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- 10/17/2017
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So Weeps the Willow - 8. Sobriety - Day 7
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Day 7
Eddie called me. He wanted to talk, and even though I’m still horrified at my overreaction during the panic attack, I agreed to meet him. He sounded kind of odd, like something was wrong. We did date for over a year so I do have some experience with how he reacts to things. I can tell by his tone, his inflection, and even his silences, how he feels. He’s the one I let get away, I never should have. I guess we live and learn, if we survive it, that is.
Before I tell you about Eddie, I want to mention I talked to my dad. He was really great, supportive about my sobriety, and he apologized for my mother. I don’t know why he felt the need. I probably know her as well as he does. Let’s face it, she wouldn’t know sobriety if it kicked her in the teeth. I know, that’s rude, but honestly, it’s how I feel today. Breathe.
We are talking about Eddie. What is it about him right now that is worrisome? He was always there until I drove him away. He took me to the fricking doctor, for heaven’s sake. Why does he make me nervous?
Maybe I don’t know. Maybe it’s intuition. I can’t really say? As I think about my previous references to Eddie, knowing him, really getting him, has he ever done something to me to cause doubt? I know him, really understand him, but is it enough? We were lovers communicating through touch and sensation and sounds. Doesn’t that give a person a glimpse inside the other’s soul? Or am I making too much out of the fact we’d made love, many times.
How do we know people? I know Eddie, and yet do I really?
My parents were lovers at one time. They knew each other’s intimate reactions. They held hands, went on dates, got nervous, excited, fought, made up, and then settled down to each other’s breathing as they slept. Is there anything more informative than two people really studying each other so closely, reading the other’s actions and reactions so intimately?
That’s how I know Eddie’s most protected tells. I think there were times I actually could feel how he felt. We had that kind of connection. Did my mom and dad have such a thing once upon a time before she became a drunk and he became missing? Even if I asked, would they know how to answer?
Boy, I’m pretty philosophical today, huh?
Anyway, Eddie, what can I say about him. He was good to me, loved me, I loved him back, and then he backed off. No, I chased him off. He was good at staying away when I demanded it. I was good at telling him things, and keeping him away. I was also good at realizing who I am.
I ran. I told him if I wasn’t good enough for him, he wasn’t right for me. It was defensive, I think. Maybe. Looking back, I didn’t handle it well. Neither did he. Things are kind of coming together, maybe.
I think as I ponder the timeline, that was probably the beginning of my wild spree, when alcohol and random men became a never-ending parade of events. As I think about it, my happiest times weren’t the past couple of years, they are the times with Eddie. They were times with Marty, my first committed relationship, that were special, though we never clicked like Eddie and me did. Marty was my first love, or crush, or whatever, because it wasn’t like my time with Eddie. Fuckin’ A.
Eddie had been my soul mate. God, that’s depressing.
I met Eddie at a bar, a gay bar downtown, which shall remain nameless. He bought me a drink. I accepted and thanked him. We had a hard time talking with the house music blaring, so the two of us left the dance area and found a table in a corner. We drank that one drink for two hours and talked. Eddie is a nurse at the hospital downtown. He was originally from Chicago, moved here for the job.
I told him about my education, about working as a waiter to pay the bills and how I didn’t know if I wanted to be a researcher or a clinician. He told me about his experience in the healing arts. Eddie is a people person and he loved caring for cancer fighters, that’s what he called them. He said, ‘People say cancer survivors, but you never really get over it. These people fight it their whole lives. When part of your body betrays you, it’s personal. They take life seriously, soberly, savoring each moment.’
God, he is a fucking fighter. And lover.
I’ll never forget our first night. After the bar closed, we walked around downtown together. We ended up at his apartment in an old brownstone on the southern edge of town, and we just kept talking. I told him about my dreams of running a marathon, though it was probably not going to happen due to my asthma. Eddie talked about his music. He wrote country-western songs, as twangy as they come, he joked. I listened to him strum his acoustic guitar and sing. He sang to me. Eddie swooned me with a love song that night, the night that flew by and yet in my memory it simply went on forever.
I don’t even like country music, not really. I cried though when he sang a song about a cowboy who lost his horse to a flooding river. His voice conveyed the horror and the loss the cowboy felt as his most loyal companion was washed away. The music was just right too. It sounded mournful and painful. I don’t know how a person does it. Did it. To me.
Does it. Eddie’s not dead and I’m meeting him in a couple of hours. I don’t even know why I’m doing so. All I can say is I wish this past year would disappear. I would love him, if we tried again. No, I wouldn’t love it, I would never make such a terrible mistake again. I’d cherish him like he deserves. I’d promise and fulfill whatever he needed me too. I’d give up alcohol, other men, my crappy job, my apartment, and my independence for a life with him. Am I simply crazy over him?
As I write this, I realize this is the first time I’ve really taken stock of the situation. Eddie is something I set aside, hid in a closet, and hoped I wouldn’t have to face. Now he wants to talk. What is it about? What if he wants to cut all ties?
Yet, Eddie was at my door minutes after I called him just two days ago. He drove me to the emergency room, sat waiting for me, and then held me afterwards as I cried with relief. Most people don’t realize relief can be as stressful as fear.
This is my one last rant. I had so convinced myself I was going through a bad detox, I’d been resigned to whatever that entailed. When the doctor told me I was fine, the dam burst. All the notions I’d had, the walls I’d built, came crashing down. These emotions surprised me.
Eddie held me and let me unleash. After I got my act together, he kissed my forehead and took me home. He made sure I was okay. Only after all that, he left. I remember he looked back and the love poured from his eyes. Yet, is he the one? Fuck.
It hurts so much, but I have to be honest. I’m not sure it’s Eddie, not anymore. Not after, our night together.
I hope I’m not wrong.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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