The Graceful Truth: Part VII

I remember it so clearly; the first time I told him I loved him still and I wanted more than an every once in a while thing. He got this doe-eyed expression on his face but followed it up with a deadpan look of pain and regret. We were sitting together at a bar in down town San Diego surrounded by our close friends. Well, they were most definitely more his friends than mine, I had already moved away, had already ducked out of his life like it were the bubonic plague coming to destroy me.

He glanced away into the crowd, his leg beginning to shake with the pressure of emotion bubbling up inside of him. It was several months before our wonderful LA weekend together, and I made the utter mistake of thinking one day in the hot sun wrapped close to his body was enough for him to forgive me for all the mistakes I had made in the past. I saw the torn flesh and mutilated bones beneath the sturdy structure of his life, but the damage was still there, and no amount of lazy Saturday’s together would ever fix what I did.

“Grace I…,” he began but was immediately interrupted by his best friend Alex who had bought another round of drinks for the table.

“Why so glum friend?! You have drinks, a hot lady on your arm, and you have me! Cheer up fucker!”

He smirked and doused his throat with a hearty chug of Newcastle before he disengaged himself from my side expressing a need to smoke. I didn’t follow him, I knew that he needed the fresh air and the time alone.

Looking back maybe I should have followed him, maybe that had been my only chance, but I knew deep down that it wouldn’t have worked. His eyes had told me no before his mouth was able to produce the correct syllables. It was no then, and it was no the few months after, I should have known better but the blinders were on and I was forging ahead at full speed.

The music outside of the tent slowed to a stop and before I knew it the wedding was wrapping up to a close. I suddenly didn’t want it to end. It felt like the drop of water from a constant cliff side going dry without warning. I needed more, I craved the cool sparks of his touch, I craved the warm fire building to the heights of an inferno in my chest.

“I have to say my good byes to my sister,” Kellan said pausing for a moment looking back inside the tent toward the slowly dispersing crowd. “Are you, staying anywhere close tonight?”

I knew what he was asking, and as much as my mind was screaming at me to tell him no, my mouth couldn’t form a plausible reason to cooperate. “Yeah, I have a room at the Hilton.”

“Good,” he said with a slow smile. “Don’t leave just yet, I’ll be right back.” He handed me his pack of Menthol's that he hadn’t himself touched, and his lighter before dashing inside to lift his sister in a brotherly bear hug.

I was in deep now.  You are probably thinking that I could just say no, and you are right I could, but I now myself better by this point and when it comes to Kellan I never know how to say no. He always yanks me in by both hands dragging me under his spell. I fall hard, I fall fast, and then I’m drowning alone and he is gone yet again. I made one mistake, one tiny misstep, and it’s haunted me every day since. If only I hadn’t walked away from him that night, if only I hadn’t found that other guy, if only…if only.

My head hangs in the shaming guilt of my past and I can’t keep from lighting up another cigarette, a steady slow stream of smoke zipping in and out of my lungs calming me slowly into a less agitated state. Once the flame licked at the filter I dug into the pack and lit up again. No sense in stopping now, I was finally feeling a little more in control of myself. The champagne had worn off and the water was filtering out my alcohol soaked system.

By cigarette three I glanced back into the tent to see where Kellan was but through the remaining 20 or so guests he was nowhere in sight. His sister, hugging a few of her random cousin’s, glanced up to see me standing alone and smiled in my direction before heading my way.

“Hi Grace,” she said smoothly. It was the first time we had spoken all evening.

“Hi,” I said softly feeling a little ashamed that I hadn’t spoken a word to the main woman of the evening. It was her night after all and I had all but completely ignored her. “Have you seen…,” I started before her head ducked down and then popped back up.

“He left.”

Shock rang through me at her words and at first I didn’t actually believe her. “Left? Did he say where he was going, or when he would be back?”

“Well, he um…left with a few girls, I don’t exactly expect him to come back.”

I think she noticed my shock was more than just surprise, it was also massive hurt. My eyes began to sting with salty wetness and I shook my head several times to ward off the rising sickness vying to break out of my throat. “He just left?”

