Foolish Thoughts

We’ve been friends a little over a year.  Not great friends, not good friends, not even talk on the phone friends, but friends just the same.  Sometimes we hangout with the same people, we do the same things.  We’ve talked, we’ve laughed, we’ve shared drinks, and now we’ve shared a touch, a moment.

It was a small intimate gathering, only eight of us.  We spent the majority of the night talking, laughing, telling stories, and pointing out those we don’t much care for, along with those that we do.  (Trust me; we are not as shallow as you might think).  As the night progressed we divided and made our way to separate parts of the house.  Some were on the deck, one opted for bed, and a few took up camp on the couch.    I, being tired, decided to partake in the couch conversation.  It was your everyday, late night, drunken male discussion, plus me.  And it also being three in the morning, I zoned out and lost complete interest.  Until, I felt the touch of his hand. 

I was alone on the love seat.  My back was up against the far armrest so I could look at all three gentlemen at the same time.  I wanted to make sure I was able to make eye contact when talking to each individual.  I was sitting on my left leg, while my right was pulled close against my chest.  I had my right arm flung and hanging over the back of the couch.  No one but he, was insight of my hand.  He was seated on a bar stool and was positioned in close proximity of the loveseat I was occupying.  We were all chit-chatting, enjoying the conversation.  Up to this point there had been no eye glancing, no flirting, no sexual innuendos, not a touch, not a graze, nothing.  So, when our hands slightly touched, I thought nothing of it.  I thought it was an accidental tap.  Those things happen.  They happen all the time.  But then it happened again, and again.  Then, with a slight move of the wrist, our hands were locked together.  Not once, during this whole encounter did we make eye contact.  I was in shock that it was even happening.  I was also enjoying every minute of it.  It was exciting.  It was our own little inside conversation, a secret that only the two of us shared.  It was fun and I wasn’t expecting it.  It was nothing more than a touch, an acknowledgment, but it was nice.  I didn’t want it to end.  But when it did, it wasn’t awkward.   We hugged, smiled, and said good night.   

In a year and a half, my mind never went there.  I never saw him as a possibility, only a nice guy who I sometimes hung out with, until now.  Now, I’m intrigued, I’m curious.  I want to know more.  I’m not sure if it’s the new attraction I have for him, or if it’s shear curiosity.  I want to get to know him.  And if there happens to be another accidental touch or maybe something more, then so be it.  It’s a chance I’m more than happy to take.

Where do I stand, when it comes to you?  Where do I fall into your life?  Is there room for me there?  What have we been doing?  What have we done?  What will we do?  Will we have regrets?  Is what we’re doing wrong?  Do you think about me when we’re apart?  Do you worry we moved too fast or not fast enough?  Do you want more?  Do you want less?  What do you want me to do?  Are we wasting our time, just having fun?  Is there something more there?  Why does your body fit perfectly with mine?  Why are your eyes all I see?  Have we compromised our future because of our unwillingness to wait?  Why can we talk for hours about nothing?  Why does every conversation turn dirty?  Do you miss my smile?  Do you think I love you?  Do you love me?  Why do I feel safe in your arms?  Why are you not always there?  Why do I care so much?  What is it about you that makes my heart race?  Why do you taste so sweet in my mouth?  Why is your touch so soft?  How do you know just what I want?  How do you know just when to take me?  What changed your mind?  What lead you there?  Do we care what everyone thinks?  Do you think about that night?  Will this last?  Why are you leaving?  Will we ever have to say goodbye?  Should I believe you?  Have you made up your mind?  How do I always know when you’ve walk into the room?  Why do we play these games?  How do I tell you, how good it feels to be with you?  How do I show you?  How do I know?  Why do I hang on, when I should let go?  Why do you still call?  Why do I still answer?  What have we done wrong?  Do you have all the answers?  Do you have time for me?  Do you ever get tired of running?  Why are we still here?  Are we just pretending?  Will you ever let me fall for you?  Will you ever fall for me?  Where do we go from here?  Why don’t we kiss the way we used to?  Why didn’t you follow me home tonight?  Have you ever lied to me?  Am I just another lover?  Would you follow me if I went away?  Do you know you make me smile?  Can you see into my eyes?  Are you afraid?  Are you lonely when I’m not with you?  Do you ache for me?  How much longer can we wait?  What if I need you tonight?

You called, I didn’t answer.  I wasn’t ready for conversation.  So I let the phone ring.
Then I passed you on the street.  You didn’t see me, or maybe you chose to look away.
It was an accidental crossing with a familar stranger and I foolishly fell right back in love.

“Is that a statement or a question?”

“A statement.  Jeff just left with lucky hoe number two, leaving me stranded with no car and no place to sleep.”

“Of course, you know you are always welcome.  But you know how I like to sleep, in the middle.  Can you handle that?”

“It’s never bothered me before.”

“Good.  Another shot?”

“Another shot.”

This conversation, with a very close, dear friend took place around 2:00 AM in a bar downtown.  Actually, it was bar number two.  Now, I know the three of us, Friend 1, Friend 2, and I walked from bar one to bar two.  Where at bar two, Friend 2 (Jeff), leaves with a young, attractive, yet easy girl.  Who, Friend 1 and I all night long refer to as, “Hoe number two.”  However, I don’t remember our exact transportation back to bar one, where my car was parked.  We were a good six blocks from bar one.  I just remember being back there, taking more shots of tequila.  I don’t remember what time we left, how much we had to drink, or who drove home.  The last coherent conversation I remember is the one stated above.  I remember friend 1 and I flirting like teenagers all night, like we always do.  Taking shot after shot of tequila, trying to prove to each other who could, hands down drink more (I believe I won, I’m almost positive).  Then, somehow, someway, just like in the movies we were suddenly at my front door with me struggling with my keys.  How we got home is still a mystery to me.  A miracle, I tell you.  The Gods must have been in our favor because not only did we both get home safe, but so did my car.

