The Smoking Gun

I actually don't mind Scott smoking as much as I thought I would. His fingers stink and his mouth always has the faint taste of tobacco, but when he smokes we go outside on my balcony and talk--really talk--without the distractions of TV or music.

I stuck my foot between the rails and looked down, "What are we?" I was comfortable asking him this, perhaps because I already knew where he stood.

He took a drag of his cigarette, "Well I've always been in relationships ever since I was young--"

I cringed. This was not the response I wanted to hear. I am the available girl when he wants a girlfriend. I am not special.

"My family actually suggested to me that I needed to take a year off of relationships," he continued, "And I decided to do it. At first I was really lonely, but then I began to enjoy not having to always worry about someone else. I actually didn't go out much at all. I was working at the restaurants and I was too tired to do anything. I learned so much about myself, Sarah. I really got to know me. And I think I'm ready to get back in that stuff."

I felt a little sorry for Scott. He only just got to know himself. This was my second time living alone, and that's when I learned my strengths and weaknesses. Being the exact opposite of Scott in that I rarely have relationships, I had plenty of time to learn me. I was comfortable with myself by the time I was 25, not 30 like Scott.

"And how long have you been single?" I wanted to know if he followed through on the year-long pledge or not.

"14 months."

I smiled. A year and then some. It wasn't as dire as I originally thought. He sounded perfectly primed for a relationship. He's had his act together for two years and has been single for a year. He says he knows who he is and is comfortable with himself. He has a firm foundation for the way he's going to live the rest of his life and I know I won't have to worry about him slipping into his old habits.

"I've been single for close to two years," I admitted. "But then again I'll date someone for months and not be committed."

"Not me," he thoughtfully took another drag of his cigarette, "If you want to do this, Sarah, and be together, I'm willing. It's up to you. You tell me."

And in that moment I hated Scott. I hated him for making the decision mine because I knew I would never ask for it. I couldn't. I am too scared of what a relationship brings to have it be my idea. My fault. I wanted him to say, "This is what I want" to absolve me of all responsibility. No, this couldn't be my idea.

"So what are the ground rules, Sarah?" he prodded.

My heart thumped and I didn't like myself very much at the moment either because I knew I was about to give the wrong answer.

"How about you tell me when you start sleeping with someone else."

I lost

I took a couple of days to think about Scott's boyfriending. In the meantime, we went to another happy hour at The Musician's restaurant.

The Musician who still hasn't called.

He ran into Helen before I even arrived. "Oh you guys are here tonight?" he asked her excitedly. "Where are y'all sitting?"

I looked at Helen skeptically, "He was excited?"

"Yup. He said it just like that."

Shortly thereafter The Musician came out to visit me. He greeted me with a hug and showed me his stained shirt, "I brought some food for you."

I leaned my head away from it and gave him a look. He. hasn't. called. And now he's standing in front of me acting like nothing happened.

He pointed to the guitar player, "Is he any good?"

"Of course, he plays whatever we tell him to."

"Except for "Karma Police," he smiled. He is so proud of himself for learning it and playing it for me.

"Yes, I know! It was so classy the way you just started playing it."

We spoke for a few more minutes before he hurried off back to his tables. I turned around and my friends stared at me with their mouths open, "He was really flirty with you."

"Do you think?"

Four girls nodded, "Definitely. What are you going to do?"

"Nothing I guess. I'm still figuring out things with Scott and The Musician didn't mention anything about going out again. I'm okay with that; I have Scott."

And you know what? He still hasn't called.

Idiocy

Poor Sarah!! A really cute and really awesome boy wants her to be his girrrrrl friend!! What a stinker!

--Harvey

I was not getting a lot of sympathy from my friends.

The next morning I sent around e-mails and phone calls to those I trusted. They all came back with very much the same opinion:

Coworker Mike: So what's the problem?
Sarah: He wants to be exclusive.
Mike: Yeah, so what's the problem?
Sarah: I've only known him like a week and a half.
Mike: Is he nice to you?
Sarah: Yeah.
Mike: So what is it then, does he smell bad?
Sarah: He smells like Old Spice. Mmm.
Mike: Sarah, listen to me. Since I've known you, you've wanted one thing: a boyfriend. Now here it is and you don't want it. This is you screwing things up. He wants to be with you and you are pushing him away. When this goes sour and you're standing in my cubicle and complaining, I'm going to let you know that you had your chance.
Sarah: (muttering) Okay.

I was accused of sabotaging the relationship across the board. I think I was even called an idiot on more than one occasion. My friends watched how I suffered with Jack and they adored Scott for his confidence and easy affection. Everyone who has seen us together has made the exact same remark: With the way he looks at me, he obviously really likes me.

And I like him too. He's five kinds of adorable. He takes charge of our relationship, but not in an overbearing way. He uses my name when he talks to me. He loves his family and, just as importantly, he loves my dog.

But he talks about the girls of his past, and there's a lot of them. I don't jump into things. Ever. I'm such a careful decision maker that I haven't had a proper boyfriend since I began this blog.

