara and Michelle’s house, due to a temporary relocation of our room in the palace that we called home. He called me at midnight to let me know he’d be done with what he was doing around 2, and that he’d be over then. I finally fell asleep around 5 that morning ... having finally decided to disconnect once and for all.

He showed up at my work the next night, demanding I take some time to leave with him and go to collect his bags from our palace. He’d procured a plane ticket and was leaving for Italy that night. 3am. I made it clear I wouldn’t be able to do anything till I got out of work at 11... and he said he would return then.

Not surprisingly another phone call came around 12, after I’d already left work and decided he was now to be on my time schedule. He was "wrong" ... the flight was at 3pm the next day. He said he’d come by and get his bags the following morning.

I went out drinking that night and was probably still drunk when he knocked on my door to collect his bags at 11 the next morning.

"I’ll call you from Italy." he said.

I thought perhaps it just sounded like what he should say, so he did. I looked up and grunted and he closed the door behind him.

I still wear the ring he gave me, but not on the "wedding finger hand" anymore. I’m bad with separation. I’m bad with goodbyes. I’m bad with a lot of things I guess.

That day I spent mourning the loss of a relationship I thought had so much promise.

Today, almost a month later, right before sitting down to write this, I answered an "Unknown Number" on my cell phone, and it was "Shane." We talked for a while as I walked along the river and searched for a place to sit down and blog. He asked me if I hated him.

I said no. I don’t.

He asked me how I feel about him.

I said I didn’t know. I don’t.

I don’t feel like he’s "the one" anymore... That seems naive. I don’t feel that he’s an inherently bad person either. That seems simple.

I guess it’s just one of those things that happens in life. One of those stories you tell when sitting around with your friends talking about bad relationships. That’s what so many of them get reduced to in the filing cabinet of the brain. But I did have some really nice, really special times with "Shane" ... and I guess I’d like to try to remember those stories, just as much as the ones I’ve written here today.

That’s now.

But then... then, I was sad. Then I was feeling lonely, depressed, miserable ... And then something completely unusual happened. I looked at the schedule at work one day, and realized I had a Saturday and Sunday off. Back to back. An entire weekend.

I could get away. I could escape life for a few days...

Maine. I had friends back there who call and email often. Friends who missed me... and it would be great to go back and see them, and enjoy a fun carefree weekend in Maine.

So I decided on a Friday night at midnight that I was going to take a trip to Maine. I started leavng messages for my friends that night, and Saturday morning at 8am, I was on a bus...

Of course, I’ll write all about that, in The History Of The Month, Part Three!...