DatingJosh

When I was a junior in college I met a women named Jennifer. It was late summer of 1995, sometime in September, and the weather in Gainesville, Florida was just perfect. The late-morning sun was strong and clear; it filtered through the trees in front of the lecture hall while I stood, waiting for my friend’s Physics lecture to conclude. I can scarcely believe that that moment, as I peered into the sun-dappled entrance-way, would be the last untroubled, peaceable moment of my life up to this point. Heartbeats later, my friend emerged and introduced me to a woman who accompanied him; a woman whom he only knew in passing; a woman who would soon become the love of my life. I will not completely tell the story of Jennifer – It would take far too long and is beyond the point of what I am attempting to achieve today. I only mention her peripherally because what would come to pass between us would serve to shape the course of my life over the next decade far more powerfully than literally any other event, including my own graduation, acceptance into Medical school, selection of my career path, even the loss of my Grandfather.

Suffice it to say, we are not talking about small peanuts here. The story can be distilled to this: boy meets girl; boy falls madly in love with girl and vows to win her heart; boy writes tortured, heartfelt lines of poetry to girl; boy finally, in a moment of inspiration, shows poetry to girl and confesses undying love to girl the day before Valentine’s day knowing full well that girl would be receiving 4 dozen roses, each dozen delivered every 2 hours, that next day; boy wins girl in fairy-tale ending (oh, joy); boy, out of sheer, Brobdingnagian idiocy breaks up with girl; boy falls into overwhelming, interminable well of despair which lasts over 5 years; boy vows never to love again.

I am somewhat insouciant in my manner now, but this was an emotional supernova. I broke up with Jennifer, quite badly I might add, only to realize a short time later, when she called to tell me she would not be attending the same Medical school as I, that I may actually never see her again. That was a conversation that I will likely never forget and, in retrospect, am astonished that I even survived; astonished that my heart did not simply explode out of despair and unmitigated terror. My need became so great that it prompted me to, in the dead of winter, hop into my 2-seat roadster and drive straight through, 19 hours, from Philadelphia to Gainesville, in the middle of an ice storm to win her back. I am not exaggerating one iota.

The depression I suffered was so total that it took on proper noun status. Depression. Much in the fashion of a marionette, I was merely going through the motions of life. Imagine trying to cope with the daily pressures that accompany one’s first year of Medical school in this state of mind. Imagine endless days of pain and sadness, sleepless nights, and a total disconnect from the world around me. Imagine having no support system, withdrawing from family and friends, and finding pleasure in absolutely nothing. I was in a hot dryer on spin cycle. It is a wonder I even survived, much less graduated.

But graduate I did. I even began to see a way out of my prison. Time slowly, inexorably healed me. Yet the scars would last forever, and were often surprisingly fresh. Her eventual marriage was my closure. She exists only as a memory to me; a few perfect moments never to be forgotten. After several years (read: years) I began dating again, but my heart was never completely in it. I always remained distant. I became a master at distance-keeping, a relationship prestidigitator. Any woman in question who thought she had discovered something substantial would quickly realize it to be ephemeral, gossamer, ersatz. Before Jennifer I was an unabashed, unapologetic, hopeless romantic. All that I ever dreamed of was love, a family, and a future. The jagged fallout from my previous attempt at obtaining my dreams lacerated my ventricles, crushed my soul, and disabused me of such future notions forever, or so I thought.

Then I met Kimberly, the star who shone so brightly.

Kimberly is so full of life it is impossible not to smile when she is around. The first time she saw me, I learned much later, she was interested in me but thought I was married. What I never told her, because I never mentioned a word about Jennifer to her (remember: prestidigitator), was that the ring she saw was not a wedding ring but a birthday gift from Jennifer that I still frequently wore. To avoid the topic altogether I told her the ring was my Grandfather’s, by the way.

I stopped wearing that ring a few months into my relationship with Kim. This is a point worth remembering: Kimberly does not even know this but she broke the ring’s hold over me.

Needless to say, I was not married, and quickly took an interest in Kim from the first time I saw her. It was immediately obvious to me that she was different than the other women I had taken to dating. Kimberly had a vibrance and a spirit that made even the most mundane activities all the more enjoyable. She got excited every Wednesday because it was Shred-Pro day. Shred-pro day! I have never been so overjoyed at the sight of a huge, mobile document shredder-on-wheels, nor would I ever have thought to be before Kim.

