History

I was 22 the first time I really got my heart broken.

I woke up one winter morning -- the middle of January -- and found a bag of my stuff on my doortsep and a note.  We'd had a fight a few nights earlier and he hadn't taken my calls since, so I wasn't surprised, I guess, by the bag and the note, but it still knocked the wind out of me.  I couldn't go in to work.  I couldn't go anywhere.  For days I just stayed home and cried.   I kept calling him, I went to his place, I pounded on his door. He wouldn't talk to me.

In February I started dating someone new -- a millionnaire Englishman who called me his "lady friend."  He was an internationally-ranked tennis player and in the states on a scholarship.  I didn't know it at the time, but he was also a cokehead.  He blew hundreds of thousands of dollars every few months on blow.  He asked me if I would marry him so he could stay in the states after he got kicked out of school and I said 'no.'  He asked other girls.  He was very, very charming, and good-looking, and rich, but they all said 'no.'  He was exported back to England.  Years later, a good friend of mine was travelling through London and looked him up and showed him a recent picture of me and the Englishman-cokehead-turned-tennis-teacher took the photo in his hand and said I was one of the "realest women" he'd ever known.  I still don't know what that meant.  Big hips, maybe?

A couple of months after him, I started dating K, who was best friends with the guy who broke my heart.

"I don't want anything serious," K said when we started seeing each other.
"That's fine," I replied, followed by the six little words men long for: "I don't want anything serious, either."
He was a link to my ex, and he was handsome and smart and I enjoyed his company. 
For months we were nothing serious.  He made me laugh.  I stopped thinking about my ex.

K had a tattoo that ran the length of his calf and eyes as light and blue as a Spring morning.  He was 6'4" and had arms as big as trees and we he saw me, he wrapped me in them and he gathered my hair in his palm and he smiled.  When I started taking kickboxing class, he pretended to let me beat him up and he'd tell me how strong I was getting, and toned, and thin.

"Will you ever want anything more?" I asked him once.
"Not with you," he said, gently, gathering my hair in his palm, eyes blue like a Spring morning.  He was always honest.
"That's okay," I replied, "But when you meet someone you do want something serious with, let me know, okay?"

We were friends and I thought he was handsome and smart and I enjoyed his company. 
It was probably the best relationship I've ever had, actually.  He never once made me cry.  Not once (this is a record, of course).  We had good fun together.

"Remember that guy you dated for awhile after college," said my friend Chad not too long ago, "K?" he asked. "Yeah," I said.
"You were kind of happy with him, right?"  He asked, " I mean, you seemed happy."
"Yeah," I replied, "I guess I was."

Then he met someone he wanted to be serious with.

"She's so petite," K said, "and Asian and really, really hot."
"That sounds like just your type," I responded.

I guess I was sort of glad for him.  He was a good guy and a good friend and I wanted him to be happy.

Two weeks later, I met someone else.  He didn't make me laugh, but he made me feel safe.

A couple of months after that, K called me up and said he missed me.  I told him I had a boyfriend now.  He said "too bad," and he moved far away.

He moved a couple thousand miles away, but he still called.  Every week, he called.  He told me stories and made me laugh and I was glad we were friends.  I don't know if he ever told my ex about us. At some point I stopped caring.

Eventually I left for Chicago and moved in with my boyfriend and K quit calling.  It's been years since I heard from him.  He was handsome and smart and he made me laugh and I always enjoyed his company.  He had a tattoo the length of his calf and eyes as blue as Spring.  He wasn't my boyfriend, but if he had been, he would've been the best.  He never made me cry.

Comments

[Loose String]

Amazing how the one's that treat you decently stick in your mind.

[jamy]

Aww, Wendy. Why don't you call him?

[citywendy]

I would totally call him if I knew how to get ahold of him. but I lost touch with him years ago and his name is so so common, it would be nearly impossible to track him down. probably better to have a lasting good impression of him, anyway. I have so few of those...

[red]

Beautiful writing.

I really related to this post. Thanks.

[Riley]

You are a very good writer- I love checking out your space..
I don't relate though, I must say. I guess we all have such different personalities. I think I would die if someone said "not with you.."
I would sit back & wait to see how much someone liked me before I ever gave in to anything- (besides sex :) I also believe it has to be the type of men that we go after. For me- they have to want me & chase me a bit. BUT- these always seem to be the type of guys that have weird 'issues' with intimacy or something.. at least they don't fuck me over though- there is something to be said for that.
Why do girls always like the guys that don't pay much attention to them, when that is all we seem to really want??