Now it gets dicey

I wish I could tell you everything.

He makes me so happy. But, you know, like, 95% of his life has to stay off the radar, which, of course means, off my blog. And I’m guessing that you can guess how difficult it is for my little fingers to not just start typing away…

I can say these things: he makes me laugh, he makes me smile, he makes me shake my head and go, oh my god. He gives me pause, also, when he talks about the past and who I was and how he felt about that, and of course, I have to admit that he knew me better than I thought — better than I knew myself back then.  And he knew himself pretty well, too, which is a good thing, because I was oblivious to pretty much everything about anything except my career, so it’s good that someone had sense enough back then to walk away. Even though my marriage died anyway.

The other day on the phone, he said to me, “You know, I did tell you I loved you back then. You knew. Don’t act like you didn’t. One afternoon, you asked me if I could ever love you and I told you, ‘I already do.’ I know you heard me and I held you. But you never said anything.”

And now, almost 20 years later, I suddenly remember that afternoon. And I’m thinking, Jesus, who the fuck  was I? I certainly wasn’t trying to be heartless and mean. It’s as if my world was flat and square, and his words fell from the bed  onto the floor and rolled and simply fell over the side of the world, you know? I actually said nothing. I could ask such a loaded question as that, get the perfect answer, and then not reply? Sadly, I do know that that was who I was.  It doesn’t do justice to who I was struggling to be on the inside, but there certainly was a huge disconnect between my outside and my inside worlds.

But the gift now, the blessing now, is that I have the chance to not only apologize for that — not that he’s asking for any kind of apology at all from me, which is also such a  blessing — but I also have the  chance to be a whole different kind of woman now. The woman I actually am, and the one I want to be. One who hears him and communicates and breaks the old habits of behavior and still just adores who he wants to be.

Which is, of course, insane. Even though he is actually totally sane. But his life is insane. And he enjoys pretty much every moment of it. Even the horrible stuff. He lost twin girls at 8 months because the doctor in Kenya fucked up (while a civil war was going on) and wound up killing the babies. They were born dead; stillborn at 8 months. I was so heartbroken for him when he told me about it. But he said, “Naw, they’re my angels now. They’re in Heaven , looking out for me every day. I’m with them every day.” He ‘d found his peace with it, even found a place where there could be joy. He’s like that about everything, really.

It’s so hard not to write about him, you know? Which I guess is why I have already written about him so much in the past. He takes his life as it comes to him, which is a million miles a minute. He’s a total pussy addict, for one thing. (I’m not divulging anything he wouldn’t tell a complete stranger if you asked him on the street).  He gets more pussy than any person I have ever known, and it’s still going on.  It’s not the kind of relationship I have with him or ever had with him, but it’s this sort of NYC mob guy pussy addiction thing. You know, he sees a pussy he just has to have, he’ll ask the woman if he can have it and if she says yes, then, bing, bang boom, he gets it and then  he’s back out on to the street.

It doesn’t matter if he’s married or not married, or in love with another woman or not in love; it’s just how he is. And he has always talked to me about it in this way that just kills me; he is so matter-of-fact. The other day, he said, “This girl shows up and I go down to the street to get her, you know, to pay her cab fare, and I get one look at her and I said, ‘Don’t even get out of the cab. You are not 21. Let me see your ID.’  And she says, ‘I didn’t bring my ID,’ and I know she’s maybe 16, tops. And I told her, ‘You are a liar. You take your daddy issues and go straight back home because I am not going to jail for your pussy, hon.’ I didn’t pay her cab fare, either. It kills me, these girls and their daddy issues, you know? Don’t they know I could go to jail?”

How could you not write about a man like this?  I love that he’s telling me this, while he’s also asked me to marry him — and he thinks we are getting married, so I don’t know, gang. I’m thinking maybe yes. That maybe he’s right.

I have to say that his marriage proposal was the very, very best marriage proposal I ever got. I have it memorized. I’ve read it over so many times. It is triple-X rated so I’m not going to repeat it on my blog. I did copy it verbatim in my diary, though, so after I’m dead, if you really, really , really want to know what he said, you can find out about it then.

Meanwhile, I gotta scoot!!! Have a great Saturday, wherever you are in the world, gang! Thanks for visiting. See ya.

 

 

 

 

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