So it finally happened. I knew it was destined to occur. But somewhere in my mind, perhaps in my prayers, I'd always hoped it would somehow be different. Shouldn't there be a warning call or even a drum roll? Perhaps an alert on a lit sign over the Interstate warning of impending danger to a heart. A note went out to the Pecsters, my three soul mates in the "singles" world, that there was a dinner meeting at Temple Grill.
Leaving work I ventured along the rut filled streets into the heart of downtown New Haven. Miraculously, curbside parking, not an easy feat, was there for the taking. I pulled the car in swiftly and began the brisk walk to meet my posse. The conversation in my head was mundane. “What should I have for dinner? A salad, no, perhaps meatloaf.”
As always Temple was booming with loud voices and laughter. From behind the plate glass doors you could hear shrill laughter and the sounds of men cheering toward the television screens. Essentially the night was as any other. I spotted a familiar face, my friend Michael, seated at a table for two with his ex-boyfriend Rob. I walked by them, grabbed a crispy home made potato chip, a signature “appetizer” of the restaurant, from the small silver bucket and smiled.
“Hey honey, how’re you doing?” It was Michael’s standard greeting, effervescent and always upbeat.
“Good, what are you up to?”
“Not much. Are you meeting the Pecsters? They’re all here.” He was privy to far more information than that.
Our conversation was cut short. Under each of my arms I felt my friends Joe and Shawn come from behind and lead me to our table. They were like secret service agents escorting the President out of harm's way. Was the word out that there was an attempt being made on my life? Was a bullet headed in my direction and I was being skirted from its path?
Looking over my shoulder I said goodbye to Michael. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” From the corner of my eye I connected with the bullet. There, in the front of the restaurant, deep within the throngs of people carrying on with life and laughter was my own ex, Robert. It wouldn't have been so dramatic had he not been at a table for two with a date. I felt the bullet hit dead center between my eyes as I recoiled. “Now why in the hell didn't they blindfold me first?”
Mike, Joe, Shawn and I exchanged brief "hellos" and kisses as I pulled out a chair. The world seemed to move in slow motion, like it would had this been a film. This could have happened at any given moment in any given location but alas, here we were. Suddenly I felt the need to go to the bathroom. Was it to wash my wound clean? I think not, also I had no antiseptic. Perhaps I simply didn't want anyone to see the tears that were in the process of welling up behind my hazel eyes as the fell along the contours of my cheeks, saturating my face. That would be a debacle.
Locking the door behind me I stood facing the small but utilitarian mirror on the bathroom wall. My hand, shaking, reached into my pocket and retrieved my cell phone. I needed to call my sole source of common sense, the one person who could always "talk me down" from the ledge, my best friend Denise. Flipping it open I stared at the wallpaper on the screen. Staring back was a photo of Spruce, Robert’s and my dog and I knew what had to be done. Taking great care, I flipped the phone shut, relinquishing a memory, and tried to suppress the tugging at my heart strings.
“You can do this. Do it your own way. You’ll prove yourself to be the man you are.” The words in my head seemed borderline pompous. Was I actually having a conversation with myself? Had a psychotic break occurred during the short time I stood before the mirror? It seemed I was in the bathroom for hours yet it was all of three minutes. As I reached for the door handle another conversation went on in my head. It was my late mother. She'd always drilled into my head how she expected me to behave. Sometimes I even listened. Tonight I would. “Now listen Chip (her nickname for me) you don’t have to have a lot of money but you always need to have class.” Here she was, long since buried yet her words were accurate even from the grave. “And never, never let them see you sweat.” I solicited Joe and Shawn. “I should go over to the table, right?” My hope was they'd say no. “Yes, it’s alright. Just go.” Shit.
There they were, my once upon a time lifelong partner and his date. Both were admittedly looking very sexy in tightly fitted tee shirts and similarly fitting jeans. I felt like a used car though no one could deny I too was dressed to impress. To add insult to injury this man had beautiful head of hair, a trademark I’d been famous for. At least if he were balding this would be, well, a bit easier.
