Not too long ago, I reconnected with a guy I dated many years ago. Because marriage had so little appeal to me in my youth, I was able to have lots of fun dating many guys without having to consider “where this was going”. I liked being in a relationship, always comfortable with the notion that when love (or passion) died, I would just move on to the next one. But he was kind of special. I really dug him, even though I never really penetrated the surface. For the most part, our interactions in Year Two were about as superficial as they were in Month Two. Neither of us knew how many siblings the other had, birthdays, or lots of other things you’d imagine friends just know about each other. I didn’t know his favorite food and he didn’t know if I preferred still or sparkling water. But I did really like him, so from time to time over the years after it ended, I wondered if he could have been “The One” had we had a different kind of relationship (even if I was never really sure what “The One” meant for me). It was a provocative notion, based on not much at all. Our relationship had always been spontaneous and fun, but since it wasn’t deeply connected, this thought was probably mostly rooted in curiosity about what might lay beneath the surface. I wondered if things would have turned out differently –more favorably—if we had done things differently. So I decided to find out what would happen if I agreed to a Do Over.
I’ve always thought of him as one of the most intriguing guys I’ve dated. He wasn’t especially good-looking, though he was a real delight in many ways: charming, really smart, funny as hell, good in bed, and knowledgeable about all kinds of things, both significant and trivial. He was far from perfect, but I didn’t mind at all: (1) so was I, and (2) how boring would that be? I’ve always preferred to err on the side of rogue.
Our relationship was not standard. We dated for a few years, but never properly (with “properly” meaning monogamously). We had what could be called a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy that we never even discussed; we just understood. My reason was because, though I was crazy about him, there was always a void there that I looked to others to fill. I imagine he had any number of reasons.
Though it was never great, the relationship was good in many ways. There were a lot of good times. We would laugh over dinner at some popular NYC restaurant, sometimes “making out” in the restaurant bathroom or the back of the taxi, Once we even fooled around at the rooftop bar at the Peninsula Hotel. And as talkative as we both could be, we were pretty poor communicators as it related to each other, so there was a lot that went unsaid that should not have. (Note to self: not a good way to have a relationship…even a superficial one).
When we were finally done with each other, it ended quietly, though not well. Quietly in that there was no big blow-out; I didn’t scream or yell or throw things or key his car or call him a bunch of MFs. Not well in that I was angry and hurt, but just kinda sucked it up. We never really even talked about it. He had behaved badly and was pretty cowardly about it, and we both just walked away. We (okay, I) just stopped speaking because it was just too preposterous to even discuss.
During the time we were seeing each other, he had a baby and somehow neglected to mention it to me until she was about six months old. (Actually, he had two, but I’ll get to that). Now, because we were both seeing other people, I do understand how this could happen. I’m pretty sure, though, that he was still supposed to tell me that he impregnated someone and would soon be a father. I’m thinking he should have told me, say, six months before the baby was born, not six months after. So, we faded away from each other after that. He had a new family to tend to and I couldn’t see a reason to try to fit in there. Plus, I was really, really bothered that he hadn’t been upfront about this whole scenario. Within a year or so, he started to reappear. He thought we could pick up where we left off. I wasn’t sure this was a good idea but babies do happen sometimes and the parents don’t always work it out. Besides, I did like him and I must not have been very busy with anyone important at that moment. He was really good at talking me into why we should start seeing each other again. But guess what: before I could get to “yes”, he got the same chick pregnant a second time! While he’s convincing me to give him another try… He was too chickenshit to even tell me. I heard about it from a friend.
After that, I didn’t speak to him for years, though I ran into him often. We had a bit of overlap in our circle of friends, so I couldn’t avoid seeing him. It would make my stomach hurt at first, but soon I didn’t really care. I started to feel kind of sorry for him because I thought he was a bit of a loser. I mean, really. Who has TWO kids by accident? But over the years, more than one friend would occasionally make an appeal for me to reconsider him. He, too, put in an effort at this. He even started getting his hair cut at the barber shop ½ block from my apartment, even though we lived nowhere near each other…either to catch a glimpse of me or to aggravate me. Possibly a little of both. The very thought of reconciling was mostly laughable to me, though sometimes when I was between relationships I’d remember his charm and think “what if”.
History books, pop culture, and the wedding section of most newspapers are rife with stories with happy endings from love revisited. So…why not give it another shot? I’d often wondered if it could have gone differently the first time if I had been less defensive and more available. Now, we were 15 years older, which I chose to interpret as wiser. We were armed with details of what happened the first time around so we should be able to do better. Plus, surely he was all the things he was before (still smart, still funny, still a pleasure to have naked) AND presumably smarter about how to be in a relationship with me. I certainly considered myself to be better in every way. With all this in our favor, it should go better this time.
I went from thinking of this reconnection as absurd to actually becoming pretty excited about it. And what a nice story it would make! Most of the women I mentioned it to loved the idea. Interestingly, one male friend Mr X and I had in common was sure that this was not a good idea: “I don’t doubt that he wants to do this; I just don’t think he can. He doesn’t know how”. Well that response wasn’t exactly what I was expecting, but what did he know? This is a romantic story and he obviously didn’t understand. (One could surmise that the fact that I rarely identified Mr X by name when I talked to friends about my plan could’ve been a clue that, deep down, I had my own doubts about whether this was more about the fantasy than the reality. Whatever…)
So, we agreed to go for Round Two. This is a one-sided tale so I cannot explain why he made such a big effort to woo me back, only to begin to move in v-e-r-r-y-y slow motion as soon as I said “okay”. I suggested we see a movie for our first official date…and then I didn’t hear from him for two weeks. He’d text me asking when I wanted to get together, then wait a week before replying to my reply. Anyway, that was my first clue that this relationship-revisited was not a good idea. Maybe it was a better idea in theory than in practice. So maybe I wasn’t wiser after all because I ignored a bright red flag and did not step away quickly like I should have. Short story shorter, the relationship didn’t go that well this time around either…for most of the reasons it didn’t go well the first time (minus more babies, as far as I know). He was still uncommunicative and shifty.
His words and behaviors were often at odds with each other, and usually over rather insignificant things…making it all the stranger. He was a freak, I decided. One final Saturday night, he interrupted a dinner I was having with a friend to see if I wanted to get together. He was playful and flirtatious and it sounded like fun. I wrapped up dinner early, called to say “my place or yours” and he said he couldn’t really do it because he was actually busy cooking part of Sunday dinner for his kids. This benign event told me everything I needed to know because it was so unnecessary and kind of mean. I decided at that moment, I’d had enough. He was twisted in a way that I wouldn’t understand. This made it easy to pull the plug before too much time elapsed…so maybe I was a bit wiser.
After the excitement I felt at giving what-might-have been another shot, I thought I’d feel sad when I ended it. Instead, I just felt relieved. This time I understood, really understood, something I believed after our first break-up but chose to talk myself out of once I decided to go back in: the way he handled the situation 15 years ago said he was pretty twisted then, too. And that was the real issue here: I now saw him as a damaged soul, just wrapped in shiny packaging. That realization made it impossible for me to want to stick around.