re: the muppets (part nine)

Here's the next installment of my lengthy tome. Please click here for Parts One through Eight.

~ Part Nine~

When my sisters came home, I excused myself from the barbecue with an, "I don't feel well." Weeks of uncertainty had taken their physical toll on me so it was a believable story.

I returned to my bedroom to read the letter all the way through. I don't remember all the key points she made. I worked for years to forget to how she deconstructed our relationship in that letter. I don't care to revive the specific details. I do remember that from paragraph to paragraph her voice changed from condescending to confusing to contradictory. Cowardice was the only consistent theme. She made a million points in one string of sentences only to retract them in the next. She ended the letter with, "I want to speak to you but I can't right now. This is too hard." And then she told me she'd love me always.

Wow. I'm almost six years away from that day and I'm a much different person now but still, I can easily remember exactly how I felt. I didn't know what to do. I felt so alone, desolate... abandoned. Turning our friendship into a relationship was a scary step that we took together. It was like we embarked on a journey down a dark, treacherous road. We promised each other at the beginning of the trip that we'd hold hands and stick together. And then she got scared and ran off and left me alone to fend for myself in a cold, dark place.

The way she explained away our relationship filled me with such shame and self-loathing. And shock. One of the gifts she had given me early in our relationship was a ring with the word "Faith" on it. It became her primary goal to instill it in me. It was long, hard slog but I started to believe primarily because of her encouragement and support. For her, of all people, to lose faith -- and piss all over our relationship in the process -- was too much for me to comprehend.

I wouldn't admit it at the time but July 15, 2000 is also the day I discovered that I have an enormous ego. I could not deal with the fact that I was no longer a superstar in her life. I had been replaced by some pretentious asswipe with a God complex and an aversion to capitalization, no less. I felt like a piece of shit that she had just disgustedly scraped off her shoe. In retrospect, that was more my perception than her actual intent but still, it was hard not to feel that way.

She was careful to point out that being with me was a dream but followed with a list of reasons why it couldn't go on. She had convinced herself that if we just pretended the sexual aspect of our relationship never existed, we could resume our friendship. In paragraph after paragraph she begged and pleaded with me to adopt that very same mindset. Delusion seemed to be working for her. I had a tougher time embracing it.

I don't know if I've ever cried so hard in my life. I cried until I was hoarse but I had to do it into a pillow so that the party guests couldn't hear me. I was beyond devastated. I was hurt, confused and angry. And I had just purchased a non-refundable plane ticket to visit her. The stay was to be almost two weeks in length -- the longest amount of time we would have ever been together. My itinerary crossed her break-up letter in the mail. The cruel timing compounded my grief.

I honestly did not know what to do with myself. She was the person I usually turned to when I was in pain. When I felt the rest of the world didn't understand me, she was the one who swooped in and saved me. She was the person who used to call me to ask, "What's wrong?" because without my even telling her, she just knew I was having a bad day.

But that person was gone. I viewed her as the answer to my prayers, my sole source of happiness. I was miserable before I met her. She was my anti-depressant. I invested all of myself -- and my happiness -- in her and our relationship. When that was taken from me, I was left with nothing.

Wave after wave after wave of sadness just rolled in and pummeled me. At one point, I fell to my knees in a particularly horrific crying fit. I clenched my fists and slammed them down on the floor. And then I sat up, raised my hands towards me and rotated them to get a good view of the underside of my wrists. I didn't envision the process as much as the end result -- no more pain. I thought of all the sharp objects in my father's nearby workshop. I stared at my protruding veins and questioned if I had the guts to actually do it. But then I thought of my family and realized why I couldn't do it. No one, not even her, was worth the suffering they would endure. It was a rare and fleeting moment of clarity.

I don't think I can even begin to adequately describe how scared and confused I was that afternoon. Every slur and diatribe against homosexuals I'd ever heard in addition to the "greatest hits" of past taunts hurled specifically at me ricocheted in my thoughts. My protection against all of that had been stripped. I was once again ugly, unloved, alone... and a lesbian to boot. I was drowning in my own hatred.

I was processing a million thoughts a minute. Each one resounded like a loud clap of thunder. Each one zapped a bit more of my energy and will. My mind was overloaded. I clutched my head and curled up into a ball. It seemed like if I made myself small, I could shrink from the mounting pressure. I started crying again. Violently. So much so that I choked. My asthma teamed up with my misery and robbed me of whatever remaining breath I had. Perhaps suicide wouldn't be necessary. I could not breathe at all. I gasped for air while I searched for my rescue inhaler. Finally my breathing was somewhat under control. The tears, however, were not. I didn't think they'd ever stop. Nothing could make it better. I was alone in my despair, trapped in my misery. I could not see my way out of it.

And that's when I had my moment. I'm not a religious person. I'm not even all that spiritual but I found myself saying a prayer. And it helped. During a desolate and empty time when I thought I was beyond help, I received it. And that's when I realized that I wasn't alone in this. My telling another soul was not going to make the earth spin off its axis. Opening up to someone wouldn't be the end of me. But keeping it in definitely would.

I finally found the courage and called up my one of my best friends. She's bisexual so I felt safe telling her. And even if she wasn't queer, she's perhaps the most non-judgmental person I know. Short of telling her I had just murdered someone, I knew I could not shock her. Her voice on the other end was like a set of open arms. It took me a while but I eventually got it all out. The secret that I carried by myself was no longer mine and mine alone. She didn't flinch. She let me speak. She let me cry. She heard me out. She offered to pick me up to get me out of the house. But I couldn't summon the strength or the energy to face anyone. I needed privacy. I needed to be somewhere where I could cry and thrash around in agony without warning and without limit.

Not that there's a perfect response to such a situation but her reaction was everything I needed and more. She didn't make a single misstep. Not one. She'll never acknowledge that she did anything special nor will take the proper credit she deserves but this friend of mine rescued me that afternoon. I don't think I'm overstating things when I say that she saved my life.

And I'm happy to say that in the following weeks, I told each of my best friends the full truth and each and every single one of them responded in ways that I couldn't have imagined. Sure, some of them were a little surprised but they saw beyond the gender involved and focused solely on my broken heart. I was no less devastated that I had lost her, my best friend of all, but over the course of a few short weeks, my life-long friendships were strengthened and broadened. I no longer hid my feelings from my friends or presented a false face of security and cool. I let them see my cracks. I let them fill some of them in. Pride fell by the wayside. They rallied around me. They fortified me. That letter demolished me and robbed me of so much but each and every one of my friends worked overtime to help me rebuild. Even in the throes of pain caused by my loss, I recognized these incredible gains.

When I woke up the next morning, the grief jumped on me instantly. It sucker-punched me the second I opened my eyes. A good night's sleep had done nothing to dull the pain. It hurt even more.

My friend called to check up on me. I sobbed one moment and ranted the next. I was going a mile a minute. My diatribe was full of "supposes" and "what ifs?" I theorized and conjectured at a breakneck pace. She was rightfully concerned about my state of mind.

"Stop! You're making yourself nuts. Just stop doing this to yourself. You need to talk to her," my friend advised.

"I know but I don't have a phone number for her. She usually calls me. I have to wait until I hear from her," I explained.

"You can't wait. You're going to go crazy. Can't you ask one of her friends for the number?"

"They're all there with her. Oh wait... maybe I can ask her mother."

"How are you going to explain why you need it?"

"Well, I'm supposed to go to Missouri next month to visit her. I'll just tell her mother I need to confirm some dates or something."

"Are you still going on that trip?"

"I have no idea. I'll find out soon enough I guess."

My friend was right -- I could not let another day pass without talking to her. Having the argument in my head was accomplishing nothing. I needed to tell her these things. I needed to confront those points she raised in the letter. I needed to defend us. I needed answers. It was easy for her to cast us aside from so far away but I needed to insert myself back into the equation and jog her memory. She had to see what she had done and take responsibility for it. Avoidance was not an option for me and I wouldn't let it be one for her either.

I called her mother and she was able to give me an emergency contact number for the theater. It was so hard to talk to her mother. Normally she and I could chat easily. I loved my conversations with the "in laws." Her mother was so happy to hear my voice. I just wanted to scream, "Why?!?! Why is your daughter breaking my heart like this?!? Why?" But I let her mother continue chirping away as I stifled a sniffle and wiped a tear from my eye. She remarked how thrilled her daughter would be to have me visit and suggested that we try to swing by Tulsa during my stay.

"We'll do our best," I said in a thin, pained voice.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, I'm just a little under the weather."

"Oh, well you be sure to get some rest and drink plenty of liquids. Are you taking vitamins?"

"Yes, I'm taking vitamins," I lied.

"Good. Keep it up. And we look forward to seeing you next month!"

"Okay. See you then," I lied again.

