Day 21

A picture of something I wish I could forget:

12170 Ventura Blvd., Studio City, California.  January, 2000.

This Starbucks has been the scene of many Talks - you know the kind, always prefaced with "We Need to..."  Here's another one from the Sandblast List.

This time, I'm sure of it: I'm in love with her.  No more second-guessing, no more self-conscious self-recriminations about any of it.  Yes, she is my best friend; yes, those boundaries have been well-established and somewhat well-respected; yes, this would be the final insult to those boundaries.  But I'm in love with her;  friendship must take a back seat to the romantic imperative.

Knowing my ability to chicken out no matter the stakes, I have allowed news of my love for her to leak. I've closed off all possible routes of escape behind; all that remains is the terrifying, inexorable march ahead.  Onward, Sancho!

We take our seats. She decides to rip off the conversational Band-Aid: "I think you have something to tell me."

She is inscrutable; each time I'd said I could read her like a Clifford book weighs individually upon my chest, mocking me.

I blink at her.  Right now, right now, I need my God-given gift of gab more than I ever have - more than I ever will.


I want to say: I am in  love with you. I know there are things to work out, but I also know there is love in your heart for me.

I say: "Umm..."

I spent hours that night trying to salvage what was between us.  I wish I could forget everything that followed from that first sentence of hers.  The heartbreak was twofold: yes, a girl for whom I felt deeply was explaining in careful detail just why it wasn't going to happen; but more importantly, my best friend (one of the four, but I digress) was furious with me, for reasons I didn't entirely understand.  What I did manage to understand pissed me right off in return.

When the anger faded, what was left felt like a hole in my center where something vital had been crudely amputated.

Our friendship didn't survive the coffee 'date.'  Every time I encountered her after that evening - whether it was in person, on the phone, or online - I was drunk.  It was the only way I felt like I could handle the confrontation - less with her than with my feelings for her, which remained potent long they after they had soured completely.