Where The Hell Is Waldo?

It's an effin' "Where's Waldo" I explained to my friend.  We were hanging on the phone lines between Birmingham and Raleigh, while I was hanging in the emotional gap between heartache and a twisted sense of humor conmbined with the deeper knowledge that this sort of irony always seems to plague me.  "I mean...it's this huge spread of guys...and the only good one in the whole bunch is Waldo...but he's lurking behind a flock of sheep or some nuns or something...and so you keep seeing the douche bags who just happen to be wearing Waldo's hat...or that damned rugby shirt...so you keep thinking...AH HA!  This is him, this is Waldo!  Only to find out later that the bastard just stole the real Waldo's hat."  This was only one of the bizarre analogies that emerged from this conversation...all of which were tools to explain my current predictment...but none of them honestly offering me any answers--only a tangy taste of humor to choke down--which honestly is better than tears.

I had started this post a month ago.  I was interrupted though, and then everything changed...and I let it delete itself one day.  I had actually started to believe that my fantasy was slowly morphing into a reality...and I held my breath and watched, instead of documenting and analyzing every moment as I am sometimes prone to do.  But in the wake of everything, as I watch the piece wash away--I'm back...and Waldo...well, he's not here anymore.

A month ago, I became furious.  J had amped up the flirtation but I still had no answers.  I had decided...twas better to know than to be blissfully ignorant...but I hadn't developed the backbone for a solid rejection.  Instead, I veiled my curiousity in invitations.  One of which resulted in a tennis match one Saturday afternoon.  Four of got together and wacked some balls around for hours.  As we left, J inquired about our plans for that evening after he and his friends got off work.  We responded that we didn't know, but if they did anything fun, they should let us know about it.  My friend and I returned home and decided to hang out with them, and went about the girly, silly process of dancing around in one's room with the music blasting while taking copious amounts of time fretting over hair and outfits.  It got later and I shot a text to J--at this point, not all that out of the ordinary, asking what they were getting up to.  I didn't hear back.  An hour later, annoyed once again with the high school style game I felt like we were playing, I put on my big girl shoes and called him for the first time.  Ring...ring...ring...voicemail.  I didn't leave a message.  I called so that I would know if his phone was dead or not--this way, I couldn't possibly fall for the dead phone excuse later.  I never heard back from J that night.

I shocked myself.  The state I was in...was nothing short of pathetic.  Undoubtably, the most depressed I had been since my break-up last year.  It was horrifying to see how far he had gotten under my skin, especially with no commitments or promises ever made.  J had come to mean way too much to me, and I had figured it out far too late.  I cried, moped, and felt generally ill.  I disgusted myself, which made me feel even worse.  I deleted him from my phone.  The explanations for what happened rang through my head all day.  He was out with another girl...that had to be it, one theory commanded.  Why would he ask what you were doing later...and then not answer the phone?  Why would he essentially invite you...and then not follow through?  Well, he couldn't have very well said, oh yeah, I'm over here at such-and-such bar...but I don't think you'll want to come, since I'm macking on someone else.  There were others, of course like...what did I do in the course of four hours that went from an invitation to ignoring me like I was that creepy girl stalking him?

The terrible mess of anxiety that lines your stomach and keeps you from eating or even really breathing deeply convinced me I had felt this way FAR too recently...and I really didn't want to be sad again.  Being sad and depressed and broken-hearted was something I should I known better than to flirt with again so soon.  I wasn't completely healed or ready to be puting myself out there for that much worthless pain yet.  J was swiftly deleted from my phone and in my mind, life.  But he wasn't ready to go.

Later his facebook status informed me that his phone had died and he couldn't find his charger.  I snorted at it, but in the dark little quiet place in my heart, I wondered if that post was meant specifically for my eyes.  Sadly, it still mattered to me.  I thought it was intended for me.  I was right.

The next day he dipped his toes in the water cautiously, curiously.  I was careful to be lukewarm.  He took note.  There was no apology, but there was an unwarranted and lengthy explanation of the death of his phone.  I nodded along--aware of the fact that J didn't want me angry with him, for whatever reason. 

I won't go into as intense of detail to explain how he found his way back into my heart...and so quickly at that.  For whoever reads this, if anyone, you will just have to trust that he melted me away quickly and devoted himself wholly to me from that moment of indiscretion on in such a way that it felt as though...he realized he had come very close to completely losing me, and he didn't want to see that happen.  He was on his best behavior for the next month.  Our "relationship" sprang to life.  Everyday he texted me.  Every opportunity to hang out, he was there.  We were spending a surprising amount of time together.  His work schedule had him there with me, everyday.  We found excuses to spend time together on weekends.  Three out of the four weeks this month, he found his way into my bed.  We never had sex--I can honestly say that.  What we had...was incredibly confusing.