I bent in and kissed Robert hello. “I didn’t realize you were here.” It was stretch but who cared? I spoke with graciousness and self confidence. If I was sweating no one was the wiser. Reaching my hand toward my replacement I introduced myself but not before casually grazing it across my jeans to eliminate the dewiness of my palm. There would be no evidence the task at hand was difficult and unnerving. "Hi, I’m Keith. It’s nice to meet you.”
There it was done and may I say done well. We engaged in idle conversation. “Isn’t the salad delicious, how’s the dog,” and so on until I excused myself.
“I’ll let you get back to,” I paused circling my hand and flickering my fingers, “Whatever it was you were doing.” Robert knows me well and could easily read my mind. For a split second it crossed my mind to spit in their salads but couldn’t distract them long enough to get away with it.
I sliced my way through the crowd toward my table when once again, without warning, I stopped dead in my tracks. At a table in the middle of the room was another familiar face. There, seated among a herd of gay men, was Robert’s ex-partner before me. I passed his table as he and his friends turned their gaze to me. He couldn't know Robert and I had dissolved our partnership and was without a doubt reveling in the thought that I had somehow stumbled onto him cheating on me. Was this some kind of joke God was playing? Had Shakespeare written a comedy I was unaware of about my life? For one person it was predictably a night of ecstasy. For me it was a night of “exes-we-see”.
Back at my table the conversation got underway. We touched on a plethora of topics ranging from theater to dance, from music to men and my mind slowly began to respond to the anesthetic it was being delivered. Slowly, drip by drip, I was attempting to absorb the conversation before me. I was officially numb. While looking to friends for distraction, my eyes darted cautiously to the corner where Robert was seated. I couldn't help it. What were they discussing?
Thankfully the view was blocked yet my curiosity was killing me. How had they met? Were they serious about one another? How old is he? What does the beautiful man do for a living? Was this a lasting relationship or simply a hook- up? They were all questions which I would never ask but would someday discover.
Sweet Jesus, another wave of nausea overtook me. I’d been staying at the house Robert and I still owned while my family was visiting from Florida
His date was thin, well built and disturbingly well proportioned. His name was Eddie. Was it Eddie with an “ie” or Eddy with a “y”? It made no difference because his tiny waist screamed to me that I definitely shouldn't have baked those chocolate chip cookies this afternoon. His “model” hair, soft brown with caramel highlights like he'd been savoring the sun, put me over the edge. It wasn't until he turned to walk away that his robust ass left an indelible impression.
I was psychologically at war with myself. It wasn't simply that Robert was on a date but that his date was a good one. I’d played the scene over and over again in my mind from the moment we’d broken up and it had not been this way. The “hot” date would be mine and I would act casually and aloof so he could see my life was on the rise. He had beaten me to the punch. Now I was the one to see he was clearly getting on with his life.
The Pecsters and I made our way to Starbucks to end our night. I immediately ordered a chocolate cupcake, my pain killer of choice, my version of Propofol. I could have cared less if my waist was expanding. As Shawn and I walked back to our cars he gave me a huge stamp of approval.
“Your shoes aren’t easily filled. You’re a better man than I.”
“Not really, just perhaps a great actor, who knows?”
The academy can decide. Clearly this encounter had not been on the bill of fare for my evening. Was I sad? Yes. Had one more evolution in my breakup occurred? Yes. Am I glad to have it behind me? Yes. Neither Robert nor I have ever referenced the beautiful man. Do I honestly want to? No. Well, perhaps.
As I ponder the man who may, or may not, replace me I say, “Screw it.” Against my lips I press the dense chocolate cupcake with it's satiny smooth frosting and lightly crumbling cake. With each bite I see my potential replacement’s tiny, modest waist. I wonder, would others agree there is pain over seeing an ex-boyfriend moving on even if the breakup was amicable? Hmm. Pausing, I bite into the small decadent confection. For the moment the small, dark delight filled with rich sweetness serves as my drug, helping me through this night of the agony and the 'ex' we see.
footnote: "Little" Robert and I have evolved since this story was written at the beginning of our breakup. He is moving on and doing incredibly well, experiencing life and all it has to offer and is now in a relationship. I have been doing the same and have been in a relationship for four years with "Big" Robert. We encourage one another always and are genuinely happy for each other's good fortune. xoxo
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