After focusing and giving myself a little pep talk, I manage to open the door.  Once inside I kick my shoes off, throw my keys in the mail basket, and I lead our drunken butts upstairs.  At this point we are both stumbling over our feet and our words.  He goes straight to the bathroom; I make a b-line for my room.  I don’t bother to turn on the light.  I take off my jacket, my shirt, my jeans, toss them in the floor and I throw on a t-shirt.  I take my hair down and I literally fall into bed.  I lay there for what seems like hours, begging the room to stop spinning.  Bargaining with myself, “I promise never to drink again, just please, PLEASE don’t get sick.”  I’m almost asleep when I hear and feel him slide into bed.  I say good night and roll over.

(Now, I feel I need to remind you that we are friends, good friends.  This is not our first time sharing a bed.  No, this is just one of many.  We know the routine: climb in, say good night and roll over.  That’s us.  That’s our friendship.  Yes, we flirt like mad, but that’s it, just flirting and teasing.)

Now, the room has stopped spinning and my body is finally starting to relax and I calm down.  When out of no where he rolls over, pushes up next to me, and slides his hand on to my hip.  I can feel his warm breath against my neck.  In my head I think, “Ok, he’s a snuggler.  I’m not.  But if he wants to cuddle, ok but I’m going to be comfortable.”  So, I back up into him and reposition myself; close, but comfortable.  Finally, we are both situated and I start to fall back asleep.  Then, I feel his strong, soft hand start to head south.  He slowly slides his hand over my hip.  Then, with out any invitation or warning, his hand glides straight over my hip, across my stomach and down my panties.  WHAT?  The only thing my drunken mind can register is, “Wait, what is going on here?  This feels wrong, but REALLY GOOD.  I’m confused.”  I was half in shock, half excited, and half drunk.  I know, I know, I have one-half too many, but that’s how I felt.  Of course, “REALLY GOOD” won out, 10 to 1.  In my self-pleasing mind, pleasure always triumphs.  It had been a long time and it felt good, so I jumped at the opportunity, or rather it jumped at me. 

I slowly reach down, wrap my hand around his and guide him inside me.  I slowly turn and face him and our eyes meet.  There is so much intensity in his eyes, that I hold our gaze, just starring at him.  He whispers, “Are you sure you want to do this?”  I shake my head, and then ask, “Are YOU sure you want to do this?”  Then with that beautiful big smile, he shakes his head, yes.

We made a life together.  It wasn’t perfect but it was ours.  We talked about life and money.  We talked about marriage and babies.  We talked about commitment and the years to come.  But that was the beginning and in the beginning we talked.

You were sweet and spontaneous, always doing little things.  In the mornings after your shower you would write me notes on the bathroom mirror, telling me to have a great day.   You would call me several times during the day, just to say hello.  You always rubbed my back before bed no matter how tired you were. Do you remember making love, then singing me to sleep?  You always knew how to walk me into a room, keeping one hand on the small of my back.  If we were separated at a party, you always found my eyes.  You always made me feel like I was the only woman in the room.  Do you remember the night at Claire’s, sneaking off to the upstairs bathroom, and when we came back down everyone was starring at us?  Apparently we were loud.   We went home and had sex.  The next day we sent Claire a card, apologizing for breaking the towel rack.  Do you remember our walks in the park and you holding my hand?  Do you remember all of the good we had?

Though, we had our problems. We fought about my frivolous spending and my bad habit of leaving clothes and wet towels on the floor.  You couldn’t understand why I needed so many books and journals, and why I left them strung all over the house.  You got tired of yelling, so you hired someone to come clean up after me every week. I hated the way you folded laundry and the fact that your mother called three times a day.  I hated sleeping alone when you were away. I remember fighting about the scratch on your car.  I lied, convincing you that I had no idea how it got there.  Then later, feeling guilty, I confessed and told you that I had accidentally bumped into it with a cart at the store.  You were mad for about an hour, but you caved when I sat in your lap and I apologized with kisses.  But eventually all this ended.

You became distant, started working late.  You always had some place to be.  Private phone calls and conversations pulled you away at dinner and then randomly throughout the day.  We stopped touching and started fighting.  You hated when I questioned where you’d been.  You reassured me that you loved me and that my assumptions were wrong, and I naively I believed you.  But then I saw you one evening.  You were with her.  And finally, everything made sense.  Late nights at the office, phone calls in the night, and many nights of not coming home.  You were with her.

I was hurt and I was angry, though not sure of what or how to feel.  I was shocked, but somewhere in my heart I knew.  I wanted to know why and every detail.  I wanted to know for how long.  I wanted to know if she was better.  I wanted to know if she knew I existed or if I was a joke the two of you shared.  I wanted to know if you whispered to her gently.  I wanted to know if you sang her to sleep.  I wanted to know if you held her after sex.  I wanted to know where and when and how many times.  I wanted to know when you kissed my lips, if you tasted her.  I wanted to know when you held my hand, if it was her that you felt.  I wanted to know when you looked in my eyes, was it her that you longed to see. I wanted to know everything.  But then I didn’t want to know anything.  I just wanted it all to go away.  I wanted you to come home and hold me.  I wanted to forgive you, but I couldn’t.

You told me that you were sorry, and that you never meant to hurt me.  You said it wasn’t something that you planned.  You said that you loved me, but that you loved her too.  I told you I didn’t want your apologies that you needed to pack your things.  I didn’t want to look at you; I didn’t want to see your face.  I told you if you loved her, then you should be with her.  Though, it was only because I didn’t know what else to say.  I cried until it hurt to breathe.  Then everything went numb.