I stared at the phone number for a long time. I started dialing and then hung up. I did this several times. Finally, I let the call connect. The theater's director answered and I left a message. She cheerfully told me she'd pass on the message. I was tempted to add, "Oh, and just so you know, one of your teachers is fooling around with a student." But I abstained. I was shocked that the thought even entered my mind. This anger and jealousy of someone I had never met was so new to me. I couldn't believe I actually fantasized about ruining that guy's career. I hated that I was having those thoughts. Who had I become? He wasn't to blame. She did this to me. Not him.

I couldn't help but think of her reaction when the director handed her the note. She never associated dread with me before. It sickened me that I inspired such feelings now.

Several hours later my phone rang. I don't want to dredge up the exact dialogue. I can't really. But I cried. I screamed. I laced into her and picked apart every one of her arguments in that fucking letter. She was remote and rather robotic in her rebuttal. The Okie girl was completely gone. I could find no trace whatsoever of the girl I once knew. She was unsympathetic and abrupt with her responses. The girl who once told me she would "die without [me]" seemed to be handling all of this quite well.

I asked if Lowercase Ed knew about me. Nope. She "didn't see the point." She spoke to me from the standpoint that I was someone who had my wires crossed about the nature of our relationship. I found her selective amnesia and her ability to live in an alternate reality absolutely frightening.

She seemed disgusted by my tears. The only emotion she showed was when she lobbied for my continued friendship. She told me repeatedly how much she needed me in her life. I told her repeatedly she should have thought about that before she took up with Lowercase Ed.

The conversation went around in circles. We were both mentally and emotionally exhausted. But the matter of my trip still loomed.

"I still want you to come," she said.

"Why?! What's the point?"

"I need you to come."

"I don't want to."

"Curly, I NEED you to come here."

"I can't."

"Please?"

"Fine, I'll come. It will give us a chance to say goodbye."

"Don't say that."

"You honestly think we can still be friends?"

"I believe anything is possible."

"Well then you're deluding yourself."

I hate this part of the story. The phone calls, the letters exchanged in the weeks after were filled with accusations, low blows, mockery and borderline hatred. It was appalling. I'm not proud of my behavior. I mean, it was natural for me to defend myself but I hate the ugliness that characterized that time of my life.

But I did try to get a hold of it. I tried to get back on the high road. I tried to deal with my out-of-control emotions. I tried to rescue some of my dignity. I had every intention of leaving her alone for the rest of her stay in Iowa. Our arguments were pointless. We were both drained. Each one reduced our chances of reconciliation. So I wrote her an email thinking she wouldn't get it until she went home several weeks later. I envisioned it as a new beginning, a fresh start.

Subject: Re: The Muppets

Hi, beautiful girl. I'm so sorry about all of this. I'm sorry for my hateful words. I'm sorry I lashed out at you. I mean, I have every right to be hurt and to defend myself but I really hate what's happened to us. This is not the way it's supposed to be. Not with us. We're me and you, remember?

I do want to come and see you. Maybe it's not goodbye after all. Maybe we can salvage our friendship. I don't know. I can't make any promises. This is so hard for me. You're the love of my life and the idea of sharing you with someone else just kills me. I hate that he's a part of your life. But despite what I've said earlier, I don't hate him and I don't hate you. But I do hate what what's become of us. Let's talk when you're back. By then, we'll have both calmed down and maybe we can start fresh. I'm trying, okay?

I love you always.

Love,
Me

It was a genuine attempt to restore some of the luster to our relationship. It took a lot out of me but I felt good after writing it. I was in a good place emotionally. I thought I'd have a few weeks of peace before she read it. I had no desire to communicate with her further until she was home, out of that god forsaken place and far away from Lowercase Ed.

It turns out, Lowercase Ed had a computer and she got my email the next day. Her reply was bubbling with excitement. She immediately recognized the significance of the subject line and thanked me for it. She couldn't wait for me to come to Columbia. She couldn't wait to tell me about Lowercase Ed and get my advice. She wanted us all to be the best of friends. She honestly thought I would be okay providing relationship tips. To this day, I'm still stunned at her naivete. I know she was young but sweet Jesus, even age does not excuse that level of stupidity.

My "Are you fucking kidding me?" response inspired a flurry of angry missives back and forth. We really hammered away at each other. I'm finding it so hard to write this because it disgusts me still. Eventually, we called a truce. She began to realize that our chances for friendship were growing dim. I started to view my trip to Missouri as a funeral of sorts, a chance to pay respects to the passing of a remarkable relationship.

>> Go to Part Ten

-- Part One
-- Part Two
-- Part Three
-- Part Four
-- Part Five
-- Part Six
-- Part Seven
-- Part Eight

let me 'splain

Sorry for the lack of posts this week. And thank you all for the get well wishes. I appreciate it. I'm feeling better, thank you! I'm working on Part Nine right now. As you can imagine, it's a tough chapter and not flowing as easily as I'd hoped. I'm also scared of poking around too much and too long so I've been cobbling it together over the past couple of days. I've also been doing a lot of running around so my writing time was a bit limited. It's a-comin', I promise. Thanks!!

gotta have that funk

I'm feeling lousy, yo. I've been exhausted for the past two days and I've had a splitting headache all day. Even my teeth hurt. Something's not right. I feel like, how you say, ass. I'm taking a day or two off from zee blog. I promise to get you Part Nine when I'm feeling not so shitty.

Sorry for the delay.

one not the least bit angry woman

I don't usually associate the term "discharge" with anything pleasant but in this case, it's glorious. After about seven hours of reading, twiddling my thumbs and playing a few games of Tetris on my cell phone, I was officially released from jury duty. It's true! I'm free!!

Dude, my name was never even called. I sat there killing time while scores of others were summoned into the other room. By the time 3:30 rolled around, some chick stepped up to the mic and told us we could leave. That means I get credit for the appearance and I am off the hook for at least six years!! Is it wrong that I treasure the proof of attendance certificate more than my college degree?

just for the record...

Considering the sad tone that characterized my last post, I feel compelled to inform you all that my potential M.I.A. status over the next few days will be due to jury duty. I assure you I'm not going all Sylvia Plath on your asses. Although, that would be the PERFECT excuse to get me out of serving.

Say, just out of curiosity, how many Tylenol make up a lethal dose? Oh, I kid! I'm more of an inhaling car fumes kind of girl.

Fingers crossed for a speedy dismissal!!

re: the muppets (part eight)

Here's the next installment of my lengthy tome. Please click here for Parts One through Seven.

~ Part Eight~

It was a real adjustment to go days without talking to her on the phone or via email. She had no computer access in Iowa so we had to rely on snail mail and the occasional call from a very busy pay phone.

But every day I came home to a letter from her. She wrote me several times a day every day. Sometimes I received more than one letter a day. I couldn't keep up with her pace but I did my best to write often and send her care packages. So far, we were making good on our promise to communicate as much as we possibly could. We were both motivated by the same thought: All we have to do is make it through this summer and then we can start our life together for real and forever.

The program she was in was super intense. If she wasn't actually performing then she was doing stage management, box office, lighting or sets. By the end of that semester, she had extensive knowledge of all facets of theater production. Her letters excitedly described the weekly productions and her particular role. She was having fun but she missed me. She said she was tired of everyone there and wanted to run away to New York to be with me.

The letters continued at a frenzied pace for a few weeks... and then suddenly stopped coming every day. And those that did arrive, had a decidedly different tone. I wasn't sure if my insecurity was rearing its ugly head but it was hard not to feel like she was distancing herself.

After receiving a few too-business-like-for-my-taste notes in a row, I replied simply:

Are you sure you want me to move out there? Before I turn my life upside down, I have to know if this is what you really want. I'm having trouble getting a loan right now because of my outstanding debt. Should I keep trying? I need you to be honest with me.

Before I received an answer to that particular question, I received another letter. Among other things, it contained a cryptic message about her belief in signs and her need to be on the right path. She was a little crunchy at times so I made a half-assed mental note but didn't give it too much thought beyond that. In the same letter, she introduced me to someone I'll call Lowercase Ed.

There's a guy who works and he's really cool. He's a lighting designer but he works as a teacher here every summer and does set construction. His name is ed (he doesn't believe in capitalizing his name) and he's awesome. Curly, I want us to be friends with him.

Now I know what you're thinking and trust me, you have nothing to worry about. He's 29 and a teacher here and totally hung up on his ex-girlfriend! And besides, I'm madly in love with YOU, beautiful girl!

I'm not a jealous person by nature. And I wasn't jealous when I first learned of Lowercase Ed. I was scared though. Her previous letters described the beautiful summer nights, the starry skies and the moon's reflection on the lake. She had filled me in on the gossip and the rumors swirling about (chief among them that she was a lesbian with a girlfriend in New York), the breakups and makeups of her friends and classmates this summer and in summers past. Some of the drama even carried over from year to year. Many happy couples were created and destroyed in this strange summer place. I had to wonder if any of that was responsible for driving my girlfriend to such distraction.