The black vortex of my past crashed into my present settling like a weight of bricks over my shoulders. There was no leaving it behind, no keeping it in the past. It was official now and I had to get it through my head. He would never take me back, he would never love me again, and there was no reason why I should ever see his face again.

Somehow I managed to stumble to my hotel, though I am not sure how I actually got there. My feet were screaming at me, so I think I walked almost most of the way. I stumbled half heart sick half drunk (because I most definitely snagged a half bottle of Tullamore Dew on my way out of the party) into the lobby of my hotel. The doorman was softly yelling at me but I didn’t pay him much attention as I punched the elevator button and fell through the doors as they split apart.

If my life were a movie Kellan would have dashed through the closing elevator doors just as they were about to shut. He would have walked up to me and grabbed my face kissing me with everything he had. He would have professed his undying love for me apologizing for his mistakes and his neglect of our togetherness. Or, as soon as I exited the elevator I would have seen him sitting outside of my door waiting for me to come back. With a bottle of my favorite whiskey and two glasses, one already half-filled because the nerves got to him too fast and too strong for him to wait. But my life isn’t a movie, and romantic gestures never happen for me.

You know what I got? A text at 330am. And you know what I did? I answered it.

K: U up?

G: no, go away

K: Can I call?

G: I’m sleeping

K: Nice try Gracie, come on, talk to me. I wanna talk to you

G: silence

K: I’m calling you now, please answer

I did answer, because even after all this, I am still the biggest damn idiot there ever was. Don’t get your hopes up. With this rolling coil of fear squirming through my body, this phone call isn’t going to be a good one I can guarantee it.

The Graceful Truth: Part VI

Have you ever been to Disneyland, or a theme park where you have to wait in line for an undetermined amount of time waiting and waiting for your moment to sit in the hot seat for maybe three minutes? That’s what I feel like right now. I am sitting in my seat clutching glass seven of champagne trying my best to sip it as slowly as possible while my legs shake out a rhythm of crazed nerves.

After Kellan walked away from my table at the elbow of the elderly gentleman I immediately started to keep a closer eye on him. I told myself it was because I wanted to be ready when he asked me to dance, but the truth was that after his lips brushed against my skin I couldn’t seem to stop my eyes from devouring him. Perhaps it was half creepy stalker of me, but I chalked it up to just feeling prepared when we would be in closer proximity.

Three slower waltz songs pass through the air followed by an upbeat jazzy number and a more pop spastic hit that I forgot I used to secretly like.  My knees shake and tremble the entire time as my stomach does an endless number of back flips every time Kellan happens to catch my stalker eyes. He smiles at me, and waves, he makes silly faces at me from across the room. It takes me about 30 full minutes to realize he is watching me as much as I am watching him, and not just that but he is eye flirting with me. That’s a thing I swear it, I felt the blazing metaphorical heat against my skin every time he glance my way.

By song ten I was starting to think he forgot about me. He had danced once with his sister, once with each of the three bridesmaids, and once with an older woman that kept her hands quite close to the top of his ass. He had to keep pulling her hands upward but they continually slipped back down to fondle him like an old pervy woman is allowed to do.

Song twelve (yes I am counting alright!) and I am drinking water. I know, but its bubbly water and I need some actual hydration. I close my eyes to regain some composure because by this time I am at a loss of what to do. It’s been a while since I have seen him, but not that long that I don’t remember him.

There was a weekend about two years ago that he was actually able to meet me in my neck of the woods. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year and had been off and on friends after the break up for almost two years. Things were comfortable for us, easy, like drinking a nice cool glass of lemonade on a hot summer afternoon. It just made sense and there was never a reason not to.

He met me at a restaurant in Downtown LA and the last thing I expected was a clean shaven god of a man to walk up to me and smile like he had known me for years. “Hey beautiful.” He said it like we had just talked earlier that day, when I hadn’t really talked to him in several months.

It was him, but he was the clean cut dressed up gorgeous version of him. When we dated he had his clean pretty moments, but that evening he had hit the nail directly on the head. My mouth watered and my knees trembled just looking at him.

It wasn’t fair how easily he was able to instigate these wobbly feeling inside me. The second his hand touched my cheek that night I had been a goner. The entire weekend was a blur of skin, sweat, drinks, and giggles. Then it was over and we were back to being distant friends and somewhat inconsistent pen pals.