In 2005.

I'm worried that I'm not special. That he's like this with all the girls. Maybe he's one of those who gets really excited in the beginning and then fizzles just as quickly. And what would happen if I allowed myself to get caught up in that? I would fall and I would get hurt AND feel like a chump for believing him.

On the other hand, he is five years older than me, leaving more room to have exes. And maybe I don't have as many boyfriends, but I date. A lot. I had Christopher, Adam, and Jack within the last year and all of those had spanned over several months, punctuated by at least 20 other men. But having a committed relationship means so much to me that I won't enter one until I feel safe. I want to know that it has the same importance to him.

And I don't know how he feels because we never talked about this.

I know that I'm commitment phobic. The idea of having a boyfriend makes my chest tighten and my stomach nauseated. I feel trapped and accountable and knowingly headed towards disaster. The last relationship I was in was so horrible that I swore I would never put myself through that again and here I am foolishly thinking, Maybe this time will be different.

My friends are right, I am an idiot.

Departing from the text

I love OK Cupid quizzes, especially when I'm at work.

The Wild Rose
Random Brutal Love Dreamer (RBLD)

Colorful, but unpicked. You are The Wild Rose.

Prone to bouts of cynicism, sarcasm, and thorns, you excite a certain kind of man. Hoping to gather you up, he flirts and winks and asks you out, ultimately professing his love. Then you make him bleed. Why? Because you're the rare, independent, self-sufficient kind of woman who does want love, but not from a weakling.

You don't seem to take yourself too seriously, and that's refreshing. You aren't uptight; you don't over-plan. Romance-wise, sex isn't a top priority--a true relationship would be preferable. For your age, you haven't had a lot of bonafide love experience, though, and this kind of gets to core of the issue. You're very selective.

Your exact female opposite: The Dirty Little Secret Deliberate Gentle Sex Master

The problem is them, not you, right? You have lofty standards that few measure up to. You're out there all right, but not to be picked up by just anyone.

"You're never truly single as long as you have yourself."

ALWAYS AVOID: The Bachelor (DGSM)

CONSIDER: The Vapor Trail (RBLM).

Link: The Online Dating Persona Test @ OkCupid - free online dating.

Wow, makes me think they read this post.

Boyfriended

"Tell me a story." It's the line I use when I'm tired and I don't want to talk anymore. I'd rather just sit and listen with my eyes closed.

Scott took a deep breath and said, "Okay." He then told me the story of his past. The pregnancy, the marriage at 22 because he wanted to do the right thing, the divorce at 23, the adoption papers that his wife signed and he eventually signed too. I had actually heard the story before--he told it to me during the storm when we were sitting in the dark at the bar and on beer number umpteen.

At first the story scared me--this guy has a past in more than one way--but some very understanding coworkers talked some sense into me.

"When was the last time he was in trouble?" asked my confidant and cubicle neighbor, N.

"His last DUI was at 24."

"And he's 31 now?"

"Yup."

"Now here's the thing: everyone has a past. You have a past. Did he learn from it, or is he still partaking in dumbassery?"

I laughed, "He recited me the number to the cab company."

"There you go. None of that matters, Sarah, if he has learned from it."

"So he has a kid," repeated Mike, my male confidant at work.

"Yup, but they gave the baby up for adoption."

"Because he was young, and 23, and couldn't take care of it. He did the right thing. Now someone like me is raising the baby as his own. Someone like me can now be a parent." I had forgotten that my coworker has four foster kids and he's giving them better homes than those kids could ever have imagined. He was the best person in the world for me to talk to about it. If Scott's past was his "shoe" as M-Joy and I called it, then we were going to be okay.

Scott finished the story and turned and looked at me, "Don't you ever wonder when it's going to be your turn, Sarah?"

OH MY GOD YES. My eyes widened as I nodded fervently. It's like he read my mind. I didn't know guys thought that way.

"I'm 31. I want to get married. No, it's not even that--I just want to date someone that I could see myself marrying."

"I just want to be loved again." Vulnerability slipped out before I could catch it and stuff it back in.

He reached out and smoothed my hair, "Again?"

Stiffly, I shook my head no, like if I barely moved, I could grab that moment back. Scott let me drop it.

We stood on my balcony, watching the Westin tower disappear and reappear in the night fog like a David Copperfield illusion, and saw Scott's coworker walk his dog below us. Small world. After hearing our story, Scott's coworker offered to sell me his motorbike at half the MSRP.

"That bike would be great for you, Sarah." He told me how--as a customer--he doesn't do with everyone what he does with me. "If someone wants a bike and I think it would be an okay fit, I just put them on it," he explained. "But you, I'm constantly worrying what would be best for you: a faster one to get you out of the way of traffic, but then maybe I think it would be too much power for you. I don't do what I do with you with anyone else."

I lowered my voice and threatened under my breath, "You better not."

"Ooh!"