The next letter I received addressed my question about moving there.

I do want you to move here! More than anything else in the world. But, I'm scared you'll miss your family so much and grow to resent me.

I'm sorry you're having trouble getting a loan. But we have to have faith that we can get through this time apart. If it's meant to be, it's meant to be.

That's not the answer I needed or wanted. I was already in a state of mild panic but I was trying my best to hold it together and not doubt her. After all, we did a pinky promise not to let insecurity get the better of us. Faith and trust were key. Right?

I replied:

Still no luck with the loan so I'm not sure I can make the move anyway. But just in case, why I don't book a trip to Columbia when you're back at school? If I'm moving out there, I can use that time to line up an apartment and a job. If I'm not moving, it's a nice long visit. Let me know what dates work for you.

She called me a few days later. There was an almost impatient tone to her voice. It was like she was a rebellious teen calling her mother to do the obligatory check-in. I hated the way she sounded. What happened to my little Okie girl? Who was this stranger on the other end?

"You feel so far away right now," I said.

"I'm here, just like I always am," she replied lazily.

"Did you get my note about me coming out there in August?"

"Yes and I think that's a great idea. I wrote you back with some suggested dates. How's it going with the loan?"

"So far, not so good. But I'm still working on it."

"If that's what's meant to be, it will work out."

I found her "whatever happens happens" attitude sickening but our late-night promise to trust in us and believe in us loomed. But the knot in my stomach grew. It felt like I swallowed a shot put.

"So did you hook up with any boys at DD's wedding?" she asked in reference to the ceremony I attended the week prior.

I can't even adequately describe the tone she used. I had never heard anything like it. It was a little accusatory, slightly mocking and maybe just a tad hopeful that my answer would be yes. It infuriated me.

"Oh yeah, you know me... hooking up left and right and cheating on you like crazy. Just like I always do. Jesus, what a question!"

Silence.

"So who's this Lowercase Ed fella?" I asked in a fake care-free tone.

"God, I knew you were going to ask about him!" she snapped.

I had never heard her so impatient or defensive before. It was official. I was scared.

The letters slowed to a crawl. The phone stopped ringing. I was a nervous wreck but doing my best to exist on faith and past promises. It was a meager diet and I began wasting away.

In earlier correspondence, we had agreed on a date for me to arrive in Columbia. I decided to forgo the usual travel agent and bid on a flight through Priceline.com. When I received the email confirming my bid was accepted, I took a deep breath before making the non-refundable purchase. I thought to myself, "I hope I'm not making a mistake," closed my eyes, exhaled and clicked the purchase button. I printed out my itinerary and dropped a copy in the mail to her.

At this point, I hadn't heard from her in almost two weeks, maybe more. I shuffled through those days depressed and lonely. I had no one to confide in about my worries because I still hadn't told anyone that I had a girlfriend. I was in this all by my lonesome.

I woke up on a Saturday morning and as always, she was my first thought. I said quietly to myself, "I'm going to hear from her today."

It was a busy day. My parents left on a cruise to Nova Scotia. My two older sisters dropped them off at the Intrepid, the cruise's departing location, so I agreed to mind my three-month old niece for a few hours.

I was edgy and tense all morning. I half-watched a bit of Girl, Interrupted to pass the time while the niece napped in her bouncy seat. I paced around the house and nervously glanced out the window. And then I heard the noisy hinges on the mailbox and the thwang of the metal flag as the mailman forcefully raised it.

I waited until he was safely across the street and then fetched the mail. I quickly sifted through the envelopes while still standing on the front steps -- bill, bill, junk mail, bill, bill, subscription renewal, bill, her letter, bill, bill, loan application rejection notice, bill, charitable appeal, bill.

Just as I predicted, I heard from her that day -- July 15, 2000. I'm usually terrible with dates but that is one I will never forget.

I went back inside curious to read the letter but dreading it at the same time. I just knew it wouldn't be good news. My niece started to stir and let loose with an "I'm starving!" wail. I put the letter down on the kitchen counter, put on a pot of water to heat the bottle and picked up the niece to calm her down. I hugged her close and gently bounced her while walking around the living and dining rooms. She loved constant movement. Normally it was tiresome to keep her mobile but on that day I was grateful. Walking was the only way to still my trembling legs.

"What's going to happen to me today, huh, buddy? What's your aunt going to find out? Will I be sad?" I whispered in her ear.

I secured the niece in her bouncy seat and went into the kitchen to test the bottle. It needed another minute so I looked over at the letter, uncertain if I should open it right then and there. I decided it was no use prolonging the bad news any longer so I picked it up and slowly tore open the envelope. The letter was really thick, maybe five or six pages of lined notebook paper, covered front and back. I inhaled and started to read. The words bounced before my eyes because of my violently shaking hands.

My darling,
I miss you so much. I have so much to tell you, beautiful girl. And I don't know where to start. Crazy things are happening to me. I know it's going to hurt you to hear them and it kills me because hurting you of all people is the last thing I ever wanted to do. But please listen to me and try to understand.

Lowercase Ed kissed me last night... and I let him. Curly, I don't understand it either. I know you must hate me right now but please hear me out. I love you terribly and what we have is like a dream but it's not right. It's like we're hiding from the world. It's not real. I'm a firm believer in signs, as I've told you, and all signs are pointing for me to follow this new path with Lowercase Ed...

I couldn't read any more. All I wanted to do was collapse on the kitchen floor and sob uncontrollably.

But my niece needed me, my sisters would soon be home and some of their friends were on their way over for a barbecue. I don't know how I did it but I pulled myself together enough to put the letter in my bedroom and then came back to the kitchen, prepared a bottle, fed my niece and then greeted and entertained guests until my sisters got home. I can't recall an ounce of any conversations I had with those people. I was on auto-pilot.

Before the house filled up, I had some quiet time with my niece. I love both my niece and my nephew equally but I will forever have an extra special bond with that little girl. She was the only person who was with me when I got the news on that fateful afternoon. The company couldn't have been more perfect. I needed someone in that moment who would love me unconditionally and not ask questions. Trying to explain to an adult would require too much backstory and explanation. I didn't want to talk. I just needed to be held. In a mere few sentences, I was completely leveled. I was in desperate need. So I clutched my niece and held onto her for dear life as that first paragraph played over and over in my head. I was beyond consolation but the presence of that baby helped me keep it together somehow. Her powdery formula scent provided the lone shred of comfort in that awful hour.

This is getting hard so I need to stop for now. I'm sorry for all the typos lately but the past two have been difficult to go back and reread.

>> Go to Part Nine

-- Part One
-- Part Two
-- Part Three
-- Part Four
-- Part Five
-- Part Six
-- Part Seven

re: the muppets (part seven)

Here's the next installment of my lengthy tome. Please click here for Parts One through Six.

~ Part Seven~

When I got back to Jersey, I was deflated, depressed... and forever changed. I was happy to see my family and friends but I felt restless and out of place. My resentment of my reputation there was at an all-time high. The weight of it crushed me. I wanted my Oklahoma bliss to be my baseline, not this suffocating loneliness.

I missed her terribly, more than ever before. After a couple of years of acting shy and silly, we had finally relaxed across the board. In person, we enjoyed the comfort that was once reserved for late-night conversations and daydreams. It was just so easy when she and I were together. She got me. I hated being apart. I longed for our snug fit.

And in addition to the pain of separation, I had to deal with the fact that I was technically a full-blown lesbian. I had been "initiated." Leading up to the trip, my lesbianism was merely theoretical. But now it was real.

Facing my mother was tough. I couldn't look her in the eyes. At times, I couldn't even look myself in the eyes. I stared through my reflection when brushing my teeth, applying makeup, tweezing my eyebrows. I chose not to deal. I isolated the memory in a special corner of my mind because if I kept it hidden there, I wouldn't have to fully confront it. It made it easier to perpetuate the lie.

I was bursting with love for her but at the same time, I was confused, ashamed and scared. It was so difficult to associate such feelings with this person, my beautiful girl, who brought me so much joy. I felt like I betrayed her every time I doubted or denied us in my mind.

Before long, the strain of a long-distance relationship started to show. Our time spent together in person was near perfect, but without the hand holding, kissing, deep embraces, meaningful looks and uh, you know, other stuff, it became really hard to convey comfort and reassurance across the miles. In exchange for our consistency, we surrendered some of the magic of our unspoken connection. Insecurity reigned supreme.

