I’d be lying if I said it was quiet. Cars and trucks are zooming by on Geary Boulevard. The scent of the Capri Blue candles wafts throughout my home. It’s warm. The lights are dim. It’s rather romantic. It’s peaceful, too. I love it. I’ve been alone for so long it’s hard to picture myself attached to someone. I like that he’s not here. I like that I’m alone. I wonder if I was meant to be alone.
I didn’t think he’d call every day. I couldn’t believe he wrote down his NetFlix user ID and password on his business card and handed it to me to keep in my wallet. “Whenever there’s a movie you want to see, just order it, baby.” And then a post on his Facebook wall from a friend, “Cannot wait to meet Catherine. She looks lovely.”
I’m used to guys not calling for weeks at a time. I’m used to being one of many. The emotional distance allowed me to have my own space which I will always treasure. I think sometimes that I can continue to be this way. Holed up in my apartment, typing away, reading on my couch, falling in love, falling out of love, having affairs, but surrounded by friends and family, and ultimately remaining alone.
I remember driving to a party with a friend, distressed about all the guys I was dating, but few potentials. She insisted, “You have to kiss a lot of toads to find your prince.”
“Glenda, I have kissed a lot of toads. Many, many, many toads.”
“Well then, you can be like Coco Chanel. She never married, she just had a lot of affairs.”
“Ok, I like that analogy.”