Our initial relationship was wonderful. Our first date was magical. I have already written about it, but kissing her for the first time was the perfect, pregnant stillness before the storm, the early morning sheets of warm, perfumed spring rain. It did not take long for her to become tremendously special to me.

I brought Kimberly to my Mother’s wedding one year ago today. This is another point worth remembering: Kimberly was becoming so important a person in my life that, scarcely knowing her for 6 weeks, I brought her to a momentous family occasion.

My family thought the angels had wept and created Kim in their image! She was so elegant in demeanor, so vibrant in personality that she had them all eating out of her palm. I swear that my mother became more excited over Kimberly than over the prospect of her own marriage.

Not long after this, our relationship progressed to the point of my terror threshold. Kim had penetrated farther beneath my armor than any woman since Jennifer; the irony was she was beginning to complain that she scarcely knew me. The more primitive, more survival-oriented parts of my being began a chorus of protest, haphazardly flinging disordered bundles of painful memories to the forefront of my consciousness as a child tosses about a pile of colored blocks. “We have been through this before,” they intoned. “We have tottered on the precipice. We have peered into the endless depths of the chasm through eyes blurred with hot, saline tears and we cannot, we must not venture further.”

I became increasingly panicked from her proximity to my life, yet at the same time I enjoyed virtually every moment I spent with her. Going to dinner with her. Baking cookies with her. Listening to her play the violin. Did I mention she plays the violin? The instrument that sounds most like a beautiful female voice? Going to the symphony with her and being moved to tears by a virtuoso while holding her hand. Forcing her to watch my favorite movies with me. Watching “Seinfeld” reruns with her. Attempting to learn from her how to properly iron a shirt.

My first measured act was to create an imperceptible emotional space for myself by simply limiting the time we spent together. I made sure we did not see much of each other during the week; work was an easy excuse. Yet even as I continued to look forward to spending time with her, even though she never pushed me for more time or more attention, my fractured ego clamored for more space.

My solution was startling in its pure, genius-level idiocy. Sometimes, after I would have a cocktail or two, I would let some pearl of wisdom slip, like a chunk of ice, from my lips. “You are too intrusive” was one particularly brilliant turn of phrase. Can you imagine how Kimberly must have felt on her drive home after I let that one slip when she was dropping me off? The standards, “I don’t believe in marriage”, and “I’d never let some woman ruin my life”, were uttered at one time or another. These became my defense mechanism, my potential escape hatch, my subtle brand of sabotage. My intent was not to be cruel. Quite the opposite. I was trying to protect myself, for even the remote potential of a hurt like I had (barely) survived the first go-around was more risk than I could tolerate.

It never once occurred to me to share these fears with Kimberly. Sometimes we are so blinded by an obstacle in our path the alternative way completely escapes notice. Or, more to the point, sometimes we live within a paradigm for such a lengthy time, sometimes we become so inured to a course of action, we lack the capacity to see what is, in retrospect, so very clear.

The first time Kimberly told me she loved me was a pivotal moment. She did not mean to do it, and clearly she was terrified that it would drive me away instantly and completely. She exhibited more courage in that moment than I had demonstrated in the previous 6 months. I would expect nothing different from Kimberly.

It was wonderful to hear, even though I had long sensed such a powerful sentiment existed in her. A part of me resonated with joy. My stomach did several lazy flip-flops and my heart pounded! A much greater part of me nearly fainted from sheer fright. Women are not supposed to fall in love with me. I have long believed that I am ordinary, unremarkable. I have lived my life in quiet obscurity.

Kimberly had an indefatigable ability to believe in me more than I have dared believe in myself. Imagine that. I could not convince her otherwise. Not ever. Kimberly knows me better than I know even myself. There have been times when she has actually made me believe in myself. Wow.