I had no doubt in my mind that she loved me but I started to question the depth and scope of that love. Old habits started to creep in. The wishy-washy behavior resumed on her part. She was not alone in that trepidation, but I kept my questioning and debate to myself. I tried working it out so as not to confuse or upset her. But there were times when it overwhelmed me and I did what she had encouraged and "trained" me to do from the get-go -- trust her.

And most of the time she was supportive and receptive. Other days, she defied her own rules and retreated instead of reaching out. Depending on her mood, she was either cooing romantically into the phone or keeping it all business. The latter was her way of dealing with fear. That girl could redefine, recategorize and rationalize like nobody's business.

If she played the platonic card on a day when I felt particularly uncertain, it was an absolute mess. We fought and said horrible things to each other. We often ended the phone call on a really bad note. Sometimes I hung up on her. The next day, one of us would crack and send an apology and a promise not let things get weird again. But those promises were empty because we inevitably fell victim to "the weirdness," as we called it, time and time again. When we were in sync, it was remarkable. When our freak-out cycles overlapped, it was awful. It became a pattern that was stuck in a neverending loop.

During one phone call, she was particularly distant and distracted. I was beyond fed up. After an aggravating series of remote and lackadaisical responses, I said,

"That's it! I'm out of here. I've had enough of this! I can't do this anymore! Do you hear me? I'm done!"

I was just about to hang up and she pleaded with me to stay on the phone. I was exhausted and just sick to death of her inconsistency and her hypocrisy. This relationship was not easy for me either but for all her talk of faith and trust, she did a bang-up job of freezing me out. So I let her have it and once again gave her the choice to either accept me completely or just let me go lick my wounds and get on with life. It was a really tough conversation but hours later, she had talked me down off the ledge.

When we weren't fighting, we had the whole package -- friendship, love and passion. We knew we had problems but we tried to work through them. As much as our relationship terrified us, we couldn't deny our happiness... most of the time.

"Guess what?"

"Chicken butt?"

"Yes, chicken butt. How'd you know?"

"I know all."

"True. But guess what else?"

"Uh, I give up."

"I'm coming to New York for spring break for a WHOLE week! So is Rice and Gay Boyfriend. Rice's brother lives in Manhattan but he'll be out of town so his place will be empty..."

"Um, are you staying there too? Or..."

"Duh, Curly. I already told Rice I'm staying with you. You're all mine for a whole week."

"Oh my God. You're coming to my house?! You get to meet my family?!?"

"Yes! Can you believe it?

"Oh man, this is going to be interesting."

I was excited but at the same time, I felt a sickening thud in my stomach when she made the announcement. Not even because of the whole "What will my family think?" issue. We made it through a week undetected in Oklahoma so I had no doubt we could pull off the same in Jersey. My concern lay in one thing and one thing only -- a lamp.

Early in our friendship, I came home to find a medium-sized cardboard box waiting for me. I opened it up and rummaged through the tissue paper. And then I heard it -- the tinkling sound of broken glass. I looked inside and shards of frosted blue glass littered the box. Beneath the schrapnel was a heavy dolphin-shaped base which was cracked completely in half.

I read the note. It was overflowing with excitement and hope that I'd love the present she picked out especially for me. She went away for the weekend and made it her mission to find me the perfect gift. She knew I loved dolphins so after hours of shopping, she found the lamp in a funky shop that sold incense, tapestries, dream catchers and various marijuana paraphernalia. She took one look at it and couldn't pass it up.

I was absolutely crushed. I dabbed at my eyes, cursed the postal service and debated what to do next.

An email would be too impersonal so I called her to say thank you... and maybe explain what happened. I wasn't sure if I should tell her though. Luckily, she wasn't home. Her roommate answered the phone and immediately asked if I liked my gift.

"Oh my God! I don't know what to do! I opened the box and it was broken in a million pieces. I feel terrible. What should I do?!"

"Oh no! Are you serious?!"

"Unfortunately, yes. I can't believe this."

"Curly, you cannot tell her! She'll be heartbroken! She searched all over for that and couldn't wait to send it to you. It's all she's talked about since. It would just kill her to know."

"I know! I know! I'm just sick about it, I really am. Do you know where she got it? Maybe I can replace it and not tell her?"

"Good idea! I'll find out!"

Her roommate did some research and got me the name and phone number of the shop where she purchased the lamp. I called the store and they didn't have any more in stock. They recommended another shop who recommended another shop who recommended another. Eventually I was put in touch with a distributor, which was a waste of time because the distributor didn't even know what I was talking about. Long story short, I made dozens of calls to small shops and distributors across the country and no one could help. It was a one-of-a-kind gift, in more ways than one.

I took her roommate's advice and never let on that it was broken. I did my best to glue the base together and I kept that on display in my bedroom as a reminder of her generosity and caring spirit. I put on a good show when she called me back the night I received it. And I wasn't lying when I told her how beautiful and special that gift was.

But now she was coming to stay with me! She was going to see the broken lamp! I knew of a couple of hippie-dippy shops in the area so I called around and went through another endless chain of phone calls. Again, no one could sell me a replacement.

I picked her up at Rice's brother's apartment on the night she arrived. After hanging out with her school friends in the East Village, it was time to head to my house. The whole ride home I fretted over that lamp. We stood outside the door of my bedroom and I turned around and spoke in a trembling voice:

"Before we go in, there's something I have to tell you and I really hope you don't hate me."

She reached out and stroked my cheek and said, "I won't hate you. What's wrong?"

"I... I... "

Now she looked worried. "What? Tell me."

"I... I... I... broke the lamp you sent me. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!!!! I was cleaning and I accidentally knocked it over. It fell on the floor and broke in a million pieces! I tried my best to fix it! I'm sorry!"

She looked relieved. "That's it?! God, you scared me!"

"I'm so sorry."

"Oh, it's okay, sweetie."

"No, I'm really sorry. You have no idea."

She drew me close and said, "Aw. Come here, clumsy."

Crisis averted. To this day, she still thinks I broke that lamp.

Her stay with the McDimples was as magical as my time in Oklahoma. My family really rolled out the red carpet for her. The McDimples are always kind and generous to guests but this was different. My family gave her the same treatment my brother-in-law received when he first came on the scene. It was reverential yet relaxed. Everyone put their best foot forward but the atmosphere wasn't formal or stuffy.

And she fit right in. She sat through dinner with a huge smile on her face. I watched as she soaked in the dynamic. She loved everything about my large, Irish-Catholic family. She even got in on the act when we teased the much-loathed boyfriend of my second oldest sister. He had a ponytail and a bad attitude that none of us appreciated. She delighted in the way we openly scorned him.

She kept her fingers crossed that my very pregnant oldest sister would have the baby during her stay. She called every day after she left to get an update. She was ecstatic to be an aunt of sorts. She wanted an in with my family in the worst way and the McDimples were more than happy to absorb her into the fold. Even my gruff father gave her a kiss on the cheek and a big hug when she left.

My mother was particularly taken with her. After they were introduced, my mother pulled me aside and remarked on her beauty. And it seemed like she had phrased it as a compliment to me. Perhaps I'm reaching but I felt like my mother knew on some level and it was a small step toward her eventual acceptance.

Over the next month or two, I became more and more despondent at home. I had reached my saturation point for misery. I needed to do something. I was out with some friends one night and had an epiphany. I came home and started writing her an email. It was almost 4:00 in the morning but I couldn't sleep. I had big news and I wanted to share it. As I was typing away feverishly, she signed on.

Her: Oh my God! What are you doing here?

Me: Couldn't sleep. I'm in the middle of writing you an email. Why are you up so late?

Her: I don't know. Something told me to sign on. I was hoping you'd be here but I wasn't counting on it.

Me: You have no idea how happy I am that you did. Can I ask you a question?

Her: Yeah, go ahead.

Me: Well, it's not definite that I can even pull this off and I have a lot of stuff to consider but... how would you feel if I moved to Columbia [Missouri, where she was attending school]?

Her: Oh my God! What?!?!

Me: Like I said, I don't know if I can swing it but I can try... if you want me to.

Her: Let me think about it... YES!!!

Me: Oh, thank God. I was hoping that's what you'd say.

Her: But what about your family, Curly? Won't you miss them?

Me: Yes but I can't let that stop me. I have to do this. I miss YOU and it's killing me. And I think it's hurting us. I hate living so far away from you.

Her: This is unbelievable. You mean, we might actually live in the same state?!?! This would be a dream come true. I can't even tell you how happy I am that you'd even consider doing this for me.

We discussed the logistics and daydreamed about my off-campus apartment and my getting a job at her school. She theorized that all of her friends would become angry with her because all of her time would be spent with me. The plan was that I'd live in Columbia for her senior year and after that... we'd go wherever the day took us. Maybe bum around Colorado for a bit and then head further west. Eventually we'd move to New York where she'd audition to her heart's content while I found a writing job.

Her: Can we get a dog and a cat?

