In my neighborhood, there’s a little woods. I don’t
get to walk there in the daytime too much because people let their dogs off
leash and then I get mad at the people with the dogs off leash and then I feel
like a monster.
They’re really pretty woods though, lit enough by the
edge-of-city light that we didn’t need a flashlight. I steered The Shy One through,
wishing I could feel the romance of the moment. Instead, the leashless dogs
info came out, and I felt truly lost about how to be human.
“I’m sad, I said. “I want to be a real girlfriend. I
want to be free. I want my heart to be free to go where it wants.” (I’m sure I
didn’t say it this articulately.)
It’s been too many tears already in such a new
connection, that’s for sure. He held me there, in the middle of the little
woods, crying onto his shirt, both of us sorrying again and again.
“Are you still dating?” He asked, as I was wiping my
face and starting up the path again.
It’s probably unfair, but my heart broke some more. I
remember this feeling. I HATE this feeling—the feeling of not being fast
enough, poly enough, TAKEN enough to be a safe bet. I don’t think that’s what
he was saying, but I felt pushed to move on from him, whether we broke things
off or not.
I haven’t been dating for a little while. Even during
Ramadan when we were confined to texts and calls, he felt like a lot. He felt
like enough. I’ve been working on a local primary campaign, building up my business
for summer, and spending as much friend time and taking-pictures-of-flowers
time as I can. Getting settled in with The Shy One and getting ready to meet
Mrs. Shy One was a lot on top of all that. It wasn’t that I was suddenly
monogamous, it’s just that people take time for me to learn, especially when I really like
them.
In the grief that was layering itself onto the
evening, the not-dating felt like another way I was failing him, failing them
by not having enough chill, not feeling able to sink into the warmth of Things
As They Are, feeling like I was both too much and not enough.
The little woods has a kiosk where I like to put
street art, woods art I guess, it always stays up a long time there. The Shy One
held my bag while I tidied the old art and put up some new.
The story of The Good Boy came out after that, as
unwelcome as my petty ramblings about the leashless dogs. (It’s an important
bird area, people!) I felt wretched and stupid and not-nice, unable to find my
way to the present with the beautiful man next to me, who seemed devoted to me
in his own way, who, if I wanted (at least for a few hours) wasn’t going
anywhere. I really wanted my body and spirit to stop hovering with heartbreak
and panic. I wanted to come down to earth and be with him. I wanted to be with
him.