On Mr. Perfect

31 Aug

Dear Perfect,

I really wanted to write you this letter some time ago.  I have had a problem putting these thoughts down on paper.  I still have so many emotions when it comes to you.  So many that assail me at any given time, on any given day.

We met a number of months ago, during an inter-departmental fire training.  You were finalizing your divorce, and I was in the middle of mine.  We were brought together by our mutual bad marriages.  We bonded, and we took things way too fast.  We took everything way too fast.  Feelings, meeting each others kids, intimacy, sharing information.  I don’t regret it, it was right for us at the time.  It was everything we both needed.  You complimented me, took care of me without expecting anything in return.  You told me I treated you better then anyone else ever has, treated your kids better then their mother does.  But I began to notice a change in you.

You started becoming withdrawn.  You didn’t talk to me as much, even though you were still spending a lot of time with me.  Snuggling with me, holding me very tightly.  It was a change.  And the intimacy was different, too.  The last two times we were together sparked the first seeds of doubt in my mind.  The second to the last time it was very angry, like you couldn’t get enough of me.  The last time it was very slow…loving…almost like you were saying goodbye.  And that definitely was the case.

The next day I got a phone call from you while I was at work.  WHILE I WAS AT WORK.  You said you couldn’t handle it anymore.  The feelings, the stress, the deceit.  The deceit?  My heart just dropped, the blood drained from my face.  I hurried up and left the day room, my co-worker’s eyes on my back as I ran out.  What deceit?  I asked.  What are you saying?  That’s when you threw me a curve-ball.

I still love my ex-wife, you said.  I can’t deny it anymore.  I want to try and work things out with her even though our marriage was horrible.  I have been struggling with this for the last week.  Believe me, I didn’t want to do this to you.  I don’t want to give up something great.  But I feel like I have to try.

I was silent, thinking, processing.  Many things raced through my head.  A week?  You have been having these thoughts for a week?  I had been with you twice this week, did that mean anything to you?  Have you been talking to her this last week as well?  How did I get wrapped up in all of this?

I asked you these questions, starting with the one that struck me as most important at the time.  You took me to bed just last night, Perfect.  LAST NIGHT!  What was that, your fucked up way of saying goodbye?

No, you replied.  It wasn’t.  I wasn’t using you, I wasn’t playing you.  I had been seeing you while I was talking to her because I didn’t know what I wanted.

Whoa whoa whoa…you have been seeing both of us at the same time!?  What the fuck, Perfect!  Oh God, please, PLEASE tell me you haven’t been sleeping with both of us.  Oh my God, please…

No, you said.  I haven’t.

How was I to trust that, when you have lied to me about your feelings?  No ‘I love you’s’ were ever exchanged, but we both cared deeply about each other.  At least I thought we did.  I cared deeply about you.  I was falling in love with you, and I didn’t realize it until that point.

What followed were text messages, since I couldn’t bear to hear your voice.  You told me I was amazing.  I was wonderful.  You felt guilty and horrible.  I cried.  I was at work, in front of a bunch of firemen, and I cried.  All I kept asking was why.  Why you felt the need to revisit the past.  If it didn’t work before, why are you doing it again.

You never were able to give me an answer I wanted, or needed to hear.  You just said it is something you felt like you had to do.  And me, being the stupid, understanding, empathetic person I am, got it.  I did.  Divorce sucks.  It’s hard.  And I can’t hold against you the fact you want to try to save your marriage.  I put down my phone, determined to not communicate with you anymore.  I couldn’t handle it any longer.

I called my best friend.  The next morning she showed up at my place with snacks in one hand, and a big bottle of margarita’s in the other.  We spent all day drinking, talking, crying.  It was just what I needed.  I cried myself to sleep, and the next day I woke up feeling much better.  I was well on my way to healing…even went out on a date or two.  And then it happened.  What I was dreading.

A couple of weeks later.  930 in the morning.  My phone rang, and I picked it up to look at it.  I saw your name on my screen.  I paled, my breath caught in my throat.  Perfect.  No mistaking who it was.  Do I answer, do I not?  I wanted to hear your voice, I answered.

Hello.  No answer.  Heeeeellllllooooooo!

Esme? was the quiet response.  Esme, is that you?  Then you broke down, started sobbing.  Ummm…what is going on?

You started talking, and I couldn’t stop you.  Couldn’t get a word in edgewise.  I couldn’t interrupt you, because I wanted to hear what you had to say.  The story was unbelievable.

You and your ex had been spending a lot of time together, talking.  You thought things were going well.  You went to her place to surprise her, to take her out to breakfast, to tell her you were going to reverse the divorce.  The door was locked when you got there.  You used your key, and walked in on your ex-wife banging two guys on the sofa.  From what I understood, you raised all holy hell and ran out.  I was the first person you called.  You told me you messed up, you made a mistake.  You said you were sorry you hurt me, and you realized you were wrong.

I was speechless.  I mean, wow, that sucks.  What a horrible story.  But why was I the person you chose to call?  Why me?  You told me again you were sorry, you messed up.

Perfect, I said, I don’t want to date you.  You hurt me.  You broke my heart.  Ripped it out, stomped on it.  I was crushed, and I am just now coming out of it.  I can’t trust you.  How do I know you won’t do this again?

I know, you said.  I know.

I wished you luck and hung up the phone.  And then I cried.  I cried for you all over again.  Damn you…I was done crying over you.

As the days progressed, you began texting me again, and made the occasional phone call.  Never asking about dating, but just wanting to be friends.  You told me you have never had this connection with anyone else, and you want to work on keeping it.  You said you would earn my trust back, you would do what it takes for us to get there.  I have to admit, I missed talking to you.  I missed your advice.

Against my better judgement, I allowed these exchanges to take place.  I began taking more of your phone calls.  We got back to a place where we were talking every day.  We reached the level of comfort we had before.  Crap.

This is going to be bad…

Love, Esme

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One Response to “On Mr. Perfect”

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. My Sexy Time Comes To An End « Love, Esme - December 6, 2010

    […]  To give into what was happening, to let go, to not fight.  This happens.  It was shades of Perfect all over again.  I couldn’t handle this, not right now.  Not after that amazing night. […]

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