Crowded Beds

“The half-life of love is forever.” –Junot Diaz

I

My life can be divided between three men: the one I loved and lost, the one that could’ve been, and, finally, the one that is. It’s that simple. They each own a part of my heart and often a time I’ve felt guilty about the matter, but I cannot control that particular muscle in charge of our sentiments and emotions, for it has a mind of its own, or maybe lacks one altogether.

When it concerns my first love, the one I loved and lost, the first man I shared my life with, all I will say is that he still lingers. He remains a fixture in the abyss of my heart and I don’t think he’ll ever find his way out. Our history has shown me that when it concerns affairs of the heart, time hasn’t been my friend. Many moons have passed since I’ve realized that I will forever carry him with me. His ghost constantly haunts me, as I’m sure my ghost haunts him. Ours is the typical story of young love. We met when we were barely aware of our own lives: far too young to engage in a life together, but just like adolescence, love’s hold took a wild hold of our lives and we didn’t have any other option other than succumbing to the wonderful euphoria that was our relationship. I truly loved him and he truly loved me, of this I am certain, but what is also true is that neither of us knew how to execute that love, so therefore we made a mess of it and left it to die on the street. Its death was long, miserable, and everlasting. Every time I see him a little part of me dies again.

And I do see him often because we have children together: Two beautiful boys. Our relationship continues to be as rocky as ever. We hardly talk. In fact we hardly ever meet eyes. If we need to communicate, regarding the children, we text. We send texts that are either dry or simply cruel. Those are the two types. There are no in-betweens. We do not talk. We can’t do that, so we write. We type on our phones. I sometimes find it strangely reminiscent of our much happier times. It turns out that when we first began dating we would write letters to one another. I’m not quite sure of the reason why we picked up that ancient tradition. We weren’t separated by oceans or fighting in wars like those people in past times whose only form to reach a loved one was through a letter. We didn’t live in an Amish town; we had phones, email, and instant messenger, but instead we picked up pens and poured our hearts onto a sheet of paper. When our relationship was finally over I had two small cases full of our correspondence to one another, sweet little tokens of our affection…

It is sad because of the children, but also for us. How can two people who were lovers, best friends, and family become complete strangers? Sure, a lot happened to ruin the love: lies, betrayal, hurt, but does that have to mean that there could never be a friendship? I’ve asked myself that question many times. I cannot stop missing his presence, our playful banter, or that particular feeling of comfort that only he provides. However, those times are definitely gone now. We have both moved on, in the correct direction, with no plans to return, but there are times when on our new journey it is soothing to look back and see if our eyes can still make out that familiar road.

II

All of the stars were aligned when I met the one that could’ve been: Meeting my MR. was a religious experience, and just as evil sprouted in a place of virtue, just as the devil turned into a deceiving serpent to tempt Eve, the perfection that was discovered when my MR and I met was ruined before it really began. We met by the grace of God through a mutual friend. I can still hear the sound of his voice on our first conversation. I can still see his small frame standing by his car outside my work with his oversized scarf, and the way he pulled me close to give me a quick peck on the cheek. I’m not sure if it was because he was such a careful driver or because of the nerves, but once we got in the car, he hardly ever looked at me. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead, as I examined his hairline, his shiny skin, his posture, and his hands on the steering wheel. He seemed to glow.

I met him and dated, or talked really, because he lived in a different state, for only four months, but no one has ever had the impact that he had on my life in such a short period of time. He surpassed everyone and I didn’t even know him for half a year. The caliber of our relationship, as well as, the quality of our connection was superb and in many ways unexplainable. While my friends couldn’t understand why I was so fond of someone I had known for hardly any time at all, his friends were afraid that his feelings for me were the cause of my being the “rebound”, since he was recently out a relationship. But how could we explain (and make them understand and believe) that we had met someone we were completely attracted to, who held similar values, who had similar ambitions, and who in a matter of weeks could finish the sentence the other had begun? It was surreal.  

We went out for coffee that night, but it wasn’t until the following day that we went on our very first official date. We drove to Brooklyn to have Mexican food overlooking the famous Manhattan skyline. The food was great, the place was nice: quiet and intimate. The conversation was like none other. I told him a little about the story I had began writing the night prior and he shared some of the past events he had experienced that had affected who he was at that moment. As he spoke and told me the story of his life, I saw glimpses—fragments—of his pain. It was the first and only time I ever cried on a first date and the first time I cried for him.

Back at my apartment that night, I remember his breath in my face, and the rise and fall of his chest that kept my body slowly rocking with him. His hands grabbed and pinched my sides under my knitted burgundy sweater as our legs intertwined. The feel of his denim pants rubbed against the soft skin on my legs. A couple of times my hair would cover my face and in those moments he would move his hand from my side and run his fingers through my hair to push it back. We were silent, but our bodies were communicating in the candlelight. I could feel him on my inner thigh just as I could smell the lavender in the air that kept blowing in the room because of the cracked window. We fell asleep holding each other in that manner.