In the end, even that could not loosen the grip of fear immobilizing my heart. So on an ordinary evening, 2 days after Christmas, I found myself sitting on Kimberly’s sofa with her dog, Misha, wondering why she had shuttered herself in the bathroom. When she emerged, when this lovely, caring, wonderful woman steeled herself to face me, her beautiful face was hidden behind a mask of sheer, naked despair and hopelessness. Kimberly walked out to face me and suddenly I was looking into a mirror, looking at my own face as it appeared 10 years ago, as I was approaching the absolute depths of my unending emotional agony.

I had caused this. Every day I could not reassure Kimberly there was the hope for a future she died a little more inside until she could bear it no more. I had subjected her to a progressively worsening string of sleepless nights and anxiety. I knew I could do this no more. I could not continue to selfishly bask in the warmth of her love while offering her little in return. I could no longer make her feel, as she put it, “as if I were dating her until I found something better”.

I tried to explain to her. I tried to apologize to her for the hurt I was causing. In the end, there was nothing left for me to do except get up, softly walk through the door, and close it on her crumbling world. I could still hear her fading sobs as my footfalls echoed down the corridor. Each one squeezed my heart further into a small, hard stone.

I had arranged to take care of Misha the next day so Kimberly would not have to drive her to her parents’ home in her precarious state. I also knew I would have to remove my belongings and do the ultimate act of finality: return my set of keys. I awoke the next morning and entered her home, a home that was so familiar and special to me while at the same time suddenly so cold and lifeless. Kim had neatly stacked my belongings on the kitchen table. My toothbrush had been unceremoniously deposited in the bathroom wastebasket the prior evening. She also left me 2 notes, one handwritten, the other typed and crumpled up in a ball, as if she initially had decided to discard it but hastily, reflexively left it out anyway.

The notes are hauntingly beautiful. I could instantly picture the tears and the sadness on her face as she wrote them. I read and re-read each note. Then I briefly lay down on her side of her bed with my face on her pillow and cried. Misha jumped up next to me and began to lick my cheek. I collected her and my belongings and exited. After spending the day with Kimberly’s dog, whom I love very much, I returned her to her momma’s apartment, carefully made the bed, and sat down to write a note of my own. In it I reiterated how deeply sorry I was for the hurt she was experiencing and told her I was not worthy of the gift of her love. I left my keys on the key-hook, looked around one last time, and slowly closed the door. It sealed with the finality of a stone sarcophagus. It was Thursday evening, December 28th.

What Kimberly does not know is this: I read the notes she wrote me almost every day. I keep them in a very special box in my home and take them out virtually every morning. I have done so for one very important reason – I knew that if I was going to throw away such a perfect love, I must remind myself every day precisely of what I was losing.

Several weeks later, on January 18th, Kimberly emailed me another letter. It was so full of hurt, loneliness, and longing that it stilled my heart. It was terrifying in its sheer force of will, as if Kimberly was attempting to reach through my computer screen and shake me until she got through to me. I have a copy of this letter in every single email inbox I have. I read it often, and it both hurts and shames me every single time.

Today is Mother’s Day, May 13th. For the past several weeks, for just about a month, something both curious and disconcerting has been gathering force. I have been thinking about Kimberly with increasing frequency. I have thought about her quite a bit since late December, especially when looking at her letters, but this is somehow different. I have been seeing her face constantly on blonde passers-by on every street corner in my neighborhood. I catch the scent of her perfume in the spring breezes as I am outside having coffee. Most of all, I see her car everywhere. Oh, how I have come to hate that particular model of vehicle with fervent, almost religious, passion because every time I see one my pulse shoots through the roof.

I have begun to wake up in the mornings frequently disoriented, shaking off the fading haze of a dream of her soft embrace. I have grown increasingly more uneasy and distracted by these events that operate wholly outside my control. It has become obvious to me that there has been an insidious, inexorable loosening of the moorings, snaps, and buckles I have used to hold both my life and my sanity together.

I cannot stop thinking about Kim. Her name flashes with an angry urgency inside my head that, despite my best efforts to quell it, is increasing in intensity. For the past 2 weeks I have had to actually engage this new voice of my subconscious in rational debate over why my course of action these last 4 months has been the correct one. It fades into the background for a while only to later return. The urgent voice keeps returning over and over again.

