April 17, 2003

Makes you wonder how the other half dies...

Imagine if you will:

You're one of my ex-girlfriends. We dated freshman year of college, and then I dumped you 'cause I was going to Scotland and didn't think we needed to try a long distance relationship. I met you in Paris months later, and we slept in parks, on subways, in front of Notre Dame, went to Jim Morrison's grave to make fun of all his fans, spent all night one night hanging out with Mario VanPeebles' cousin and his Turkish girlfriend and his French rugby player friend in a Drag club, met a manic-depressive french couple in a brasserie and you talked to them all night while I sat there chain smoking, marveling at you. We ended up having sex, but it was meaningless, empty, like something that was expected of us to do just because we were in Paris and we used to have sex.

But honestly the sexiest part of Paris was the first night, in the Crazy Violin, when we were dancing or almost dancing or between dancing and sitting back down, and I was too close behind you, the length of our bodies touching, and you said "You're being very territorial" and I said "Sorry, it's just being drunk and around you again, I momentarily forget that you're not mine anymore" and you replied "No, I like it. I miss the way you press against me in crowds" and I just fucking melted, wished that I hadn't broken up with you, but knew it was too awkward to continue, so we just subtly flirted until we fucked, and then we decided fucking had been a bad idea.

Then you came to visit me in Scotland, a couple months later, and you slept in my bed, but nothing happened. It was awkward. We were both so different from when we dated.

We both came back to USC the next year, and ended up drunk at the end of a couple of parties, doing things we shouldn't have been doing with each other. I tried to date your best friend, but only after you told me it would be ok.

We grew further apart, maintaining a very loose aquaintence. Last year, I came back to LA and saw you for the first time in about 2 years, and we had a fantastic, phenomonal time. It was fun, and different, and horrible and painful, and drunken, but it was us. Totally us. Nothing happened, but I'm convinced that if your mom hadn't walked downstairs to make sure we didn't want a 3 AM snack I would have been compelled to finish the lean-in that you started and take you in my arms and kiss you. (How your mother recognized me after 6 years, I have no idea. And at 3 AM.)

I was a bit messed up about that meeting, but I don't think you knew too much about it. I came back to LA four months later, and you were my date to a wedding (I had asked you via email when I was in Greece and you were in Prague) and that was less weird, more fun. We were both in the middle of long distance relationships, and there was no sexual tension.

So Monday night, I email you (in poorly translated french, as is my custom) and tell you I'm coming to LA for another wedding at the end of the month and would like to see you.

You email back and tell me you have alot of work to do and you'd feel guilty if you make plans, but to call you when I'm there and we'll do something. This is very you.

But what I really, truly want to know, out of personal curiosity, is what on earth do you think of me?

Is it fond rememberance of our relationship that has grown into friendship?

Am I that wacky ex who rolls into town and you go have a few drinks with?

I really have no idea what you think of me.

Posted by orion at April 17, 2003 02:32 PM | TrackBack