Aller vers l'inconnu

        It is 7 am on Monday morning the 21st of January 2013. I am currently sitting in the sous-sol of my funny little ¨three story¨ studio next to the radiator and between the coin douche and the coin cuisine writing this furtively so as not to make noise. The wine baron is asleep on the bed above and I have slept like shit.

         I was supposed to be stuck in Fontainebleau last night due to snow but after Mom of my girl kiddos ripped Dad of girls a new one, he made the crawl on un-ploughed snowy roads to get us to the train station two hours later than usual and I got to Paris last night a bit before eight. This meant I would actually get to say goodbye to my FWB before he leaves tonight around 18h out of the Gare de Lyon.

         Nonetheless, I had called him yesterday before I knew I was coming home to tell him about possibly not making home and thinking about having to say goodbye to him again. I hate goodbyes. I then asked him about possibly coming down the weekend after my birthday, in about two weeks, to celebrate and come say goodbye to M and Y who are moving to Vancouver at the end of February.

         ¨We'll see,¨ he replied, gêné. ¨I'll have a fair amount of professional salons and things to take care of in the coming weeks, so I risk being busy that weekend.¨

         ¨I understand.¨

        ¨I'll know more in about a week or so,¨ he replied.

        ¨You'll keep me updated? I can always buy a ticket later.¨

        ¨Ok,¨ he said. We hung up.

*  *  * 

          At about eleven last night as I was prepping my things for the week, the FWB returned from the Moulin Rouge with his family. He was surprised to see me. His phone had died and he hadn't gotten my text message about returning that night. 

           I tried to hug him but he awkwardly distanced himself as he packed his suitcases and explained that he'd be meeting up again with family at 9 am to go on a bateau mouche. We chatted but there was something in his expression that I know all too well: the illusory and million miles of emotional distance in between three feet of physical distance. I discern this like a hawk, I have been so well trained to pick up on it. Blame it all on my past dating scars, but I'm no dummy. I started picking up on it this entire past week. I know what it looks and feels like, I have the emotional acuity thin and fine enough to slice it like a jet moving at Mach three through the airspace. 

           If he needed to say something, I wasn't going to yank it out of him. I'd let him proceed. 

          At midnight we brushed out teeth and climbed into bed when he started listlessly and vaguely bantering about future projects and being sorry about not knowing if he'd be free my birthday weekend. I replied that given the way that my life is up in the air too, it's normal, I understand. That we are both in a place where the life equation is xy + z= 5, and how the hell are you supposed to solve that without a single solid variable. Puzzle me that one. 

           Then he put space between us and went quiet. 

          ¨ Ça va?¨

          ¨Ouiiii,¨ he replied in his deep voice. I love it when men think you can't tell something is wrong. A silent pause. 

          ¨Is there something bothering you?¨

          He swallowed, and then he told me this: that he'd spent the whole week reflecting and thinking and that to be one hundred percent fair, he had to tell me that he just didn't think we should keep seeing one another. Not because of me--as he put it, I'm beautiful and funny and thoughtful and it really is quite dommage that he met me when he did, because he would love to invest in a relationship with me, but he can't give fifty percent to his career and fifty to a relationship. 

          ¨If I had met you when I had my career established and my vineyards, it would be different. I could give you the attention and the time you deserve, but right now I can't consecrate that to you. You deserve someone who can.¨

           I had told him that to be honest on my part, I didn't care, because I don't want to see anyone else but him. Which is the honest to God truth. I will spend my time here in Paris with mindless people on mindless dates when all I want is to see him, even with the distance. He replied that even so, he'd prefer to stop on good terms because he didn't want to get to a point where he could only see me every once in a while and have that upset me. But he answered that he thought it best to stop now, so things don't get messy and we end on bad terms.

            ¨ I figured out that you were pretty attached,¨ he swallowed. ¨And I don't want to hurt you.¨

            And you weren't at all attached? And you felt nothing? I wanted to scream. You cannot tell me you felt absolutely nothing given the way you treated me. 

           But I told him I am not apt to anger and that I understand, because I do. 

           Timing sucks. Timing sucks so badly. I have been cosmic haha'd once again. For once in my life I found someone I feel so compatible with and here the universe has to rip him right out of my hands again. I could deal with it once before I barely knew him but to do it again is cruel. I have the distinct impression that if we were just a bit more settled and just a bit older we could actually give this a shot and now my worst case scenario feels like it's arrived: I won't even get a shot at seeing what this could be, and the death of the unknown possibility, of the potential of it all, and that is what is most devastating to me. 

             ¨ Can I at least say hello to your parents tomorrow?¨ I asked. 

            ¨ Of course,¨ he answered. ¨ We can grab lunch after the bateau mouche or something.¨

             This has been my only request. I have two others of him, which I will not make just yet: 

             1. The he read the copy of the Alchemist I gave him, once and for all. 

             2. That for my birthday he send me the files of the photos he took of the two of us at Les Baux de Provence. So I have some sort of proof that this happened and I didn't dream it all. 

            Had he left my place last night, I would've slipped on my running shoes for a freezing as hell jaunt through the snow to beat everything I felt and feel--the sadness, the confusion, the slight anger at the universe--into the frozen Parisian pavement. I would've taken this laptop and slipped down into my little living room and written this all out hours ago. 

            Instead I tossed and turned with him separated as far as he could be from me on the mattress, curled in the other direction, and lie torturously awake with eyes wide open until the coffee I'd had at nine pm wore out enough for me to sleep. I stared off blankly and let a few silent tear drops down my cheeks in the dark. 

            Then somehow I drifted off until 630 am when I said to hell with it and made another coffee and am now nicely caffeinated and writing this swan song as I head towards a whole lot of unknown's. 

              Do not forget me, is all I could think. Wondering if this is really, once and for all, goodbye. 

              And if he lets me I'll go with him to the train station tonight, give him a hug, and say goodbye. Maybe for good. That is what breaks my heart. 

             Do not forget me.