I think that retrospection is very close friends with reason and rationalization, which is interesting considering that reason and rationalization seem to have a love-hate relationship with one another. Retrospection is like the glue holding the other two together while simultaneously being the wall that separates them and forces one to choose between one or the other. Rationalization is a bit of an ass. It likes to dress up in reason’s clothing and parade around as reason, making everyone think that it is something that it certainly is not. Reason, while being more honest and altogether better for you, doesn’t always taste as good as you wish it to taste.
Now that that random little thought process is over with, I suppose that I should really get onto the story that this post is supposed to be about, which deals quite a bit with all three R’s mentioned above.
My dinner with Dawson didn’t end up being a dinner; instead, we merely walked around his hometown with our eyes practically glued to the concrete beneath our feet. I didn’t mind much, I was not that hungry anyway, and I doubt that Dawson was, either. Small talk filled the air for a few minutes. I wanted to still be worried about what was to come, about what I was sure was to come, but seeing him before me made it extremely difficult for me to feel anything but a strange and perhaps inappropriate sense of calm. Although he would frown at hearing me say this (the boy hates getting compliments, which is a shame), Dawson looked gorgeous. Not even the unflattering light of the street lamps or the undependable glow of the full moon could depreciate his beauty. I highly doubt that anything could.
At one point Dawson said to me, “This night probably isn’t going to be a happy one.”
“I wasn’t expecting it to be,” I replied.
Whatever transpired before what happened next, I cannot really remember. All that comes to mind is the desire that I had within me to pull him to me and kiss him. To hold him and remind him why we were together. Every voice inside of me was screaming at me to press my lips against his. It was the most extreme battle my id and superego (thank you, Freud) have ever waged against one another. Usually, I think, it is my id that triumphs.
Black clouds covered the sky and blocked out the full moon. As Dawson and I passed by some random restaurant, the words “ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone” filled the air in a lovely melodic voice from the restaurant speakers and Dawson groaned. “I swear, depressing music has been following me around all day. What the fuck?”
“I guess the world doesn’t agree with you on your decision,” I said lightly.
He said some words, I replied. I knew that it was coming, but it didn’t hurt. It did not hurt because the reason why he was detaching himself from the title of my boyfriend was not because he did not care for me, was not because he had found someone else (anyway, as my good blogging friend Miss Demure Restraint says, no one is better than Ty). It was because he did not want the relationship we had to deteriorate. It was the timing that sucked, not us. I listened to him explain how he did not want to be in a relationship that he could not fully commit to because he had so many other things going on. I watched his face. I did not say much, which is unusual for me. I merely listened. Good skill to have.
“It’s not fair to you or me,” he said. And even though I did not really want to admit it, he was right. In all matters excluding those pertaining to himself, Dawson usually is correct.
“When things calm down, I would like to pursue a relationship with you again. But right now… it’s just not a good time.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Just forget about you until then?”
“I hope not. My feelings for you haven’t changed. I just can’t be any more than your friend right now, despite how I feel. In order for a relationship to work, you have to spend time together. Otherwise this would just end up being a long distance relationship, and those never work out. Not in the way that you want them to. I don’t want that to happen to us.”
Was I upset? Sure. Was I wishing that it wasn’t happening? Of course. But what could I do? Dawson had made his decision, and I knew that no one was going to change Dawson’s mind. I was doubting myself in my last post, but now that I’m not freaking out like the paranoid Crazy McCrazypants that I am I realize that yeah. I do know the boy. I know that he had been debating about what to do for about a week. Ever since Valentine’s Day, probably. Not being able to be with me made him see just how unfortunate our situation really was.
At some point along in our walk we reached a bridge overlooking a small creek and I stopped to look down into the water. “If you could be doing anything in the world right now, what would you be doing?” I asked him.
“Definitely not this,” he said solemnly. And I knew that he meant the quasi-breakup. I might have chuckled. Perhaps.
“Yes, well, other than that. What would you be doing?”
“Probably kissing you.”
The statement only resurrected the suffocating desire that I had to kiss him. “But we can’t do that, can we?” I prodded.
“No, we can’t.”
It wasn’t a lack of desire that was keeping Dawson from kissing me, it was his strict sense of morality, his thick-lined definition of right and wrong that was forcing him to keep his short distance. Suddenly, a quality of his that I normally adored was working against me. It made me want to kick something. Hard. But, I’m a pansy. So I probably would have hurt myself in the process. Fail.
He walked me back to the parking garage where I had parked my car, and we stood in silence for a few moments before he left. Quickly, not looking back. I wished, like I often do, for my life to suddenly turn into some cheesy romantic comedy (shut up, I can be funny) and for him to turn around, or for me to chase him dramatically down the street and grab him, throw my arms around him and kiss him all sexy-like. Or romantic-like. You know. That really ridiculous movie screen kiss that makes women swoon in their chairs and men role their eyes or stare blankly because they’re thinking about something else like football or cars or fluffy kittens. You know. Manly things.
However, as we all know, my life is not a romantic comedy. My life is not a movie. Dawson did not turn around, and I did not chase after him.
The next night, Dawson and I were together again, which isn’t something that I was expecting. We had a good time to say the least. I don’t think that I was surprised at the good time. I was just a little shocked that he wanted to be with me after the unfortunate… ness of the night before.
We talked, joked around. You know the drill. At some point Dawson said something that made inappropriate thoughts flit through my head. I resisted temptation; not because I thought it was right, but because I thought that it was what Dawson wanted. Eventually, I asked him, “If I were to kiss you, would you pull away?”
“No, I don’t think that I would.”
And so, you can guess what happened after that. Twice. With a nice discussion of politics in between. Clinton and Obama, McCain and Huckabee. We talked about them all, because we’re informed intellectuals like that.
So, I ask you, is it reason that is making me so calm, or is it rationalization? Maybe a bit of both?
Sometimes, when I’m alone, I wonder if Dawson and I really have a future together. Then I go to him and see his face and talk to him and I see that we do. If Dawson can learn how to let me into his life and if I can learn how to grow up, I think that we will be okay.
In the meantime, all I can do is try my best to smile and look at the bright side. Life is a lot prettier when you smile, I think.