Me: A dog, yes. But do we really need to have a cat? How about two dogs?

Her: How about two dogs AND a cat? Pretty please?

Me: Oh, okay. Allergies be damned... but it's not allowed in the bed.

Her: Aw! Can the dogs sleep in the bed?

Me: No, that's gross. I don't want dirty dog butt in my bed. Plus the hair will kill me.

Her: You're mean, Curly.

Me: Don't even think about letting them on the furniture when I'm not home either!

Her: How will you know?

Me: I'll know. I know everything. So don't do it.

Her: Okay, but even if I did let them, you'll have no way of finding out.

Me: Um, what about the huge clumps of hair?

Her: I'll vacuum them up and you, my dear, won't be any the wiser.

Me: I mean it. No pets on the furniture. Oh, and if you even think about letting the dogs eat off your plate, I'm totally dumping you.

We had so much fun laying down the house rules and imagining the decor and layout of our future home. Our life together started taking shape. We were excited. We had a goal. If I could get a loan to consolidate my debt, I would move there by September.

But first, we had to make it through the summer. We knew ahead of time that it was going to be a tough couple of months. At the end of May, she left for Iowa to participate in a summer theater workshop. It was an intense program that counted as a full semester towards graduation. We tried to steel ourselves for three months of restricted free time and virtually no phone or email contact.

The night before she left, we had a long and very enlightening conversation.

"Can I share something with you, Curly?"

"Always."

"Do you know how sometimes things got weird with us?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Well, I think I know why..."

She then explained that her brother had launched into an anti-gay speech one night at dinner and it was accepted and practically applauded by her Baptist family. She protested and her brother accused her of being gay. He was using it more as an insult with no real clue as to how right he was. She denied it and the topic eventually died. But her brother wasn't chastised. In that environment, she was in the wrong for her acceptance of homosexuality. Seeing how much her family shunned and hated homosexuality was a real eye-opener.

At last, she reached out to me instead of retreating. I never felt closer to her. I opened up completely about my fears about my family's and friends' reactions. I copped to the internal doubts and denials that ran me ragged for so long. And I told her how when I needed to dip into that well of trust she promised me and found it to be a bit shallow or lacking, it sent me running back to my old ways.

Yet another new level of understanding was reached. And unlike our many prior day-after apologies, this one seemed like it was going to stick. We vowed that there would be no more weirdness and no more hiding behind on-the-fly definitions and redrawn lines.

"Just take my hand and squeeze," I said.

"I will."

"Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise."

We tucked each other in that night, saddened by our impending separation but heartened by our new beginning.

>> Go to Part Eight

-- Part One
-- Part Two
-- Part Three
-- Part Four
-- Part Five
-- Part Six

on status reports and ice skates

I had every intention of banging out Part Seven last night. No really, I did! I went out for a lovely dinner with some really cool people and arrived home with an energetic buzz that I was going to parlay into enough paragraphs to keep you all sated. 'Course that nifty feeling could have also been the grain alcohol in the stiff margarita I sucked down at Cowgirl...

But I digress. I was all geared up to write the next installment in my schmoopie saga but I got distracted. I saw something and I.could.not.look.away. I was entranced. Was it some unholy specter haunting my abode? Nope. Was it a vision of the Virgin Mary taking shape in the food stuffs in my kitchen? Again, no.

'Twas the sight of Bruce Jenner decked out in Navy whites skating around an ice rink with Tai Babilonia. Yes, my friends, I got sucked into Skating with Celebrities. And I'm not ashamed. Although, I'm a tad regretful because Bruce Jenner's skinny nose is rather nightmarish. Methinks the plastic surgeon was a little unruly with the scalpel. I'm not banking on ever having a restful night's sleep again thanks to his barely-there beak but I don't care! The bad dreams are worth it. Bring on the B-listers in skates!

Oh and speaking of FOX programming, The Lovely Jess brilliantly recaps the first episode of American Idol. It's impossible for me to expand on her insightful take. Please go read it.

re: the muppets (part six)

Here's the next installment of my lengthy tome. Please click here for Parts One through Five.

~ Part Six~

After that night's stunning achievement, I was understandably concerned that she would have a change of heart the next day. But she didn't. Nor did I. We were officially a couple.

She told a few of her gay friends at school. I still told no one.

By this time, I had quit my job at the industry publication and was working as a nanny. The family was going to Virginia for the holidays so I had a solid week off. I called her up and asked if she'd like me to deliver her Christmas present in person. Judging from the amount of squealing she did on the phone, I took it as a yes and booked a flight to Tulsa.

I called her the night before my trip to give her my flight details.

"I'm scared."

"Me too."

"What if we act all nervous around each other?"

"Well, we have almost a full week to figure it out. I'm sure we'll be fine... Right?"

"This is ridiculous. It's you and me, Curly. We shouldn't feel this way."

"I know but it's completely understandable for us to be nervous at first. Let's allow ourselves to be. It's normal. This is a very different visit, you know?"

"I know but I don't want to be scared of you."

"If you're freaking out when I step off the plane, just know that I am too, okay? But it's just me. You know ME. If you're finding it hard to say something, just squeeze my hand. I'll know."

"Okay. Oh my God. I can't believe I'm going to see you tomorrow!"

My brother-in-law dropped me off at Newark Airport the next morning. I was relieved that he was given the assignment because I didn't want to spend any more time with my parents leading up to this trip. Time together meant conversation and conversation meant lies. I was already walking through a minefield of tall tales, half-truths and outward deceit. Even the smallest of details was connected to an elaborate and complex system of falsehoods. One wrong move and I was done for.

It was a tactic I had begun applying to all situations in my real life. The less I said, the better. I performed the bare minimum of routine maintenance on existing friendships and all but gave up on developing new ones. As open, vibrant and alive as I was with her, I was that much more isolated and closed off in real life. No one understood me like she did and I cut off all opportunities for anyone else to even try.

I stared out the window as the plane made its ascent after take-off. I grew up in the flight path of Newark Airport so the plane passed over my high school, my grammar school, my church and finally, my house. That's when my lip started to quiver. I closed my eyes to trap the tears. I wished my parents a silent goodbye as well as an apology. I was well on my way to a new life, one that would crush and devastate them if they ever found out.

I had a 50-minute stop-over in Houston. Every television in that airport was tuned to football so I couldn't rely on the boob tube for a pleasant distraction. I mindlessly thumbed through a USA Today but trying to read was useless. I was completely preoccupied with one thought that played over and over in my head:

Oh my God. You're going to kiss a girl today. Oh my God. You're going to kiss a girl today. Oh my God. You're going to kiss a girl today...

I was conservative with the proposed agenda because I would have really freaked out otherwise. Besides, I'm far too much of a blusher to let my thoughts wander beyond first base.

When boarding for the Tulsa connection was announced, I literally wobbled onto the plane. I suddenly had less stability in my legs than the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz.

I was seated next to the middle teenager in a large family of brash Texans who were scattered about the plane. Her parents were sitting right behind us. When I took my seat next to the young girl, her father tapped me on the shoulder. His appearance just screamed Texas. He was built like a linebacker. He wore a tan corduroy sports jacket, had red apple cheeks and neatly-groomed salt-and-pepper hair with a side part. His voice was deep and his laugh wheezy. He reminded me a bit of Hoyt Axton.

"She likes to listen to her crazy music real loud. Don't you be afraid to tell her to turn that down. Drives us all crazy with that music of hers."

It was a warning that girl had no doubt heard countless times before but the look of murderous rage she cast in father's direction was completely fresh. I looked at her and smiled and then took out my headphones in a show of solidarity.

"It's okay. We're cool."

Her father chuckled and then directed his teasing at another member of his brood. That exchange somehow managed to distract me from my panic during the short hop from Houston to Tulsa.

Of course the terror REALLY set in as the plane taxied up to the gate. My hands shook violently as I tried to remove my carry-on from the overhead compartment. I tried my best to do rhythmic, controlled breathing as the line inched forward towards the jetway.

I had visualized many times in my head how my arrival would play out. I tried prepping and training myself to be cool and in control. But my mind went completely blank when I emerged and saw her leaning up against the wall. In retrospect, our actual greeting borrowed bits and pieces from each and every one of my imagined scenarios. There was a deep smothering hug, trembling hands and gasping whispers in each other's ear. I lost count of how many times we said, "Oh my God. I can't believe you're/I'm here."

Our concerns about nerves were warranted. I was shuddering, as was she. We were super spazzy while waiting for my suitcase at baggage claim. I could only look at her when she wasn't looking at me. When she'd turn to meet my gaze, I got embarrassed and looked down. When I'd recover, it was then her turn to become overwhelmed. We traded off on the tard-like behavior for several minutes. But then I took a step closer and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her, clutched her hand and gave it a squeeze. And then, as if on cue, my suitcase slid down the chute. It was time to go home.

