Part IV: "Took You Long Enough"

Hi,

Often times, in order for us to understand where we are and where we're headed, it's important to know how we got here. You, if memory serves us correctly, will also remember this night as the moment that sparked an unbelievable, unexpected, and indescribable journey that cannot and will not ever be repeated, nor can it be written or scripted with any additional zest or titillation. That, and the fact that both of us will never be intertwined in a beauty pageant, ever again.

Back in the box where I lived, or as my coworkers affectionately coined, my rathole of an apartment, my clothes were neatly placed on my espresso-colored wooden futon. Jeans, check. Jacket, check. Listerine citrus dissolving strips, check. (You had gone through my entire pack the night you were inebriated.) Digital camera, check. Time to bring out the best, lucky underwear, I thought to myself. "The tighty whities", I mumbled. (When I'm alone, I talk to myself on occasion.) Nothing would be left to chance. I looked in the mirror, gave myself a quick pep talk, and boom, hit the front door.

Back at the bar, "The Cellar", it was dress rehearsal. "No, like this!", quipped Jennifer. She brushed her hand slowly and deliberately across the back of my neck. A slight tingle. Nice. I had done this hundreds of times. What am I doing? I don't need practice - perhaps I was merely out of practice.

"You know what? I'm ready to go and I don't need any coaching or practice. I'm just going to walk up to her and do it. Not only that, but I hope everyone is standing in the hallway watching me show this asshole up. I don't give a fuck!" Show time. Enter stage right.

I remember clearly being extremely nervous and apprehensive about the whole situation. Sneaking into a hotel isn't exactly a forte of mine, neither is the brazen attitude I had recently embraced. This was the new me - the swing for the fences, I don't care what anyone thinks about me, regret nothing, reborn and rewired, Jason. Or as you would refer to me - Shady. Shady was a persona created by you and was perpetuated by your insinuations of assumed sketchiness and random conversations about my mysteriously private life. I was merely hanging on to the rails for the ride. I won't lie. I enjoyed it and relished in my new found bravado.

As I took the elevator up to the 18th floor and waited for a few moments, while staring straight into the security cameras, mounted on each floor of the Hilton, my heart was beating as quickly as I could last remember. I chuckled to myself, thinking, "I'm going to get in trouble. Hell yeah!" We exchanged a few text messages. Well, mostly from you being anxious and probably bored out of your mind in that room with that wretched pageant roommate of yours.

11:04pm Call me when ure here
11:27pm Whats takin so long
11:43pm I'm on 18

I heard the door opening and saw you wearing your beige, inner-lining, fleece from your blue Columbia jacket - the one you always wore and were so passionately attached to. We had finally found each other on the 18th floor, and the outdoor balcony was to be our sanctuary of freedom from the likes of the eagerly strict and overzealous pageant head escort, Dillon aka Babsy. Luckily, one of us, notably I, was thinking clearly, and refuted your suggestion of sneaking into your room, while Babsy was 10 feet away from your room entrance, sitting in plain sight, as I poked my head out from the end of the 19th floor hallway. What was I to do, sneak into your room and hide in the bathroom, while your roommate was humming that God-awful Brazilian song of hers for the 67th time? One of us had to be thinking coherently that night.

Knowing my impeccable memory of conversations and random trivia, I have to admit that I don't recall all that we talked about that night out on the balcony. I remember it being cold and I had my velvet-lappeled blazer on. We could see the thick fog rolling over the Transamerica pyramid from our unique view. You were grabbing onto my arm, interlocked, in our attempt to stay warm and coherent. We talked about the lameness of our adventures in the pageant and the mumblings of "us" from everyone else, especially with regards to your drunken incident two nights ago. However demure and prudish we thought the whole pageant was, it did provide the gossip and drama that entertained and sustained our conversation that night. We were interrupted a few times from Katie calling you, wondering what we were doing.

As we were approaching our goodbye, I thought to myself, "This is going to be the last night I ever see her again". My incessant scheming had brought about this movie-like thought of an arrogant plan to walk up to you and kiss you in front of Babs, for the whole floor to see, return your camera, which by the way, was the key item in our adventure. Obviously plans don't always work out accordingly, so I had to go to plan B. The only problem was plan B didn't exist.