That night assaulted my lonely mind whenever I had trouble falling to sleep, or in moments like these when I was surrounded by loving couples but I had nothing to show off. Watching him offer his hand to yet another young blonde woman while I waited for him on the side lines felt like a punch in the gut.

Sometimes though, especially in these moments, I feel like I deserve what’s being chucked in my lap. I pushed him away and told him to leave. I made the decision to date another guy right after him, I also made the decision to move away and distance myself from him. It’s my fault, and mine alone that he has other avenues to walk down instead of the one aiming toward me. I know I want something with him, I see that now and it’s impossible to deny it, but I can’t ask him for it. The second my mouth opened it would just be a running stream of nonsense and word vomit anyways. The Champagne has done its job, I am a buzzed up bubbly mess.

I stood up on wobbly legs and headed out toward the front of the tent where the evening air kissed my skin with freshness. It's cool, but not overly cold. In my green silk dress the evening actually felt beyond perfect. I really craved a cigarette, I wanted something sharp and biting to whip my sense back into shape. Every limb in my body was filled to the brim with bubbles and Brut, I needed a punch of nicotine to right my world again, and I hadn’t smoked in over three years.

“Still crave the menthol? Or do you prefer the classy American Spirits like most LA smokers do?” His voice was like melted chocolate over my senses; drugging, dark, and deeply sensual.

“Menthol always,” I responded easily, as though his words and tone had no effect on me whatsoever.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh box of Marlboro Menthol's smacking his palm with the ease of experience before offering me first pick. I plucked one from its pristine placement and brought the filter to my lips before I remembered that I had no lighter.

“I’ve got ya.” His hands slipped up toward mine cupping my wrist to keep me steady before snapping the flame at the end of the cigarette.

Silence enveloped the space between us making my mind relax into comfort. It felt wonderful, the kiss of our past slid between us in a whirl of memories we didn’t need to voice aloud. But of course I ruined it, it is what I do best really.

“So how is your girlfriend?”

He chuckled softly casting a sideways glance in my direction before he flared up his own cigarette. “It isn’t obvious? You’ve been watching me all night, I thought you would have caught on sweetheart.”

My head whipped his direction so fast that my cigarette almost flew out from between my lips. “What happened?” I asked shyly, like he didn’t know the meaning behind my question. ARE YOU SINGLE!? PLEASE GOD TELL ME YOU ARE SINGLE AND WANT ME!

“We had our differences and we ended it.” Simple. Honest. Told me absolutely nothing.

“Oh.” I took another hefty drag on my cancer stick and flicked the ends several times more than necessary as I took in his words. No wonder he was dancing with every blonde woman in the vicinity, he always had a preference to them. Always made me wonder what he saw in my dark red straighter than straight strands.

Music sifted out to our silent spot in bubbling waves and I unconsciously began to sway. Kellan noticed. He turned toward me plucking the cigarette from between my fingers and flicked it into the ash tray before his hand slipped around my waist pulling me in close for a slow soft dance. We didn’t really move all that much, we more swayed to the tune, but our bodies pressed into each other like old lovers. My head drooped toward his shoulder allowing our cheeks to kiss side by side. I felt his lips rustle through the layering of my hair before he planted a tender kiss on my temple.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispered softly.

I pulled slightly away from him needing to see his eyes to know if what he spoke was truth or just in the moment words, but his eyes gushed with emotion and I was immediately drowning in their tenderness. “I’ve missed you too.”

His subtle smirk sparked a fire in my belly before he gently nudged my nose with his pulling me closer as the music spun around us in a wave of magical wonder.

Disgusting right? Makes you want to puke a little? I know, I warned you didn’t I? Love makes everything sound so perfectly sweet, so unendingly romantic, so doused in confection sugar that you would get diabetes just thinking about it. But I was in it, I was lost once again. He had me, yanked me under and I didn’t care that I couldn’t breathe. This is why love is disgusting, he could have slit my throat with his own hand and I would have said, “It’s ok, I still love you,” on my last dying breathe.

God, I disgust myself. Screw the champagne, where the hell is the whiskey?