It was about a 15-minute car ride from the airport to her house. I had never been to Oklahoma so I took in the scenery... and then a thought occurred as I surveyed the flat, wide-open land:

"Um, is there like a tornado season or can one, you know, just spring up out of nowhere?"

She smiled at the look of concern on my face and gave me a brief tutorial on when tornadoes traditionally strike (not December, phew!) I then followed up with questions about storm cellars, the effectiveness of standing in doorways for protection and her opinion of Helen Hunt's performance in Twister. In case you're wondering, Helen left no real impression. I concurred.

The first member of her family to greet me was the dog. We fell instantly in love. I was then introduced to the cat. No bond was forged. I kind of just waved at her because I'm not too keen on the felines to begin with and that one had the reputation for being a right bitch. I have no regrets about not winning her over.

Me and the dog though, we had a special understanding. I even brought her a gift -- a hamburger-shaped squeak toy. The dog was a bit of a chicken so she was afraid of the squeaky noise it made. Despite the trauma I inadvertently caused her, I think she appreciated the sentiment just the same.

The house was pretty much empty the day I arrived because her parents were away on business and her younger brother was painfully shy and spent most of his time in his room. We were both grateful for and petrified by the privacy.

After getting the grand tour, we hung out in the living room. I sat on the ottoman on one side and she sat on the couch on the other. The space between us was ridiculous. I could sense her silently pleading with me to do something to fix it. I was scared out of my wits but after a few moments of staring at each other and smiling shyly, I prompted the thaw. I walked over to the couch and said, "Scooch."

We started to slowly get acquainted... and then the phone rang. It was her lesbian friend from school.

"Hello?... Oh hi. [She mouthed "It's Lesbian Friend from School" while rolling her eyes.]... Yes, she's here... A little while ago... No, not yet... 'Cause she just got here!... I have to go. I'll call you later... Okay, bye."

I giggled at Lesbian Friend from School's nosiness and was pleased with my girlfriend's eagerness to get off the phone and return to the couch.

She took her seat next to me and once again, we tried to achieve that state of comfort we forged over telephone lines and in cyberspace. After one more phone interruption, she was annoyed and frustrated enough to take charge and issue the order, "Come here. Lie down next to me," as she reclined on the couch. There was no more time for shyness.

The couch was wide enough so that we could lay face-to-face. We looked at each other a long time and just drank each other in. She took my hand in hers and rubbed it against her cheek. After a few testing-the-waters kisses to her forehead and cheeks, I went for broke and finally, at long last, gave her the kiss I had been saving up for almost two years.

I know it's a cliche but right then and there, a dream came true. "I can't believe this is happening," I breathed. She responded with an intense kiss that was more magical than I had ever imagined.

The shyness was completely gone. The lack of eye contact was replaced by an inability to look away. Our hands rarely parted. If we had to be discreet, we touched in some other way. Our determination to hold on trumped all comers in Hands on a Hardbody. We just couldn't let go.

When we'd fall asleep, we slept deeply and peacefully. No worries or cares in the world. Finally, we were able to cradle each other and connect on all levels.

Her family was amazing. If they were at all skeptical of this intruder six years older than their beloved girl, they didn't let on. Instead, they opened up their home and their arms to me completely. I felt guilty deceiving them, and my own family as well, but I rationalized our secrecy as just buying time. Winning her heart was my first dream realized, gaining acceptance from our families was next on the list.

We spent an afternoon at her grandparents' house making Lebanese spinach pies. Her grandparents were Episcopalian. The statue of St. Francis in the front yard wore a Santa hat. The entire house was tastefully overrun with Christmas knick-knacks. I got the fright of my life when I went into the bathroom and a Christmas tree on the toilet came to life and sang, "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree." Good thing I was already on the bowl or I would have peed my jeans.

I heard her grandmother's lilting giggle just outside the bathroom door. She had been waiting there in giddy anticipation of my reaction to her tchatke. My audible gasp (and tinkle) did not disappoint.

Her grandmother was short and doughy. Her diminutive stature and soft voice reminded me of Mrs. Whipple on Little House on the Prairie. She took a real shine to me. The adoration was mutual.

"Now, Curly, will you be back to visit us soon? Maybe you can come back in the summer?"

"I would love to but I can't. I'm going to Florida in the spring and that's going to eat up all of my vacation time."

"I'm sorry, dear. Where?"

I spoke a little louder assuming her hearing was on its way out,

"Florida! I'm going in May!"

She still looked perplexed. And then I realized that my New York tri-state-area pronunciation of "FLAH-rida" was throwing her off. I switched it to the more universal (and totally unnatural for me) "FLOOR-ida" and it finally registered.

"That's too bad. We'd love to have you again."

We drove to Springfield, Missouri one afternoon to meet her friends from college. They knew of our friendship but not the details. But they were intrigued by the amount of time their dear friend devoted to me and wanted to meet me in person. We had lunch at a Mexican restaurant that reportedly was the establishment of choice when local boy Brad Pitt was in town and wanted him some chimichangas. Those college friends would later become invaluable allies.

I also met her best friend the day after I arrived. Bit by bit, the people in her life came into focus. And they at last had a face to put with my name and mystique. Events were planned around my arrival. People were anxious to meet me. In her world, I was the furthest thing from the quiet, forgettable girl I was at home.

I left on December 23 so that I could spend Christmas with my own family. A week never went so fast as this one. We moved sluggishly the morning and afternoon of my departure in an unsuccessful attempt to slow down time.

We arrived at the airport a bit early so she sat with me at the gate. She rested her head on my shoulder, clutched my hand and played with my fingers. Normally I craved her touch but I felt uncomfortable in public. I felt like all eyes were on us. I stiffened up and grew quiet.

"What's the matter? Are you nervous about flying?"

"Yeah, I hate it," I lied.

"Don't be scared," she said gently as she stepped up her displays of affection in an effort to make feel safe.

To this day I hate that I spent my last few minutes of that trip feeling self-conscious and silently willing her to stop touching me.

Finally it was time to board. She shuffled along with me on the ticket line until she could go no further. It was now my turn. Time was up. I collected her in my arms and kissed her on the forehead. We exchanged I love yous and I walked quickly onto the plane, refusing to look back. I knew I'd lose it if I did. I did not want to leave. I actually weighed the possibility of running off the plane and staying in Tulsa... Until thoughts of my family, friends and my job back home slapped me across the face. Reality did in fact bite.

I had a window seat on the left side of the plane so I could see the area around the gate where I had just left her. The reflection on the glass made it hard to see inside but I knew she was watching. I couldn't take my eyes off the airport window even as my vision blurred when the tears started. Lots of them. An unending stream ran down my face. The man sitting next to me looked at me sympathetically as I mopped them up. A pile of saturated tissues collected in my lap.

She stood in the airport pressed up against the window crying in the same fashion. She watched the plane take off and refused to leave until it was nothing more than a barely visible speck among the clouds.

>> Go to Part Seven

-- Part One
-- Part Two
-- Part Three
-- Part Four
-- Part Five

re: the muppets (part five)

Here's the next installment of my lengthy tome. Please click here for Parts One through Four.

~ Part Five~

She called me Sunday night to discuss our plans for Monday. Once again we spoke for hours on the phone. And once again we discussed the butterflies we both inspired.

"Why is that?"

"I don't know! We're so comfortable with each other here but when we come face-to-face, forget about it! It's nuts."

"Okay, let's not act like that tomorrow. Okay?"

"Okay. Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise."

She picked me up from work on Monday and we grabbed some coffee and then walked for blocks talking. We were both still jittery but it was not nearly as bad as our previous two meetings. We relaxed a bit and even managed to goof around and tease each other. For example, I chose to act out a scene from the movie Annie as we neared the New York Public Library. I completely took her by surprise when I jumped up on the steps, assumed the identity of one of the orphans and exclaimed, "Hey look! There's Sandy!" It took her a second but she got the reference and giggled and shook her head at my lunacy.

We walked around the corner into Bryant Park. I informed her about the outdoor movies during the summer and the meat market atmosphere during lunch on sunny days. I also told her to be on the lookout for rats.

And then I instructed her to look up. There's a canopy of trees around the perimeter of the park. As tall as the trees are, they are positively dwarfed by the surrounding towering skyscrapers. At night, it's just an amazing visual contrast and I wanted her to see it.

We honestly had not stopped twittering and chatting all evening. But suddenly, in the park, we got stuck in a silent moment. We would later learn that the very same thought dawned on us at the same time: "Damn, this is romantic."

I felt like I was on a date. If I was a guy, I would have leaned in and kissed her long and hard. But it wasn't a date. And I wasn't a guy. And I wasn't a lesbian. Nor was she. We couldn't kiss.

