I love the emotionally unavailable man. Brothers with all the goods--but none of the ability to be emotionally available. They are usually smart, witty, good looking, gainfully employed with good credit, love they mamas--and have abandonment issues of one sort or another.
The last one I let take me on a 7 year roller coaster. I said I would never write about it. But after the "Slish"ster asked me about my tendency to undo a good thing especially as it relates to my current s.o, I thought I might as well do it.
**wavy dream scene takes you back to Spring 1999**
I was standing on the Fulton Street subway platform, with my big ass head phones listen to the Love Jones soundtrack after anothe back breaking day earning tution slinging pizzas and beer on the Seaport, when it happened. I knew he was the one. Dude had this goofy but sweet country ass way about him. We worked together. But I had never really said more than a couple of sentences to him. Wasn't my type. At least at the time. I was all about Brooklyn boys. He was the whitest frat boy black man I had ever laid eyes on. But standing on that platform that night, trading my Love Jones for his Aquemini, we bonded.
After that meeting of the minds, I started hanging with the restaurant crew--which means I was a part of a living breathing daily soap opera--full of who's sleeping with who, who passed out on the ferry and didn't make it home till five, who was so and so's real baby daddy. Drinking after work. Having a blast.
Drunkeness led to loose lips one night and some chick told Country that I wanted to "blow his back out." And cool flirting turned to damn near unbearable sexual tension. Summer rolled on. And the rule became that we were "just kicking it, she's not my girlfriend or nothing." (wonder what movie that's from?) His roommates became my boys. Debauchery in full swing.
Summer ended with three weeks till my new fellowship and new place would be ready. He said come stay with him until my place was ready. The new place was pretty much a closet in an insane asylum. Temporary became damn near permanent.
Let the games begin.
For two years we lived together. But were never together. We had two damn near knock down fights over chicks he was fucking, dudes he thought I was fucking (was not), and the "come close now go far away" crap that he used to pull. Whenever we got too close he pushed me as hard as he could, including the one time he said to me regarding the possibility of the death of my first love, that "everybody dies get over it." which turned into people's shit getting put in plastic bags and put on the street in a snow storm.
Eventually, we both moved...to D.C. I said I was going and the next thing I knew he was going to, of course telling everyone including his Mama that I was following him.
Another 3 years of "kicking it". Always the same. I would move on to an emotionally available (actually needy was more like it) man during one of our many hiatus' and he would come back and I would fall for the ...hook line and sinker.
The day I decided to cut that shit out, he comes with the "lets do this...as a three month trial." and I fell for it.
One car wreck that damn near killed me and a fat white girl later, we stopped talking. I went on the celibacy road for nearly two years. And lots of shit became clear as day. Including the fact that I must have been crazy as cat shit. Boy, my friends must love me, cause they listened to me pine away about it forever.
NYC saved me. Going back to school saved me. Not being able to reach out and touch that fool saved me. Growing the hell up saved me. I stopped falling for the traps--though I did fall in once or twice right before the decision to be celibate.
See, I got clarity. And the moment after it my mind and sense so clear I met Big T.
And I been trying to fuck it up ever since. He's cute, strong, witty, sensitive, ambitious, damn good in bed and guess what? Emotionally available as hell and patient with a slightly type A personality like me.
So what's the problem? Fear and lack of control.That's what its always been.
I'm working on it.