In my mind, J is a relationship guy...who had found himself single...and thinking he wanted to be single.  But the way he treated me was like a girlfriend--a completely misplaced emotion and action--and thus, incredibly bipolor in a lot of ways.  We were wildly attracted to each other. Our makeout sessions stretched from a steamy stint against the refrigerator, to being carried to the couch, to the bedroom, to the floor of the bedroom...essentially around the world...but at the end of the night, he would take me and tuck me into his warm arms and spoon me.

One night, while he and I and a group of friends were out together, a girl I had never met before asked me if the two of us were together.  I could tell from the glossy haze in her eyes that she was interested in him and I was completely puzzled as to how to answer her question.  "No..."I finally said honestly.  "Not we aren't."  Afterall...J and I had never even been on a date.  We had hung out with groups, we talked in some form everyday...but when it came to actually taking me out somewhere...or going so far as to put the label of...well...anything on it, we had not.  "But you're talking to him, I heard that, right?"she asked me.  "You heard we were talking?"I repeated.  Talking?  What the hell is talking anyway?  I'm sitting next to him...and I have no idea how to answer.  He was not in on the conversation, so that wasn't the problem, but I realized at that moment that I had no idea what we were doing, and I couldn't answer her "yes" without knowing if that would have been his answer too.  Suddenly, it became important to define all of this.  I told her no.  Later I regretted it horribly because as I reviewed what I basically just typed above, I realized, at least by my definition, that must be talking.  It didn't come back to haunt me like I worried it might, he came home with me that night and seemed to have no interest in this other girl--but it prompted me to ask in the morning if we might ever actually just hang out--nothing serious, but just go do something sometime.  "Like a date?"he picked up on, all too quickly (perhaps we ladies don't give men enough credit...or perhaps they don't deserve it...because that then means they just chose to play dumb.)  I don't know why I was dancing around the "d" word like I was on hot coals.  I guess I was afraid it would freak him out and send him running.  Hanging out sounded much more laid back.  He agreed that we could do that and I was pleased.

Another week passed and we seemed to get even closer.  I was liking more and more about him.  I think he was liking more and more about me.  It was giddy and delicious and wonderful.  I looked forward to the flirtation, the text messages, and what had become rather frequent kisses goodnight.

This most recent weekend was no different.  Our group met and drank.  Lord knows why, and also knows I regret it, but I had too much.  I can't say I remember it happening--as I played my part in polishing off a "crazy bucket" from Harry's, but...now there are things that I just can't remember.  Like how I rode in his lap back to friend's house, or how I got a huge bruise on my right arm.  I also don't quite remember him scooping me up and carrying me to my car (as I have now been told) but I do remember him kissing me in my apartment later that night.  I also remember talking to him about our exs...The next morning, I woke up...epically and miserably hung over.  He woke up a completely different person.

He bolted out of bed, was throwing on clothes, he was hardly saying a word.  This was a stark and painful contradiction to the previous weekend when he had laid there holding my hand until early afternoon, talking about dream cars and houses.  I gawked at him from beneath a looming headache and the covers.  "Did you have somewhere you needed to be?"I attempted, apologetically.  "I mean...no...I just have a whole lot I have to get done today,"he mumbled, shuffling around.  He vanished into the den and I remained, awkward and frozen in my own home.  A sense of cool relief washed over me knowing we had never had sex...because if we had...I know I would have been hating myself and hating how cheap I would have felt at that moment.  Now I just felt confused and vaguely pissed off.

He came back in and offered me a sideways buddy hug and a kiss on the cheek.  My brain was exploding.  Last night...his tongue his down my throat...and now we're sideways buddy hugging?  In previous weeks, I always got a goodbye on the lips...there was something off.  I pried.  "Are you okay?"  "Fine."

A silly...hungover...sleep-deprieved thought filtered its way into my mind.  "What are we doing?"I asked.  He's confused.  "I mean...what is this...are we friends with benefits or what?"

"I guess so."  Hmmm...that sucks.

"Is that what you want to be?"

"I'm confused.  What do you want?"

Even without the liquor pounding through my system...I had somehow developed a backbone.  Maybe this one was made of my frustration and the annoyance of not knowing what the hell was going on.

"I would like to date you.  Nothing serious,"I ease the situation, "But I like you, I like hanging out with you, I'm attracted to you...so...would you have any interest in dating me?"

"I would love to date you,"he starts (ah...this is good), "BUT..." (shit)..."Just like you...I'm just kind of getting out of something really serious...and I'm just kind of in transition.  I'm not ready to jump back into anything right now."

Maybe he misunderstood..."I'm not talking about jumping into a relationship,"I counter (silly boy...).