She was engaged in her own silent struggle. The tension grew thicker and more obvious. All I could do was look at my feet, over her shoulder, up at the sky, back at my feet, behind me, etc. And then she spoke.

"Hey, look at my keyring. Isn't it cool?" she said after fishing around in her pocket and producing a set of keys.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Very nice."

She knew it was a rather weak diversion but it still did the trick. I smiled out of both amusement and gratitude.

"I need to catch a train soon. Why don't I walk you back to your hotel?"

"You sure you don't mind? I don't want to make you go out of your way."

"No, I've got time. Plus, I'm not ready to say goodbye yet."

"Good. I was hoping you'd say that."

She was staying in a small hotel off Ninth Avenue. We reached the front door but I still wasn't ready to leave. So we talked and talked and talked. My window of opportunity to make my train was dwindling but every time I turned to go, we both figured out a way to keep me there. Stalling was never so enjoyable.

At one point, she became very animated when telling me a story. Her hands whipped around for emphasis. During one fit of punctuation, she accidentally caught my hand with her fingernail and scratched the area near my thumb. She immediately clutched my hand and said, "Oh my God! I'm so sorry. Does it hurt?"

I could have been hemorrhaging and wouldn't have even noticed. She was holding my hand! I didn't want her to let go but "common sense" prevailed and I extracted my hand from her gentle grip and said, "No, it's totally fine. See? No mark."

And now I was really pressing my luck with the train schedule so I said goodbye and we hugged.

And then another conversation started so I said another goodbye and then we hugged again.

And again and again. And maybe once more for good measure. I knew it could go on all night so I said, "Okay, that's it. I really have to go. Have a safe trip home. Call me when you're back!" I blew her a kiss, turned around and hustled down 46th Street.

I missed her already.

Our emails, IMs and phone calls grew more intimate after that trip. The number of gifts increased. It had all the earmarks of a full-fledged relationship. Except it wasn't.

She and her boyfriend had broken up. I wasn't necessarily happy about that because I didn't want to see her unhappy but every mention of his name when they were together cut into my heart. And when I mentioned my dating life to her, she grew agitated and a bit huffy and wanted to know details. Jealousy like this doesn't exist in a "normal" friendship so what were we exactly?

As confused as I was by this whole thing, my confidence continued to grow by leaps and bounds. I found myself asking questions of her and making statements that were so uncharacteristic of me. The phone soon became the preferred method of contact. Hanging up took hours. My phone bills were astronomical but I did not care.

Our conversations became more and more flirty.

"You totally have a crush on me, don't you?" I teased.

"Yes, I do," she answered to my delight.

God, it was so much fun flirting with her. We pushed the boundaries constantly. Our protests that we weren't gay started to die down. The romance ratcheted up considerably.

We treated our birthdays like federal holidays. We engaged in tremendous fan fare. For her 19th birthday, I sent her a care package teeming with gifts. One of the items was a journal. I like to christen journals before I give them as gifts so I wrote a story on the first page. Basically, it was about something beautiful that grew and eclipsed the sadness in a dark, dreary place.

She cried while she thanked me during our scheduled birthday call. She couldn't believe how much stuff I sent and how personal it all was. But I still had one more gift up my sleeve. Hours later, when we were both delirious and exhausted and in the lengthy process of saying goodnight, I delivered it.

"I'm tired and you, Curly, you need to get up early tomorrow."

"Yes, dear. Okay, you have a good night's sleep... oh and guess what?"

"What?"

"I love you."

At long last, I said it OUT LOUD. Writing it was hard enough but saying it was even more monumental. And notice there was no "too" after it. I did it unbidden and with conviction. I didn't put on a funny voice. I said it straight up.

She gasped and stammered and gasped again. Her exhaustion wore off. She was now completely wired and practically screamed "I love you too" into the phone. It was her favorite birthday present from me by far.

And we continued in this blissful vein for months but there was a painful undercurrent of longing too. I grew increasingly dissatisfied with the platonic declarations of love and dead-end flirting. One night, in particular, I was in no mood to be goofy. Our conversation took a really intense turn and I started shaking like a leaf.

"I... just... I don't know. You do something to me that...I just can't... I think I'm...."

"Curly, I know. Believe me, I know. Trust me, whatever you're feeling, I feel it too."

What was strange was that we'd open up and expose ourselves like this all the time but the hole always somehow closed back up. She too was prone to the aggravating tendency to make bold statements at night only to back pedal the next day. We'd punish each other with too much information about our social calendars in "real life." We'd inform each other of our flirting and numbers exchanged with guys. I hated doing it to her and I hated when she did it to me but it was a form of protection for both of us. She was Baptist. I was Catholic. Both of our parents were very religious and while we didn't share their devotion to religion, we respected and feared it.

Our unofficial courtship followed this frustrating and bipolar course for months. After one really revealing and intimate phone call, it seemed that we were finally on our way to being a real couple, religion, family and friends be damned.

The next day, she wrote me an email saying we had to stop. She claimed responsibility for her part in turning our friendship into a relationship but insisted that it wasn't right. It wasn't what was in store for us. It couldn't be.

I was already having a bad day. Nothing in particular happened but I had an emotional shift at some point. I knew something was wrong. I didn't know what exactly but I had a distinct nagging feeling following me. I read her email and my heart just fell. I didn't know what to think or say first. There was so much clutter in my head. I simply couldn't deal with it then so I replied, "I need time to think. I'll write to you soon."

I stayed offline that night on purpose because I didn't want to chat with her. I was annoyed, agitated and frustrated. I was pissed at myself for letting this insane relationship get to this point. I shouldn't have let it escalate. I defaulted to self-preservation mode. I didn't want to let her see me hurt. I borrowed from my real-life playbook where I excelled at pretending things didn't matter.

A day or two later, I started writing a breezy response stating that I agreed with her. I was about two sentences in when I decided that no, this would not do. I didn't agree with her. And I knew deep down that she didn't really feel that way either. She was so worried about what other people would think. And so was I! I was never one to take such risks but the idea of conceding some of our hard-fought ground was just out of the question. I couldn't dial back my feelings and redefine our friendship. Not now.

I already went through the whole charade of hiding my feelings for her. I put on a smile whenever she told me about her boyfriend. I pretended to be supportive and gave her advice when they had problems. And it pained and drained me to do so. And she pouted her way through my tales of nights out with the cute doctor boys. Sharing wasn't fun for either of us. We already admitted to each other how painful it was. I refused to go back there.

So, for the first time in the history of me, I laid out all of my feelings. All of them. Bare. I told her I couldn't turn back. I'm not really one for ultimatums but I needed all or nothing. If she couldn't give me all, then she needed to leave me alone. Maybe eventually I'd bounce back and not care but right then, right there, it was impossible. I had come too far.

My response scared the shit out of her. The idea that I'd box her out didn't occur to her. She wrote, "I'm not sure you understand. Will you be home later? I want to call you. I love you."

I had already begun building up a wall to keep her out but I'd at least give her a chance to explain herself. I replied with a terse "Yeah, I'll be here" and spent the rest of the night dreading the call.

The beginning of the conversation was all mindless small talk. I refused to let it go any deeper than that. I had to protect myself, after all. I knew she was trying to find an "in" but I was blocking all of her shots. I was cordial but unwavering in my desire to systematically freeze her out. I planned on talking no more than 30 minutes so I started to wrap up the call:

"I better get going. It's been a long day and I'm starting to get tired."

"Oh... okay. So, are we... is everything okay?"

"Fine. But I really have to go."

"Would you give me a hug if I was there?"

"No." [God, I can be a real brat when I want to be.]

"No? That makes me sad. I think I really need one. More than ever."

"I don't want to. I can't. I just have to go, okay?"

"Please talk to me."

"I can't."

"Yes you can. You know you can. Tell me."

"You're making me crazy! I can't deal with this back and forth anymore. It's killing me! Just let me go."

"No! It kills me too! Do you have any idea what you do to me? Do you have any idea the kind of power you have? You could destroy me. I'm scared, Curly. I'm really scared."

Finally! We were completely honest with each other for the first time. My stance softened. My tone changed completely. Instead of cool aloofness, my voice became a warm embrace. In a sense, I was able to give her that hug she needed.

We talked all night. By the morning, it was official: I had my first girlfriend.

>> Go to Part Six

-- Part One
-- Part Two
-- Part Three
-- Part Four

re: the muppets (part four)

Here's the next installment of my lengthy tome. Please click here for Parts One through Three.

~ Part Four~

My "I love you" hung in the air for a few seconds. I didn't regret saying it because, well, she initiated it. I wasn't running the risk that she took when she uttered that staggering phrase first. But I was still petrified. I was normally such an emotional control freak and here I had just surrendered a sizable chunk of my tightly-wound turf.

