When I moved, it took me awhile to get my phone hooked up. So, as far as many were concerned, I disappeared off the map for awhile. Now, when I finally did get a new phone, I shared the new number with everyone I ran into.
This, of course, explicitly - and unintentionally, I assure you - made me unreachable by many people I had once called friends. Oh, not that there was drama or fighting or anything. I moved downtown, I moved on. These were people who knew me with M. I don't see them much anymore, and when I happen to run into them it's pleasant but a hair awkward. This is how people drift: they get new phones.
So imagine my surprise when, just a few minutes ago, Coffeeboy's phone rang. "Hello?" he said. "Uh, yeah, she is. She's right here."
He handed me the phone. On the other end, a voice I hadn't heard in a long time: "Hi. It's me."
It took me a minute to place it. It was Drama Boy, a considerable ghost from my single past. When things were at their worst with M., I found myself falling for Drama Boy, who on one or two occasions got very drunk and confessed that it was mutual. Actually, scratch that. Drama Boy had very little idea how much I really felt; I was afraid that, should I admit it to him or myself, I would do the unthinkable while still with M.
By the time I broke up with M., Drama Boy was in a relationship. It tortured me. She was such a nice girl. Drama Boy and I are very much alike: we're both dominant, opinionated - often in very different directions - and a veritable pain in the ass to date. As such, we both date more passive people. Balance, ya know. I kept my mouth shut while cursing him for not being able to 'handle' me. This, of course, was utter bullshit, but it made me feel a whole lot better.
I did a lot of things I'm not proud of during that time. We partied together every weekend; ironically, mostly above the bar where I now live. Then we'd stumble back to my place, and because the beer had clouded our judgement, quite often share my tiny bed and hold each other. No, we never had sex. He tried once or twice, but I never let it go that far- but looking at that man's abs, you'd wonder why.
The next morning he'd go out for breakfast with Her and I'd cry in bed all morning.
Finally, the day came when they broke up. To say I was excited was an understatement. There was a halter top, there was way too much beer, slurred confessions, and finally, finally, the back seat of his car.
Romantic? Uh, no. Trashy. And a disapointment. I don't know what was going through his brain, but I can tell you I came quite violently to the realisation that I had simply been trying to fill a void left by M., with the closest thing nearby. Neither of us ever called the other again.
That is, until tonight.
We exchanged 'how are you's and made small talk. His little sister's baseball team is having a beer and burger night two weekends from now. Would I like to come?
I said yes - put me down for two tickets.
I had hoped that by the time I had reached the end of the story I would know what it was all about. I don't. He will look damn good when I see him, but I don't think I'll feel anything at all. I think - I hope - I will realise that I've moved on, learned a thing or two, and don't make such silly mistakes any more.