Another beer later, Scott begins the next story with "So I guess I'm your boyfriend or whatever."

I got boyfriended.

He mumbled it quickly and quietly and I didn't know if he said it to appease himself or me. I was joking when I made the earlier comment; I hope he didn't say it because he thought that's what I wanted to hear. I sat there stone-faced, once again thinking if I ignored it, it didn't happen.

He continued his next story and the moment was over as quickly as it came.

Impressions

Scott called me Saturday afternoon after he got off work. Scott works on Saturdays--a concept I haven't been used to since the university days.

"Would you like to do something? My boss gave me a twenty for staying late and helping him last night. What do you think, a movie?"

Just like my Friday had been previously planned by going to see The Musician's show with my friends, my Saturday night was already planned with them too. We were going to go to the movies. I stammered.

"Well is there a movie out that you would like to see?" he prodded.

"My friends are going to see Knocked Up at the seven 0'clock showing."

"We can do that."

I had only known Scott for a week and I had only seen him three times, and he was okay with meeting the friends. Usually that's something I consider after a month of dating, and only if things are going well. But like I have been saying, he's unlike anyone I've ever dated before. I'm attracted primarily to his confidence and his take charge attitude. Of the five boys I went out with in the past two or three weeks, he was the only one who made a solid move on me. It made sense that he would be okay meeting my friends. Besides, he's heard about them enough.

Scott knocked on my door, cigarette in one hand, motorcycle helmet in the other. I leaned against the frame and smiled. He wore a polo shirt and khakis. I had never seen him outside of his work clothes and I didn't know his personal style. I wouldn't have cared what he wore to the movies, but I was elated to see he's preppy, just like me.

While I was racing on the freeway trying to make the seven o'clock time, I realized that this was our first real date. With seven of my closest friends. As we walked towards the theatre, Scott grabbed my hand. There was so much I didn't know about him: I didn't know how he dressed, or if he's a hand holder or not into PDA, I didn't know if he preferred coffee or tea, but I liked finding these things out about him.

The same people that screamed "Herpes!" at me and my date a couple of weeks before now stood in a semi-circle and smiled goofily at Scott. They were completely enamored with him. Once again Scott took control, "It's really great meeting all of you and we should all get together sometime soon."

The girls in the group just swooned. "I just want you to know how you met our Sarah is just the greatest first date story period," giggled Helen.

"I was so scared," he told them, "I looked in my side-view mirror and I saw her go down and I thought how I just hurt this woman. And then when she did it the second time--"

"What second time?"

"Uh, yeah, I didn't tell them the about the second time, but thanks for that," I told him. His mouth formed a perfect O.

"It wasn't an accident so much as it was a fence/bush situation," he explained. But I had already begun to run away out of pure embarrassment. My friends were falling over themselves in hysterics, shocked that I would keep something like this from them.

Scott turned around and bear hugged me and brought me back to the group. "Come here you," he laughed. And then he whispered in my ear, "Why didn't you tell me they didn't know? I wouldn't have said anything."

"Scott," laughed Dee, "You are officially welcome to hang out with us anytime."

"Well what about Thursday a week from now? When they're showing movies in the park?" he offered as he put his arm around my shoulder. He was making plans with my friends.

This time I swooned.

Bandages

These bandages cover more than scrapes,
cuts and bruises from regrets and mistakes
--Hot Hot Heat, "Bandages"

Scott and I are both damaged.

But for right now at least it's on the outside.

I'm still healing from my accident and he sliced his finger up pretty badly working in the kitchen. We were sitting on my couch and inspecting each other's wounds, laughing at the dysfunctional pair we looked like.

"I almost didn't put any Band-Aids on today, that way I could get a Superman one," he said as he nodded towards my palm. On it was the giant Superman bandage that I thought I would never get any use out of when I bought the box of Band-Aids. I chose the Superman ones for the irony: he's the Man of Steel and yet he's a bandage--Superman would never ever need a Band-Aid. Surprisingly, guys get really excited when they see Superman in my bathroom.

I smiled and lifted my palm to him, displaying my bandage, "Not only is he the Man of Steel, but he also fights infection!" I laughed.

Scott leaned away from me and looked into my eyes. It was a subtle double-take, but one in a good way. His face softened as he looked at me. "Come here," he said as he grabbed me and kissed me. "You are such a nut."

He melted and kissed me as a reward for my joke, but instead I felt guilty because it was half-stolen. Earlier that week a coworker was making fun my Superman bandages. "Did you put Neosporin on the wound?" he asked, "So he can also fight infection?"

Here's this guy who is seemingly so great to me, and he melted over words that weren't mine. When is he going to realize that I'm not as special as he thinks? Granted, I'm the one that chose the Superman ones and wore them proudly. I made the Man of Steel jokes. I even thought to reuse the joke, and I probably said it in a charming way. But the words weren't mine. And we all know how important words are to me.

What Scott doesn't realize is that he actually adores my half-Mexican coworker named Mike.