I sweated it out for a few more moments. And then, finally, she replied. Apparently, she was in shock. A giddy, mind-racing, heart-fluttering good kind of shock, but shock nonetheless.

Her: Oh my God. I'm just... I'm sorry. I'm stunned. Do you know how happy you just made me? Do you have ANY idea?

Me: Wow. I actually said it.

Her: Yes, you did! I'm so proud of you. Oh my God, I'm so happy right now!

Me: Wow. I actually said it.

Her: Are you okay?

Me: Yes. I'm fine. I'm just... Wow. I actually said it. Sorry I'm being so stupid. I do love you too. And I mean it. I do. I'm just sorry I couldn't say it before, you know?

Her: It's okay. You don't have to apologize. I know that was huge for you. You don't need to explain.

But I did try to explain, as best I could, and we ended up talking for several more hours. She admitted that my response had sent her reeling. She said that I had at last given her what she had hoped for but wasn't at all expecting.

Eventually and hesitantly we finally signed off after a busy night of breakthroughs and brand-new connections.

The next day, she sent me a note:

From the very beginning, all I've ever wanted was to be close to you. You have no idea how happy you've made me.

When I read it, my hands turned clammy and cold. I started to shake. I became really uncomfortable. I was suddenly embarrassed by her openness... and my own the night before. I didn't want to be reminded of it the next day.

My response to her was completely dependent on the time of day. A pattern was emerging. At night, I was completely swept up in this relationship that defied all common sense and definition. By day, I wrote it off as foolish drunken behavior. In the harsh daylight, it made no sense. The efficacy of her magic diminished after a good night's sleep.

Each day I tried to be practical and remind myself that even though I spoke to her day in and day out and broke daring new ground, we still had no business talking to each other in this manner. She had a boyfriend, for fuck's sake! And I, with my new-found confidence thanks to her, was still giving it the old college try with the boys, albeit at much better establishments than before.

My friend had just started medical school and was introducing me to eligible soon-to-be doctors left and right. A couple of them had a keen interest in me so I flirted and followed the script but really, I couldn't care less. I was just passing the time until last call. Attention from boys was no longer a measure of success. I didn't need the attention nor did I really want it. In a weird, fucked-up, totally incomprehensible way, I already had someone to come home to at night.

But then again, she was a girl six years younger than me, lived in Oklahoma and uh, hello, we were both straight! Or at least she was. I didn't know what to think about myself at this point. I wasn't having lesbian fantasies about her necessarily but I did want to go to Tulsa and just sweep her off her feet. And, you know, maybe kick her boyfriend's ass.

I'd sometimes catch myself in the middle of this daydream and become instantly appalled. I had no idea where my head was at. I chastised myself repeatedly. Oh the migraines and the maddening debate she caused! My mind fluctuated back and forth between sheer logic and a growing desire that I really didn't understand. It was dizzying.

But all I had to do was just think about her and it calmed me down. And, somehow, I knew that she was out there thinking about me and struggling with the same things.

It was insane and scary and I tried more than once to put the brakes on it but good God, I was drunk on her and how she made me feel. We each tried to get back on the "normal" friendship track but it was really no use. We were out of control and we both knew it.

In our correspondence, we'd nervously laugh (as well as you can through digital communication) and joke about how lovey-dovey and schmoopie we were. We always followed up these conversations with a proclamation of our non-gayness. Regrettably, the discourse was often far from enlightened. Whereas the rejection and vehement denial of homosexual tendencies sometimes takes the form of physical violence, she and I stooped to its equally vile verbal counterpart.

Because we weren't gay, you see. We were just two female friends who thought the world of each other and had an indescribable connection. We chanted this mantra repeatedly in the hopes that maybe we'd actually start to believe it ourselves.

In early 1998 Annie Get Your Gun was preparing for its Broadway run. Being a fellow Bernadette devotee, she wanted to come to New York to see the show. She booked her flight and I got us tickets for the show. I forwarded her the Ticketmaster confirmation and attached the note:

Here's hoping we don't act like retards this time around.

Prior to this trip, she and I had spent about 60 minutes together total. Somewhere in between the "You're beautiful" and the "I love you too" stages, she came to New York for a quick visit.

Some of the details surrounding her first trip are kind of fuzzy. I view this as a bit of a victory because there was a time when I remembered everything in excruciating detail and tortured myself with it. I couldn't let it go. Obviously, my recollection is still intact but I'm grateful that my memory of her is no longer photographic. I have to work harder to patch together the timeline and specifics.

As I recall, I was so scared of meeting her face-to-face that I did everything in my power to make myself almost unavailable. She aimed rather high when trying to claim some of my time but I somehow talked her down to a mid-week lunch hour. I blamed it on being busy but really, I wanted and needed a time limit and an escape route.

As much as I wanted to see her, I felt weird. This person, who up until then only existed in a still photo and Times New Roman font, was about to become real. VERY real. And in addition to feeling, I dunno, funny about her, I also felt self-conscious about our age difference. I was a vain 24 year old and I thought I was far too grown up to be hanging out with a high school kid. Even if that high school kid was her, my beautiful little girl. At the time, I either couldn't or simply refused to reconcile the two.

The plan was that she'd call me when she arrived in New York and we'd finalize our plans. I came home one night and the light on my answering machine was flashing. While I watched it blink, I considered what her voice might sound like. This would be my first exposure to it, after all. Would she sound all twangy like Garth Brooks? He was the only other Oklahoman I knew. Oh my God, would she call me m'am? I ran through a gallery of famous Southern drawls in my head. I had manufactured a short list of good and bad Southern accents. I said a quick prayer that she wouldn't fall into the latter category.

Let's take a time out for a second, shall we, to consider the gall on this girl from Jersey -- of all places -- being disdainful of and overly concerned about an annoying-sounding regional dialect. What balls! Or, more accurately, what bawwwwwls!

I hit the playback button and I immediately smiled. She didn't sound at all like the cartoonish hillbilly I had imagined. On the contrary, her voice was lovely. She was a trained singer so it was rich and resonant with only a subtle shade of Okie to it. Her accent warmed her voice. It felt cozy and familiar, like my security blanket.

We played phone tag a bit but by her second night in town, we managed to track each other down. We blabbed and blabbed and blabbed and eight hours later, we finally hung up. I could have spoken to her for another eight easily.

I already regretted only allotting one hour of my time during her stay.

She met me outside of my office the next day. My heart was in my throat as I scanned the crowds looking for her. I stole nervous-yet-reassuring glances at my shoes. Monitoring my fidgeting legs and tapping feet was my only coping mechanism.

I looked up just as she turned the corner. She immediately caught my eye and we both smiled and inched closer to each other.

After the long phone call and the countless hours spent writing to each other, you would think that we would instantly embrace in a warm, friendly hug. I'm pretty sure she was game for one but for reasons I can't explain, I thrust out my hand and said, "It's nice to finally meet you."

I shook her hand? What?!?!

She looked a little surprised as she accepted my handshake and said, "Oh! Um, it's nice to meet you too."

I was a total tool. But she was by no means cool and collected either. She was visibly nervous and looking to me for cues. I, being the social retard that I am, was of no help or comfort. I could barely look her in the eyes. I assumed a maddeningly business-like attitude and played tour guide as we walked to the restaurant.

We were both confused by our own discomfort. She and I had really charted a lot of intense territory and here I was, in person, incapable of anything more personal than, "Whatever you do, don't eat at the All-Star Cafe. That place sucks. I mean, I haven't actually eaten there myself but just trust me. Don't bother."

We eventually managed to calm down a bit as the hour progressed. We chatted and giggled. Over those 60 minutes, we were very much the two female friends we often offered up as evidence in support of the argument that ours was a unique but strictly hetero relationship.

Our time was up. As we said our goodbyes, I was actually able to initiate a hug. It was a small step towards bridging the gap between our written connection and our face-to-face one. I wanted more time with her so that in person, we could achieve a consistent level of comfort. But my lunch hour was over and she had Broadway shows to watch, museums to visit and souvenirs to buy.

My being over-protective and stingy with my time had come back to bite me in the ass. We lingered for a second and I said, "Okay, I really have to go." She cocked her head to the side and her mouth formed just the hint of a pout as she said, "Aw." That small gesture caused an eruption of butterflies in my stomach.

I gave her another hug -- this one with an extra squeeze at the end -- and ducked into my office building, a little sad, a bit relieved and beyond baffled.

She emailed me when she got back to Oklahoma a few days later. After the discussion of musicals and museums, we turned to the topic of our shared case of nerves. We were able to laugh it off and chalk it up to, as weird as it seemed, stranger anxiety. We assured each other that next time it would be different since we got the awkward first meeting out of the way.

I wasn't sure if our real-life weirdness would seep in and distance our written selves at all. When she signed