Sometimes a course of action is so clear, so insistent in logic and marvelous in perfection, one must wonder how it could have remained hidden for so long. How many more people have to tell me, no matter how brief their interaction with her, that Kimberly is so special and so unique that the dissolution of our relationship borders on tragic? Could they have been correct all along? Could my family, friends, and colleagues be seeing the obvious with such perfect clarity that they can merely lower their heads at my obtuseness? Is this single, clear, insistent voice the voice of my heart? I think I may be in trouble.

Sometimes a course of action is so clear, so perfect, so right that to not take it would cause irreparable harm to the soul. I have realized, just yesterday morning, this very fact. I cannot keep this at bay any longer. Something so huge, so fundamentally different has happened within me that it has taken me several weeks to even realize what it is.

Kimberly, I only lied to you once – I lied about the origin of the ring I wore. I never lied to you about the most important thing because you never directly posed the question, sparing me the need to decide how to answer. My dual sins were of omission and of leading you to false assumption. Kimberly, I know that you likely are confused and somewhat taken aback by my words. I do not mean to cause you further hurt. It is 1 am on Monday, May 14th and I have been composing these words I could say for over 12 hours. Now close your eyes, Kim, and take a very deep breath.

Kimberly, I am in love with you. These are the most important words I have ever written. I am trying to change the course of 2 lives forever. Until I met you I thought that Jennifer was the love of my life, that I could never love again. Until I met you I thought mine was destined to be a life devoid of long, loving relationships with the possibility of a future. I thought that fear of future devastation would preclude even the consideration of love and happiness.

It took me 10 years to realize this: a life without someone to share all the moments that make life worth living is like locking Monet’s canvasses in a steel box or destroying Stradivarius’ violins. Every moment that has been wonderful, special, and memorable since I have moved here I have shared with you, Kim. The moments were that way because of you. This is why I walk around our neighborhood and see you reflected everywhere; each encounter reminds me of a moment made special by you.

I love you so much that it has made me realize the pitiful, self-destructive idiocy of my behavior. You were right about me every single day. You know me better than I know myself. You knew that I must have loved you and tried daily to gently, patiently coax it out of me. Now it pours forth like a raging river.

I want to cook for you. To hold you. To bury my face in your hair and smell your soft skin. I want to laugh with you. To take walks with you. To sleep in late with you. To help you pick out what you are going to wear. I want to buy you flowers. Jewelry. Stupid little trinkets that only you and I would laugh at. I love you so much that you have made me imagine a future with you in it and it does not seem nearly as frightening to me as a future without you.

I have all your letters out, surrounding me, and I keep reading them over and over again as I write. I am sorry I never was honest with you about my precarious emotional state. I am sorry to have made you pay for my mistakes with another. I want to spend weeks and months making amends, if you will only let me. Kimberly, I have finally realized that you have given me the most valuable, precious gift I have ever received: you have taught me how to love again. You have single-handedly done something that 10 years of time and my entire family and all my friends could not do. I am sorry it took me 9 + 4 months to come to terms with that. Please forgive me for my weakness. Please know that now I am as vulnerable and as scared as you have been.

If any of your tremendous capacity to love me remains within you, please allow me just one chance to come back into your life. You are everything to me, Kimberly. You are my family. I have set you apart from every other person in my life. Please fill my heart with light and life and happiness again. Kimberly, whose eyes are the color of storm clouds reflected off the surface of the Pacific. Allow me to prove to you that I believe in you the way that you have believed in me.

I am mentally and emotionally exhausted. It is almost 2 am. I am going to get some sleep, and when I wake up I will ensure that after you get home from work you will read these words. I only hope that in your eyes it is not too late.

Come up to meet you, tell you I’m sorry, you don’t know how lovely you are

I had to find you, tell you I need you, tell you I’ve set you apart.

Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions, Ah let’s go back to the start.

Running in circles, comin’ in tales, heads only science apart.

Nobody said it was easy; It’s such a shame for us to part. Nobody said it was easy; No one ever said it would be this hard… oh take me back to the start.

I was just guessing at numbers and figures, pulling the puzzle apart.

Questions of science, science and progress could not speak as loud as my heart.

But tell me you love me, come back and haunt me, oh and we’ll rush to the start.

Running in circles, chasing our tails, coming back as we are.

-The Scientist; Coldplay

My love always,

Joshua