Juliet hideaway 010
Juliet hideaway 010
"I don't know."
"I love you."
"I love you, too. But I hate you right now, too."
"Please baby! Give me a chance." I pleaded.
"You already had one, William, and you just blew it."
"Please Maria. Please...don't...do....this." I begged.
"I didn't do this. YOU did."
"It didn't mean anything. It never happened before, it will never happen again."
"I'm sorry William. I've thought about this for three days after hearing about this. I've already decided what to do. It's over. Don't ever call me again."
"PLEASE MARIA!" Click.
Cards, emails, phone calls, voice mails, flowers, all unreturned. After a month, I mostly gave up. She had made her choice. I put it all out there, as honestly as I could. If she bothered to listen or read my apologies, promises and explanations, it didn't make a difference to her. I had blown it. A few drunk-dials over the next couple of months didn't do much for my dignity, but then those stopped, too. I was depressed.
I told my family what happened, the short but truthful version. There was no way I could sweep the breakup under the rug. My parents didn't make it much easier on me-they loved Maria, but they saw I was suffering, and were as supportive as they could be while still reminding me that I had screwed up. My dad, a man of few words and strong convictions, said: "You screwed up big time, son. She was a great girl. Would have made a wonderful wife. I hope you learned your lesson." My mom cried. Then she hugged me. Then she went into guilt trip mode "I thought I had raised you better than to do something like that." Then she made me a pan of chocolate chip bars. And so on. My older sisters were actually more supportive. Anne, my oldest sister with whom I had always been close, took me out and got me drunk, listened to me spill my guts, and gave me a shoulder to cry on. When Mary, the sister closest to me in age, but with whom I had always had conflict, found out, she called me. "Well, Willie, you really fucked up, didn't you? What an idiot! When can I stop by and tell you just how stupid you are?" I told her I didn't need that, I already knew I fucked up. But, she insisted, and I made a lunch date with her for later in the week. She showed up, saw the despair in my face, and then threw her arms around me in a big hug. After that, we had lunch. She picked up the tab. She told me to call her if I needed anything. Except money. I laughed. That marked a turning point in our relationship-we became much closer. That was one of two positives that came out of my fuck-up. The other positive was that I had at least learned a lesson-a lesson learned only after inflicting too much pain, on me (deserved) and on Maria (completely undeserved) but a lesson I would not forget. I would never cheat again. I would prove that 'once a cheater, always a cheater' was pure bullshit. The guilt I would nevertheless carry for a long time.
I moved on with my life-focusing on school and work, but I wasn't ready to start dating again.
Until I met Julie. I was 8 months post-breakup with Maria, and Julie was coming at just the right time. In retrospect, I probably should have dated around more. That said, Julie and I didn't become exclusive right away. I called her that Monday after we met, and we set a date for that Friday.
I picked her up at her apartment, a really nice high-rise in downtown (Julie was a couple years older than me, with a good entry-level job in marketing). I had shaved my goatee. I sometimes wonder if that was a mistake. I didn't shave it because she had asked me to. Really. Well, maybe it was a spur for me, but I was planning on shaving it anyway. I never was really able to grow much in the way of facial hair. It has always been sparse and patchy. The moustache is an embarrassment, the sideburns feature a 1/4 inch gap from my hairline over the ear, and the cheeks are virtually hair-free. There is a 1/2 inch gap between the sad excuse for a moustache and my chin hair. I was always clean-shaven when I went out with Maria. After we broke up, I just sometimes let it grow, despite how gnarly it got. I don't know why-but not worrying about impressing some girl was certainly part of it. Anyway, I usually would let it grow for a week or two, then shave it. The idea of actually going out on a proper date was enough for me to shave it, anyway; despite what Julie had requested. Nevertheless, I sometimes wonder if I set a bad precedent by seemingly caving in to her first demand/request.
I took Julie to a nice little Chinese restaurant in the city that I knew of-it was kind of a hole-in-the-wall, but it was nicely appointed and had superior food at a reasonable price (important to a poor college kid). I remembered from our conversation at the party that she liked Chinese food. She was suitably impressed with my choice. We had fun. We had several things in common-both of us grew up in upper-middle/middle-income suburbs in the metro area (her's a little more upper-middle than mine), we both liked similar movies (a big plus for me-I love movies), we both enjoyed a wide variety of ethnic foods and eating out, and we both had a rather juvenile sense of humor. After dinner, at her suggestion, we went to a little wine-bar near her apartment. Not really my style-a lot of young professional types, and I was still a college kid, but it was fine. After a couple drinks, I walked her back to her apartment. She invited me in, and we had a great make-out session. No farther than that, though. I said goodnight, and went home.
I went out on a few more dates with Julie, and continued to have a good time. School started up a few weeks later, and I had a new outlook on life. I was done mourning Maria (well, mostly-I still thought about her sometimes, especially at night when I was trying to go to sleep; I'm not ashamed to say that I sometimes realized that I was crying into my pillow-much to my surprise), and was ready to move forward with my life.