I stood there in the stairwell, looking at your sweet, angel face, which always seemed to have a bit of a smirk. There was always an unassuming grace about you. You looked at me and said, "Well, this is goodbye." and proceeded to give me a hug. I did not reciprocate, but merely held my hand out for a high-five. There you were, both arms around my neck, hugging me sincerely, and I have my hands to my side, with my head turned, shaking back and forth, as if to tell you that we were not going to end this right here, not now. I don't know what inspired this reaction from me or how this high-five notion was derived, but it seemed to flow perfectly in creating the sparks and anticipation I knew were to come in the next few seconds.

You looked back at me with a bit of disdain. "You're not even going to hug me goodbye!"

I responded, "Goodbyes are sad and I'm very bad at them." No one is a "goodbye expert".

Your cell phone rang, Dillon was looking for you. You picked up and told him you were outside, at the balcony, talking to your mom. You spoke to him while staring at me with the face of concern, mixed in with mischief, not letting me know what face you made when you fibbed. Once you hung up, I knew the moment of truth had arrived. With incredible amounts of nervousness, I could feel my heart beating outside of my chest, while my breath rate increased drastically. I had kissed girls before, but this feeling of trepidation was novel. This was special.

With your glowing stare, you voiced, "Ok, last chance. I gotta go."

To what felt like a run or a brisk walk towards you, I rushed over. I parted your hair from the left side of your face and reached for the side of your neck, while my right hand caressed your cheeks. I could feel the thumb of my right hand touching your ear, holding you steady, but not too tight. Looking directly at you, I saw your eyes close as my head leaned to the right, signaling my eyes to close as well. I gently licked my lips to moisten them. Mmmmmm. I was Bermuda triangled in the moment (See, contrary to your recurring comments, I, for once, did not ruin the moment).

My thoughts were scattered. I could only manage short sentences and thoughts in my head. They were coherent, but felt like a game of pong, with the dot being my thoughts, bouncing at different angles to and fro, back and forth. You smelled so good. Your cheeks sparkled from the eye shadow that you used. The glitter spread onto your face. It was my favorite. I noticed the bump on your nose. I thought of it as a unique mark of yours. I couldn't help but stare at it. I was oddly attracted to it. Mainly because it was part of you.

It was nearly ten days of staring at your lips, wondering how soft and supple they would feel against mine. The buildup and anticipation to this moment was monumental, at least in my eyes. At that moment, all thoughts escaped my mind. Sweet and utter bliss are the words to describe our kiss. We stood there for what felt like 30 seconds, our lips melting together. I could feel your body pressed against mine as we continued our goodbye kiss.

"Now that was better than a hug, huh?" were the next words that came out of me.

"Took you long enough!" were yours.

The next few text messages from you were telling and quite demonstrative of your bluntness (these are exactly as they appeared on my cell phone).

1:12am - Ill come out later
1:18am - Took you long enough
2:26am - Of course i am, can't tell if theyre still out there. Sam man is showerin
2:38am - Ill tough it out a bit longer in case.
2:39am - Shit theyre still up!
2:42am - I know! So trapped
2:56am - Did u fall asleep buddy
3:02am - Sketchball. So lucky ure free
3:03am - Ure gfriends, all 2 of them
3:05am - Ugh fuckers r still up


The Beginning.

I had no premonition our beginning would lead to what was to become, "us". However short-lived we were, I feel it was the most amazing summer of my life. I'm not sure if you will ever read this blog or if you ever need to. Our lives are now divergent from one another and my musings here are merely to remind me of the incredible moments. Maybe when we're old and gray, we will look back to this moment and it will, at the very least, bring us both a simple smile.

This is goodbye,
Shady.

Part III: The Cup Runneth Over

Hi,

Do I regret anything from our whirlwind of a summer? The answer is clear and definite - no, not one thing. My mind, as you know, was unusually spastic and unfocused, with thoughts jumping around like a pinball in my head, on that tragic Friday night. Definitely ranked up there with one of the worst nights I've ever experienced, emotionally and mentally speaking. I kept thinking, why did I voice my distaste in your lack of calls to me during your first weekend of your career in medicine. You see, I realize now that it is not simply medical school, but it's your career and your livelihood for the rest of your life. It began on August 17th and that was the end of us.

