“…cannot long be hidden.”

Such truth. Until the 11th of May, when I decided, simultaneously emboldened and encouraged by the drink (albeit very weak) in my system and the good-looking boy with whom I had shared stares during the evening, to tell this boy.

As he drove me home, after gently inquisitive questions about his radio music choice and his revealing he was getting frustrated about his job and schooling situations and ensuing sympathy and support from me, I said simply, “I heard Maria told you.” My tone was quiet.  I kept my head down.  Unhealed wounds from my love; double awareness:  alcohol loosens my tongue when it comes to revelations of attraction and mutual silence between my love and I.

Him: “Yes, she told me.”

Brief silence.

Me: “I like talking with you.  Do you like talking with me?”

Him:  ”I like talking with you.”

(My thoughts:  This is like an awkward pre-dance where we’re circling each other, each attracted and too shy to ask the other to actually dance. Can I get myself to get to the point of, “Do you like me”? before his car pulls up to the sidewalk?)

Me: “I like texting with you. Do you like texting with me?”

(My thoughts:  This is going to hurt.)

We ended up talking in his car after I asked him if we could and even talked some more after I asked him if we could talk outside my house. I sat on the bench and he sat next to me, our hips an inch apart. I faced forward, keeping my head down. He faced forward, his face straight ahead. We talked.  He said he’d just gotten out of a very serious relationship and didn’t date his co-workers.  He ended up saying this 3 times to an insistent me.  We talked about the deep sadness we’d felt last year when the shit went down with each of us.  I touched his arm and he smiled, glancing down at me.  I called him “sweet” and he replied, “I try to be.”  I told him, “I like what I see” and he answered, smiling at me, “I hope so.”  I assured him that he was kind and I’d been told by another co-worker (Angie) that he was a good friend.  He told me twice that he was aware that it probably wasn’t what I wanted to hear and I responded that, honestly, it wasn’t.  I asked if there was a possibility we could date since he’s planning to stay with the company and look for a way to work his way up the ladder and I was planning to go back to teaching and he said, “Possibly.  Depending on my state of mind at the time.”  I was again reminded of my love and our latest phone conversation before the damned silent period (treatment?). 

He got to his feet, reminding me that he had to go see a girl friend who was full of drugs in stress over being in the Army and being called to serve the country.  He gave me a side hug, then another side hug.  His arm around me was slender and firm and recalled my love’s. I went inside and changed into my pajamas, feeling down, leaving my jeans and sweater on my living room couch, talking to Angie and feeling my eyes teary.  He told me he wants to take time to work on himself.  I hope he does. Knowing that he was texting with a girl and talks to girls—albeit girls who are as cheap and unformed as a dime store novel—gave me such a pang that I considered not wanting to go out with the informant alongside. 

I may wait for him although part of me is aware of his extreme youth and how much I want my love to grow up and realize that I am The One for him.

I know, too, that I have to work on myself and yet I’m so lonely, unloved, ignored and used (abused?).  Love for me is a source of strength.