Late Fragment.

Toucha Toucha Toucha Touch Me.

Oh my word.  When my brother encouraged me to sign up for Facebook, I had no idea how fantabulous an idea it was.

Yesterday, I got a friend request from someone I haven't spoken to or heard from in over 20 years.  I knew him my freshman year, and he was part of a group I palled around with for a while.   As he put it to me today, "I remember us all being a little bit inseparable for a while there."  I kind of remember it that way too.  And then he wrote "I have photos of you at the Generic Bar from that Rocky Horror night..."

Oh.  My.  God.

And then today, he posted them on Facebook.  Those of you who know me in real life have probably already friended me, so you can go and see those photos now.

Later today, he sent me an IM.  "You know about John, right?"

I replied, "No, I don't.  And I can already tell I don't want to know."

John is dead.  Less than a year.  He got pneumonia which was complicated by staph and he went into a coma and died in two days.

Al fell off a 5th floor fire escape and did not die.  Hell, most of that group from back in the day, we did things that should have killed us, over and over again.   And then, twenty years later,  John, he gets sick and dies.  That seems really unfair.

I loved looking at those pictures, though.  We are so young, and so pretty and so sure of ourselves.  We are flush with potential.  We are fearless. 

Talking to that friend today, I was overcome with warmth and love for him.  He knew me when I was (with apologies to Martha Moody) a "young tomato".  And I knew him when he was just a boy.

So, when he said "It is so good to reconnect with you" and I said "Yeah, me too" I knew we both meant it.  And when he signed off with x's and o's, I felt like I'd been hugged long and hard by an old friend.  We've promised to get together the next time one of us is in the other's area code.  We'll raise a glass to John, and then we'll hug long and hard.

I'm Dealing with A Memory That Never Forgets.

Happy birthday, Joe.

I was thinking I should say that I wish it worked out differently, but that's not exactly right.  Because my only regret, in the end, is that I wound up hurting you.

Which, whether you believe it or not, is not what I meant to do.

Where You Going with That Gun in Your Hand?

Hi Joe.  I wondered when you'd start reading Late Fragment again.

The Weather Is Here. I Wish You Were Beautiful.

I sent a response last night.  I said:

I'm sure you and [your friend] will have a wonderful time. 

I hope you are well too.

It's all I can muster.  Truth be told, I don't really want to see him.  Not because I affirmatively have a reason to want to avoid him, but rather because I don't have any affirmatively good reason to want to see him.

I hope he is happy, yes.  And that old wounds have healed.  I wish him well.

But I don't want him in my life.  So I am not going to invite him in. 

And frankly, he didn't ask. 

If the Phone Doesn't Ring, It's Me.

This was in my email in-box this morning:

I told you I'd tell you when it happened, so...

I'll be coming to your nape of the woods, neck of the nape, (your area) on the 15th of November for a few days.

So, there you go.

Hope you're well.

Joe

First of all... Hope you're well?  Sounds a little like "with all due respect" to me.  Sounds a little like he hopes I am anything but well, the exact fucking opposite of well, whatever that may be.  But hey, maybe that's just me.

Second of all, from a purely logistical standpoint, the date is a problem.  I'm having surgery that day.  And Inspector is coming in to take care of me.

So, as I see it, I have two choices.  One, I send him back an email that says "Hey, that sucks.  I'm having surgery on that day and my boyfriend will be here".  Two, I don't reply.

Either of these, I think, will hurt his feelings.  And at this point, I don't want to hurt his feelings.

I guess a third response would be to say, "Hey, I'm having surgery that day, but if you want to stop by the house over the weekend, you are more than welcome to."

Gah.  I don't know.  Any advice, you all? 

We'll Be Riders, Girl, on The Night.

One year ago today, Inspector sent me an email that ended, "Would we really want to work that hard?"

To which I responded something along the lines of "that which does not kill us makes us stronger."

And then... radio silence.  Which scared the shit out of me.  And made me realize there was something I wanted from this man.

It took me almost a month to actually answer his question, which I did publicly, here at Late Fragment.  And I'll answer it again today publicly.

Yes.  Yes.  A thousand times yes.  (Although honestly, it hasn't been all that much hard work if I really think about it.  Loving you may be one of the easiest things I've ever done.) 

"If I know what love is, it is because of you." - Herman Hesse

3/2/64

March 2.  It's Joe's birthday.  He's 43.  And a stranger to me.

I never thought this would happen.  And I certainly never thought it would have happened the way it did.  I don't even really think of him very often, and when I do, I'm surprised that I don't miss him more.