"I'm just messed up/confused/other pointless descriptive word....and I really like spending time with you but--"

"But, no,"I finish for him.

"I just can't now."

"Can't now?"

"I mean...nevermind."  My mental dialogue is saying...he's single, you're single...he spends a lot of time with you, he says he likes spending time with you...he's obviously attracted enough to want to make out with you all night...what is the problem here?

Then I remembered a little something about me.  "Well...I'm sorry, but I can't do friends with benefits.  That's not what I want.  I'm not the kind of girl that just screws around."

"Yeah...okay, I understand.  So...can we be friends?  Or no?"

"We can be friends,"I say, convincingly.  (Can we?)  He leaves after I give him what I can only assume to be the last kiss--on the lips (take that!).  I can't think about anything else for the rest of the day.  Part of me...is proud of me.  I am not a hook-up girl.  I'm better than that.  I'm a girl you date, I'm a girl you take home to parents.  I will not take whatever I can get from this guy.  I'm not desperate.  I liked him.  I love me.

The other part of me...was devastated and confused.  I had thought we were moving towards dating.  Actually...we had somewhat gone beyond first...second...third dates...we were some crazy hybrid of dating.  I started asking all of the appropriate questions:  the most prominent being, What's the problem?  Why not just date me?

I don't need roses.  I don't need fancy dinners.  I need me and him and a bag of popcorn and a dollar movie from a grocery store.  I know, without any doubts or hesitations that my requests or desires are not crazy or going too far.  I have just about decided that his problem may be exactly what he told me--it's the ex factor.  I don't know all of the details of J and his lady's rocky finale.  I know that he and she were together as long as my ex and myself--something I honestly kind of like about him, because we understand each other very well--and I thought we understood the place where we both stand now.  But now, I have come to believe I am a couple of steps (hey, who knows, maybe even a couple of miles) ahead of J.  I can only assume--but I would imagine J and she still talk and see each other on occasion.  I'd bet he probably feels like the chapters aren't all completely closed out, and throwing me into the mix could really close the door on her.  Maybe he's not ready for that.  Maybe he thought...as I can understand...that he was going to marry her and it's hard to let go of the future you had always envisioned with that person.  And maybe he won't have to let it go.  Maybe the two of them are suppose to be together and they'll find their way back to each other and they'll get married.  (Isn't it funny how I have made up this whole lovely tale of redemption for the two of them?  And what about my story?  Hmm?  What was I?  The blip on the radar?  The halftime show?)

Here's the thing...J isn't a jerk.  I wish I could file him away in that category and be happy with it and say, Look at me, I'm better off without him.  But really...he's lovely.  He's a delightful, endearing person who my heart is still warm towards.  I am currently mourning the fact that I can't have my chance with him.  Its a delusional and dangerous thought...but if we were to get together, I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that we would have been excellent for each other--with something potentially very real.  (But there you go...all in my head...since it will always stay all up in my head.)

I thought about him the rest of the day.  I replayed the conversation in my head, I replayed each moment for friends.  I will probably never understand the real reasons behind why he was content to keep me a hook-up friend...but I'm not that.  Instead...I will be the coolest girl that he will never get to date.

Friends with benefits.  What are they?  Why do they exist?  When there is enough fun that you are friends...but enough attraction that you desire the benefits...then why doesn't that follow what sounds like the nature evolution to dating?  In that same phone conversation I explained to my friend, self-righteously..."I am not a drive-thru girl...I'm not a...zip in here fast and grab something cheap and greasy...I'm not a taco bell!"

"No!"she agreed, "You're the Cheesecake Factory."

"No, I'm damned Ruth's Chris!" I pounded my chest.  "I'm special occasion.  You better be dressin' up nice if you want to come eat here!"

We paused for a moment of immature awkward, 'that's what she saids.'

J has left me feeling incredibly sad--the knowledge now that fantasy is not reality and I won't ever actually have him.  Friends have since chanted the standard, 'He's an idiot and not worth your time if he doesn't recognize you for how awesome you are,' 'insert other wonderful generic friend comment intended to make you feel as fierce as Beyonce.'

I will trudge through this all as best as I can...if nothing else, it inspired me to move to the edit bay and crank out a resume.  I'll be applying this weekend--I realize now I've been holding back on getting my life going..(embarassingly pathetically) because of my hope of something developing with him.  Now it's obvious it's time to get the hell out of dodge.  This Ruth's Chris is waiting for Waldo to find his way into the restaurant.  J isn't a douche wearing the doppleganger rugby shirt or hat...he's just a guy that I wish it could work with...but it just won't.  But there's gotta be somebody out there--hiding behind the nuns or the sheep or whatever...and it's good to remember in the mean time that I'm a Waldo too...and it's worth it to wait until somebody figures that out.