I remember that night, making you cry. I felt like shit. But then I remembered how I felt the previous two days, not knowing where you were, how you were doing, lacking the emotional and mental connection two people in a long distance relationship desperately require and need. Was I being a needy chic? Perhaps. More importantly, I knew the ingredients to make the dish. We didn't have the ingredients, simple as that. Do I feel bad about making you cry? Yes and no.

Approximately one month ago, the glass fell off it's table, and milk was running and dripping slowly onto the floor. Crying over it wouldn't have restored the contents, so, one month later, I reach for a towel and clean up this mess created by an inadvertent elbow of mine.

Good night,
Sh.

Part II: Gross Anatomy of a Breakup

Hi,

As you figure out where the subscapularis is and how it functions in a human body, I have to ponder if that is as important as the degree to which it matters knowing this knowledge. You and I are inherently different in many ways and our approach to our lives. Balance is my constant target, while diligence and accomplishment in your goals is undeterred, regardless of any obstacle in your path - especially one that may cause you great emotional or mental crisis.

The irony of it all is that the work, which you so assiduously pursue, is the basis for my admiration for you. Psychologists have oft opined that we seek out what we are lacking. Discipline and perseverance have never been strengths of mine. To sit down and plan goals to complete, while working tirelessly is a novel and foreign act in my book. Seeing you with your head down, completely consumed in a book full of bones and muscle, without regard to the cat scratching your couch, me writing you a letter and hiding it in your closet, or even the constant glances I tossed in your direction, has ingrained an image of ernestness that has set you apart from any other, as well as planted the seeds and anchored roots of my motivation to succeed in my venture.

I thank you for that.

Good night,
Sh.

Part I: Anticipation is of Utmost Importance

Hello,

Knowing the result of an outcome before it actually occurs can invoke either the peace-of-mind, safety net, feeling, or the I'm-so-bored-when-it's-preditable feeling. I'd like to think, knowing your free-spirit personality, along with the general stereotype of young women of your generation, the latter is preferred. I would tend to agree with that choice, given my "horrendous" track record. This describes much of our summer. The seemingly random and lengthy conversations, whether about the number of cats one of us will own or the number of dates I would embark by the time the year ended, were exciting, as if walking through a door without any knowledge of what's behind it. That ended when we became "a couple".

You spoke of the warm feeling, knowing that my hand would be there everytime you reached for it, yet it could never be there the same way when we're 2,351 miles apart. I was overly confident in my abilities to conquer all the impossible obstacles we faced. Learning lessons from my mistakes is an act that I welcome with open arms, but this particular lesson has been painful and brings about feelings that are utterly foreign to my heart.

Good night,
Sh.

Lines on pieces of paper

Hi Fiona,

How are you doing? I spent the day looking at apartments in the east bay. No luck - they're all expensive enough for me to stay in the SF. I want to get a live/work loft near the ballpark, although a bit farther would still be sufficient.

Jennifer hung out with me while I went to look. It was an uneventful day, except for the few minutes we were in the bookstore. That is my comfort zone now, the bookstore. I feel addicted to reading and learning, along with rereading some of the classics that I never had the chance or discipline to read. Do you know they have audio books for tons of novels now? I've never heard one, but I wonder how it would be compared to listening to a movie. Reading them on my own would be the preferred method. Wonder if my eyes will ever go tired or blind starring a screen all day, then starring at a lines on white paper?

Good night,
Sh.

The Melting Pot

Hi,

So guess where I went for dinner last night? Brent was making fun of me, reminding me how the dinner wasn't exactly the best memory, but I remember that night really well. It was a good time, though awkward, I enjoyed the dinner, but more importantly, the time spent with you.

I finally met Dr. Chao, the San Diego Chargers team doctor. We had a good time at dinner - the wine helped. I was expecting him to be smaller, but he's about 6'1", 200 lbs, at least. We were talking about you and how the initial impact of med school freaked you out. I didn't want to dwell on it too much, as you know I've already thought about it to death.

Good night,
Sh.