Inevitable

[Despite what the evidence on this blog implies, I'm not dwelling on this too much....]

Two weeks ago today I woke up to the phone ringing. This is not uncommon. On Saturdays I am capable of sleeping into the late afternoon if left alone, though it was only about ten.

For some reason I knew who it would be and what it would be about but I answered anyway.

"Hey, Mike, want to do lunch?"

"Sure." But this was suicide. I wanted to see her, even though I knew seeing her meant I wouldn't be able to anymore. I couldn't help it. "When? Where?"

I had until twelve.

I sat at my computer for an hour or so, just wasting time. I listened to music. I checked my email. I read the headlines of the New York Times. I filled my mind with so many trivialities - the perfect horn-section on the Rolling Stones' "Let It Loose," how well my spam-filter is working these days, how many civilians were killed in Iraq the day before - that I could almost forget what had awakened me.

In the shower, however, the water couldn't be hot or cold enough to distract me from the inevitable.

Who was it? Was it belittling the situation to think of it in terms of who had won and lost? Was it belittling her? Probably. But, still, I hoped it has him rather than one of the faceless names she mentioned occasionally. At least I knew who he was. At least I liked him. Could I still like him? Could I still like her? Stupid question. Could I stop liking her? That's more like it.

I stayed in the shower until the hot water was gone. I was shivering when I got out. I dressed, walked upstairs, and glanced outside. There was six inches of new snow on the street and it was still falling, slowly. It was about twenty to twelve. I hurried out to my white-veiled car and cleared it off. I always manage to get a fine mist of powder on my seat when I open the door - just enough to get my pants wet as it melts.

Of course I was out of gas.

By the time I actually started sliding toward my destination - a half-way point between our homes, the Training Table (I know, I know: the most mundane, anticlimactic location imaginable) - it was almost twelve. I decided not to call and let her know I'd be late. Why, now, do I wish I would have?

The roads were terrible. People were driving too slow and the snow was falling too fast to be able to see well. I passed the restaurant by a couple of miles and had to double-back.

She was sitting at a table in the corner eating cheese-fries. Even typing this now it makes me smile. We chatted and then we talked and then we ordered. When it was ready I went up to the counter to pick up our food.

"Well, I've kind of starting dating dating him, you know? And I don't think I can date you anymore and it makes me sad because I like going out with you, but...."

She didn't have to finish the sentence. I don't think I would have wanted her to.

"Well," I said, "it was inevitable, I suppose."

"Why was it inevitable?"

"He has thousands of hours logged with you; I can't really compete with that." I said it, and I think it makes sense. I wonder, now, if maybe I should have put up some kind of a fight, though. Would it have done any good? Probably not.

Once we got past all of that we just went back to talking. We talked about movies, math, and books. After a while I asked her what I should do differently the next time around, with the next girl, given our experience.

"You're really good at the friend thing. We always had fun. Maybe you should work on the romance a little more."

I drove home through the snow with Iggy's Lust for Life shattering my skull, but I still couldn't stop thinking about her.

Romance. Maybe I'm crazy, but I can't help but think she had missed the romance of our situation. As I explained it all to my married friends later that night, one of them stopped me: "What do you mean it was 'inevitable'?" she asked. "If it was 'inevitable,' why did you try?"

"Because she was worth it." And she was. And is.

It was a good answer; and, I think it was (and is) a true answer. To a lot of questions. In fact, the only thing it doesn't answer at this point is why on earth I'd pay for the lunch to which she had invited me in order to break up with me.

But, in my more honest moments, it answers that, too.