But it's his birthday... and whatever he's doing, I hope he's happy.  Although I'm willing to bet he isn't.  I just don't think he's particularly capable of happiness.

Nonetheless, it's his birthday.  And so I am thinking of him, and wishing him well.  Happy birthday, Joe.  I still hope you figure it all out.

Heart Shaped Box.

When I was in college, on Valentine's Day, a boy I knew only as an acquaintance gave me a giant bag of conversation hearts.  On each heart, he'd scraped off the sentiment and written by hand "Do Me".  I did not.  But I still remember the gesture.  And that it blew me away.

So, my friends, my loved ones, and all the rest of you...

Happy Valentine's Day.  Do Me.

'Cause I Got Something To Say About It.

I was out to dinner on Saturday night with Inspector and a friend of mine, and a subject came up, something I think I have alluded to here in the most veiled way.  And I promised I'd confess it when I came back home.  So here goes.

A long time ago, I lost my virginity, to Inspector.  But at the time, he didn't know that.  In fact, I deliberately mislead him.  I will admit that I don't understand or remember all of the reasons why, but I do think that some of it was not wanting him to think me inexperienced.  And some of it was that I knew that he'd made his previous girlfriend wait until he was sure she was ready, and I did not want to wait. 

It took my almost twenty years to confess this to him, and I've always felt bad that I kept it from him as long as I did.  I mean, he played an extremely significant part in shaping my sexual identity and expectations, and I'd deliberately hidden that fact from him.  And worse still, I felt that, in hiding it from him, I'd deprived him of something special... although I can't exactly tell you what it is.   I don't know.... the knowledge of his importance, or something like that.

Anyway, he specifically asked that I come clean about this on the blog.  And now I have.

You've Lost That Loving Feeling.

Maverick and I had talked on the phone a couple of times before I came out here.  And it just so happens that he lives in the state I am currently visiting, maybe 3 hours away from my mountain retreat.  We agreed that it would be fun to get together.

And then, Maverick said to me "How long do you think we can be in the same room together until we wind up naked?" and I laughed and he said "I'm thinking 6 seconds."

And after that conversation, I started to notice that Maverick was (a) constantly making sexual innuendos and (b) not very smart.  And after a while, (b) started to really bother me. 

When I'd been out here maybe a week, he left me a message on my cell phone that said "Hey, It's Mav.  Just wanted to see how the mountains are treating you."  I ignored this message.

A week ago, he called again and left a message.  Which I did not immediately return.  The next day, he left a message, saying, among other things "I'd appreciate it if you'd at least call me back and let me know you are okay."  (A friend of mine pointed out that he hadn't been privy to my okay-ness for most of the past 17 years, so why should he expect that now.  She's right, of course.)

I called him back.  I told him I was sorry I hadn't returned his earlier message.  I told him I wasn't going to be able to see him while I was here. 

Now, the truth is, I made this decision for two reasons.  First, his lack of intelligence (and yes, I admit it.  I am a brain snob.) was a huge turn off for me.  That coupled with the fact that he had assumed we'd sleep together was a no-win situation for me.  I didn't want to go out with him and then later have to deal with his expectations.  I also realized I had no unresolved issues with him.  He was exactly the same as he had been the last time I saw him, and I didn't need to get drunk and fuck him to know this. 

The second reason is that I am setting out on this new path with Inspector.  And that makes me less-than-receptive to other men.  I am intrigued.  I am heartened.  I am excited.  I am eager.  I am this close to being completely and utterly swept off my feet. 

Earlier tonight, Inspector and I were discussing how so many of his past girlfriends had issues with me.  And he said something like "the biggest problem each of them had with you was when I left them for you."  And looking back on it, I see what he's getting at.  We'd break up.  He'd get involved with someone new.  We'd get back together.  There were always casualties. 

But that got me to thinking about first loves, and how they kind of set the template for what love and loving is.  He did, for me.  Every man who came after him was in some way a reaction to him.  Every man who came after him was held up to his template.  Some of them came closer to others to matching it.  But each of them was, in their own unique way, not entirely inspector-ish. 

And so, really, when I think about it, I'm the lucky one here.  Because I get to have this remarkable, inspector-y Inspector back in my life.  And I get to see how the boy I loved grew up into this amazing man I'm going to.  I get to hold my template up and see that it is perfectly matched.  I get a second chance. 

So, darling Inspector (miso, level 6, with chain mail armor and an immobility spell), are you happy now?