I had a friend today tell me he never wanted to have anything to do with me. Then a few hours later, I had someone apologize for how he treated me last summer.
I’m not going to go into the circumstances. Instead, I’ll tell you a story.
We weren’t even dating. I made the excuse that he was busy, starting up his own company. That’s why the phone calls and text messages came in no earlier than 9pm at night. Requests to hang out that very night. Our time together was never planned ahead of time. It was always spur of the moment.
I told myself I didn’t care. Maybe I didn’t. But most times I did. I just tried to push it out of my mind. I enjoyed his company. The Power of Now. That’s all that should matter. This very moment. That’s what I told myself. So when he called, all I cared about was being with him. Sharing his life with him. All that mattered was that very moment. The present moment. So I’d hop into his car and smile. I was happy that we were together.
He made me believe that I was special, someone he cared about. “Hi Babe. You look great. Where do you want to go?” That’s how it always started. Being whisked away to some bar in the middle of the night—even though a few minutes prior I was sitting on my couch in my pajamas reading a book. That’s how much I wanted to be with him.
One night we’d had too much to drink. Too much sake at a nearby sushi restaurant. We stumbled back to his place and passed out. I assured myself it was a quick nap. I woke up in a daze. My head was throbbing. “Baby, what time is it?”
“I dunno. 3-4am. Go back to sleep. It’s still dark.”
“Baby, please. Just look at your clock, will you? What time is it?”
He grumbled, searched for his travel clock and brought it close to him. “It’s 7:30.”
“FUCKING SHIT!” I jumped up immediately and threw myself off the bed. I had an 8am meeting with the CFO. I hadn’t expected to spend the night. I was supposed to return home at a reasonable hour. That hadn’t happened. I was in deep trouble.
I rubbed my eyes, hastily throwing my clothes on. Clip-clip-clip. I stormed down the stairs, sections at a time. As I grabbed the rest of my belongings (purse, scarf, keys), I knew the horror had just started because I couldn’t remember where I parked my car. I ran out of his apartment in a flurry. Starting a lap around his block, I prayed, “Oh please God, please. Please let my car be right around the corner. Please!”
I turned the second corner of his block and spotted my car on the other side of the street. “Oh thank you God!” I made the sign of the cross. “Thank you!”
I hopped into my car and flew down to the Financial District from the Mission. Fast, fast, fast. I didn’t care about my speed, the cops or anything else. All I cared about was making the meeting on time. I zoomed past yellow lights. While waiting in traffic, I smudged away at my eye makeup in the mirror. I looked like crap. I looked like a tramp.
“Pull yourself together, you bitch!” I screamed at myself. “Wakeup and think. Do you have any clothes in the trunk that you can use? You look like a fucking prostitute!”
There wasn’t anything I could use. Shit, I’d just taken all my castoff clothing to Salvation Army the weekend before! I continued to race downtown. When I finally made it to the Financial District, I parked as close to my building as possible—right next door—for a hefty fee of $27/day. Fuck it.
“Sorry!!!!” I screamed to the attendant as I parked in the handicapped spot. “This is an emergency. I’ll come back later to move my car.” He was too stunned to say anything.
I ran out and into my building, just in time. I walked into the meeting wearing a tight leopard print dress, red stiletto heels, and smudged eye makeup.
I’d made it in time.
Funny, that’s not the main story I wanted to tell. But it’s good enough for tonight. I’ll tell the real story later. I don’t want to hold grudges. I don’t want to be angry at anyone. It’s Easter. I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m sorry if I’ve ever hurt your feelings. And it’s ok if you’ve hurt me. It’s ok if you treated me badly.
Everything is ok.