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So there I was, staring out my open window at the Artboy, smiling and trying to ignore the lurch I felt at the sight of his truck. He yelled over to me. "Hi."
"Hi yourself," I called back, ever the mistress of intelligent conversation. "What happened to your car?" he asked, then added, "there�s a dent in the back." I laughed and said I hadn�t noticed it. He told me I should pay better attention. The light turned green. I hit the gas and drove the quarter mile from there to my street, Artboy on my heels the whole way. He parked behind me and cautiously walked up to the car. "I thought I�d stop and say hello." I told him to make himself useful and help me carry leftovers into the house. We walked up my stairs in an awkward silence.
Inside, I excused myself for a minute and went into the living room to call both my overprotective mom and the Boyfriend to tell them I got home okay. Spoke to Mom, left a message for the Boyfriend, knowing he�d call back as soon as he got in. Which, of course, he did, right in the middle of Artboy�s and my stilted conversation. "Hi�can I call you back?" I asked him, barely giving him a chance to say hello. After questioning if I was okay, he agreed, and hung up puzzled. Artboy and I chatted for another minute, and then he made excuses to leave and stood up. We cautiously approached each other to hug goodbye. His arms wrapped around me and I got lost in the familiarity of his touch, his smell, the feel of his jacket against my face. Choking back tears, he said, "You still fit the best," then he pulled away and left. I called the boyfriend back, explained that I had run into the Artboy on my way home and that he�d stopped to chat for a minute. The Boyfriend was much more understanding than I ever would have been in his position.
That night again started the phone calls, the emails, the letters. I continued to say no, to try to ignore the tug on my heart his voice gave me. I had made my decision, and I felt right about it. At least, most of the time. Finally, the Artboy begged me to just have dinner with him. I relented. We made plans for the next week. The Boyfriend balked, but I had to do it. I told myself I was going to tell the Artboy about the Boyfriend that night, no fail. He needed to know. I needed to tell him. For that reason alone, I had to go.
The night started off okay. We went to Bertucci�s for dinner, as we had countless times before, then browsed through Newbury Comics. Neither of us bought anything. Any purchase we made would have become inextricably connected to that night, and neither of us really wanted that. Then we went out to the truck and drove around, stopping in a couple of "our" places to talk. He told me that he could see I was still in love with him every time I looked at him. I admitted that was true. I was still in love with him. (I am still in love with him. Typing these words is making me cry at my desk, but that�s all the more reason to go ahead and type them.) He begged me to try again, to give it�to give us�one more chance. He�d go to couple�s counseling. He�d do whatever it took. What we had was too precious and important to give up. I looked at the person I�d woken up next to for four and a half years, the one I�d once planned to spend my life with, the man I�d loved more than I ever thought it possible to love another person, with all of myself and all of my passion. I said no. On the way home, he had to pull the truck over so I could throw up onto the road shoulder.
He continued to email me, but I stopped answering him. The last message I got from him was on June 12. It read as follows:
I Love You
Still
And
Always
And Someday
You
Will Love ME
In The Same Way
And There Will Be
No More Barriers
I still have it in one of my email folders. How dysfunctional is that?
About a month and a half later, I heard through a friend who had heard through a friend that he�d told another friend that he was in Love. With a capital L. I lost it. I sent him three nonsensical email messages, telling him about the Boyfriend, confessing that I now understood that it was my fault things between us had gone sour. I offered myself up on a silver platter. At that moment, if he�d appeared in front of me, I would have sacrificed everything I had with the Boyfriend�and it was a really great relationship up to then, for the chance to do exactly what I�d turned down three months before. Luckily for all involved, Artboy kept silent. In fact, he hasn�t answered me at all since then. About two weeks later, I sent him another email apologizing for my outburst. Nothing.
There is a conclusion to all of this, which probably explains why I started writing in this online journal in the first place. Not going to have time to post it today. Besides, I have to go lock myself in the bathroom and have another good cry.
But first, I should restate that I�m not sorry I said no, and I�m not sorry that this is the story of how I lost the Artboy instead of how I lost the Boyfriend. But it still hurts like hell, regardless.
(click here to get to part 4)
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