For that week I saw him a couple of times, all of which, led to our final night together during his visit to New York, and that night was New Year’s Eve. By the time I saw him it was past midnight, so New Year’s Day may be more appropriate. He brought with him an arrangement of flowers, and my first kiss for the New Year. There wasn’t ever a better feeling than those wonderful pouty lips pressed against mine. We hung out at my brother’s place and danced and partied the night away. The music we all listened to reflected the symphony playing in my heart. By the time, we made it back to my place it was so late the kids were trapped in their sleep and he and I were trapped in each other. Aware that tomorrow he would be on his trip back home, and that the next time I would see him would be weeks from then, forced me to appreciate our time even more so. I wanted to slow time, bargain with the devil for all the clocks in the world to stop that night. I yearned to hold him close while the water from all four oceans was measured and accounted for. We had shared intimacy up until that night on countless occasions, but on that early New Year’s morning, we needed to feel each other in a different way and so we both surrendered to one another. It was angelic: a glorious book of poetry.

Some beautiful things have a tendency to fall apart and this love story is no exception. Nothing and everything went wrong. Nothing had really even begun, but everything had ended. Maybe it was the distance. Maybe it was the past. Maybe it was our reservations. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was simply too good to feel true. Whatever the reason, the relationship halted. It was life’s oxymoron. And I was left with no other option, but to move on. Moving on led me to find my soul mate.

III

Meeting him was like all great things: it came with work, and compromise, and plenty of self-searching. I met him, in a way, through my best friend and platonic soul mate for 25 years. In an effort to get her back into the swing of dating after a very hurtful breakup with her on-again, off-again, boyfriend, I managed to convince her that we should both join a popular dating website. I had heard a lot of great things regarding the site from my fellow teacher friends, but I resisted at first, thinking that meeting someone through a computer simply wasn’t natural. I agreed with them, however, that we are living in different times, and that people are far too unattached from human contact and far too connected in social networks to meet on the train, or on walk outdoors, or at a bar, so believing my coworkers and wanting for my best friend (and maybe subconsciously for myself too) to possibly meet someone we would like, and possibly share a few good times with, we created our personal accounts.

I will not drag this part of the story out. I’ll just say that my account lasted nine days. That is all. I traded messages with him on the very first day, exchanged telephone numbers on the second day, and went out for our very first date one week later. My best friend cancelled hers after about a month, she is now on again with that boyfriend, but this time they are engaged to be married. The ways of the universe…

Getting to know him on the phone and then in person showed me that he and I have too much in common: we both have a passion for social justice, appreciate art, are spiritual, and open to new adventures. When I met him, I was immediately drawn to his intelligence, his manner of speaking, and his energy.

Our first date was to an art museum. He showed up at my place and although he was late, he was the perfect gentleman. He was out of the car to greet me, hug me, and open the car door for me. During our date it was obvious that he had thought carefully about our meeting. After all, he chose a museum and then a charming little place for margaritas and macaroni and cheese (my favorites!). I knew immediately that he paid attention and incorporated my interests into the date. This is something he continues to do.

However, when we met I began to notice that he was extremely different from the men I had previously dated. He was different in great ways, but different nonetheless, and that change, like any other, scared me. His personal style and his manner of thinking was a curve ball and I wasn’t sure if I had the necessary training to hit it out of the ballpark. Many times I thought I wouldn’t be able to do it. On many days, because of fear, I was ready to give up and force this man to exit my life. One day I tried ending everything and asked him not to waste his energy on a lost case as myself. I told him he deserved better, that he deserved more. After all, there I was with a great man, willing and able to make me happy, and I was refusing God’s blessing. He proved exactly how amazing he was by telling me he wasn’t going anywhere. In such a short time he put up a fight for me. He took charge of the situation and said, “you will fall in love with me”. And that’s exactly what happened.

I have fallen hopelessly in love with this man. I love his character, his integrity, and his mind. He constantly shows his love and dedication to me.  His thoughtful gestures, his affectionate soul, and the way he treats my children are reasons behind my love, but they are not all the reasons. I couldn’t possibly list them all. He is, without a doubt, my soul mate. I feel it in my core and soul and every time I kiss his full lips I know that he is magic. He is truly a manifestation of my dreams. My love for him forces me to be a better person everyday because that’s who I have to be in order to reciprocate all that he gives. It is a feeling like none other that I’ve experienced prior and I know that he is God sent.

So there it goes. That’s my love life in a nutshell: thirty years and three significant men later. The truth is they’re all special in their own way. Recently, I read a prompt that said, “If you were drunk and found yourself in one room with all the men you have loved, who will you turn to and hug?”

I closed my eyes and saw myself walking toward…