May 20, 2011 by polishsnausage
Sent to us by L.H. I want to write something eloquent to reflect the way I feel about this piece, but instead, I’ll just let you read it. Many thanks for sharing this us, L.
Not a day passes, that I don’t think of him.
Without thinking, I pick up the phone and start to text him — then I stop myself. I wear the Steelers hoodie I bought him for his birthday but never gave him. The scene from our last encounter loops thru my mind. I can still feel the heat from his touch. I’ll be going about my day and something he funny he said will pop into my head. I’ll laugh out loud and again I’m resisting temptation to text him.
He doesn’t stand out in a crowd. He’s definitely not someone I would seek out and pursue. We never seem to run out of things to talk about. He laughs at my jokes. He tells me I’m hilarious. Hilarious may be pushing it, I tell him. With me, there’s always a certain degree of awkwardness. By this I mean, I always feel uncomfortable around people. I never felt that way around him. He’s 6’ 3” and I still dream about being lost in his embrace. He’s a stereotypical car salesman, with a larger than life personality to match his height. Houses take on the energy of their inhabitants. The first time I was in his house, I felt at peace. He has such a positive energy. For an awkward, uncomfortable girl; that’s very comforting.
I knew the moment I conceived. It was a cold night in early December. I got to his house before he did. I sat in his driveway waiting for him. I was chewing gum. I never chew gum. He hopped in the shower after coitus. I was lying in his bed waiting for him to get out. His sheets smelled like that had been washed in rose water. They had the same sweet smell that he does. I’ve never met a guy that smells sweet. Guys either smell like cologne or funk. Not him.
The holidays came and went. It was confirmed that I was indeed pregnant. He had been such a big part of my life for the past 5 months. Suddenly, he stopped talking to me. He didn’t know I was carrying his child. I kept waiting and waiting for him to talk me. January was rapidly passing by. I was running out of time.
I sent him a text message that said: I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you hate me. I really need to talk to you, but it’s hard with you avoiding me. I don’t hate you at all. I need to focus on getting my life straight now. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you. I have some feelings for you, but I can’t be with anyone right now. I can guess what you’re going to say. Just tell me. I’m pregnant. That’s how it went down. It seems so cold and impersonal, breaking the news via text message.
Although, I didn’t feel right about it, I knew it was the right choice. I went to the car dealership he works at. He was in the middle of selling a car, but took a minute to run outside. His eyes softened the minute they met mine. He gave me an awkward hug. I’m sorry, he said as he handed me the cash. I handed him a tear-stained letter begging him not to come with me. That was the last time I saw him. It was a cold, dark evening in early February.
The tears that had been burning my eyes started to fall as I watched him walk back inside.
It’s May. I try not to talk to him unless he talks to me first. My heart will sometimes win the battle with my head– and I’ll send him a text. He usually answers me. I wonder if he misses me too – or if he feels some sort of obligation to respond.
They said time is the ultimate healer. I agree. I wonder if it’s him I miss or the idea of him. Only time will tell. As I contemplate this, I am drying my tears and wiping my nose with the sleeve of the Steelers hoodie I bought him for his birthday but never gave him.