Diary Friday: “Hugging and kissing can be quite complicated (at least if I’m involved in it).”

My desire to “do” Diary Friday comes in waves. Sometimes I am drawn to the high school journals, sometimes to the junior high school journals (even more mortifying) and sometimes – rarely – I am drawn to later entries, when I am a grownup (supposedly). This one I have posted before – and it is not from high school.

I’m going on a private writing retreat this weekend, where I will have lots of space and time for contemplation … and those journals from my time in Chicago as a woman in my mid20s have a lot to do with what I am working on these days. So, in honor of my own needs, and what I want to focus on … here is an entry from my time in Chicago.

It is fascinating to me how little I remember about certain things … but thank God for journals (or – sometimes it’s a blessing and a curse. Sometimes things should be forgotten) – but in the case of today’s entry, I am so glad I wrote it down in such detail (even though I started to feel anxious just reading it. Holy crap.) But there is quite a bit here that made me laugh out loud, and also that made me filled with this weird fondness of remembrance. Like: wow. How on earth did THIS all work out? It seems so up in the air during this entry (that’s because it is), so anxietal … and yet it did end up ‘working out’.

So the background is – I’m living in Chicago, I’ve been there for less than a year – and in a production of Golden Boy. I met M. that summer (he probably needs no introduction for regular readers) – he got my phone number – and we went out. Sparks flew immediately. But … were we dating? How could I even tell? We didn’t go out to dinner or to a movie. We met up at pool halls and bowling alleys. I was absolutely crazy about him … but I have to say, my emotions were based on very little information (except my pheromonal response to him which was basically like a nuclear incinerator). He drove me INSANE.

Just to skip ahead in the story: M. was in my life in a major way for 11 years. He was one of the steadiest of friends, and my relationship with him ended up being (in retrospect mostly) one of the deepest of my whole life. But to judge from the beginning of it? You would NEVER know that that would be the case. It seemed to be just a case of hormones run amok. Not that there’s anything wrong with that – but it still amazes me how connected we eventually were. Like on an ESP level. He crawled through my window every other night one summer because he seemed to have an aversion to doors, doorbells, and calling me ahead of time. He seemed to know what I needed, which naturally would fluctuate from day to day … but he just went with it. It was such an important energy for me to discover in a relationship. I had never had it before. He is the star of my journals for a good 5 or 6 years.

I guess I had forgotten how unsure the whole thing was in the beginning (which is the focus of today’s entry). I am now looking back on it with the retrospective knowledge that this guy would become one of my most important friends ever. But at the time? He was this unknown – and I was completely nutso about him … in an out of control pheromonal way that made me feel crazy. We went on a couple of “dates” – to be honest I can’t remember much – I know it’s all in the journals though – and I realized pretty early on that this guy was WILD. This was not going to be a “dinner and a movie” kind of thing. But I was so fine with that – because I was not in a relationship-y place at ALL.

Anyway. My third date with M. was insane – involving a pool hall, “good gumbo”, a towed car, and me lending M. 120 bucks to free his vehicle out of the car jail. I didn’t know M. that well at all – but whatever, I leant him the money – even though that was probably most of what I had in the bank at that point. And to be honest – there was another layer to it. I had a method to my madness. If I leant him the money – that was a thread of connection between us. He, being who he was, would feel obligated to pay me back. We’d have to see each other again.

Yes, I am tricky. And yes, it paid off. I was no dummy.

I constantly felt overwhelmed when I was with him. I was just so into the guy. But I constantly struggled with the fact that maybe I shouldn’t be? Should I not show it? How can I hide the fact that the man turns me into a PUDDLE??? We clicked so intensely on that level that I found it hard to concentrate on things a day after seeing him … like my job, and answering phones, and everyday duties. We had only been out 3 or 4 times. I was a maniac.

Anyway – this entry describes the night where I went to the improv club where he always hung out (he’s an improv comedian) – and he paid me back the money I had leant to him.

I know. A life-altering experience, right? The world shifted on its axis!

Reading this over now, I am amazed I was able to tolerate my own intensity – my God, listen to me! I’m an intense person. Or – I’m a sensitive person. Meaning – a tiny breath of wind could conceivably blow me over if I’m in the right space. Like I said elsewhere – I never (even in all the years I knew M.) was “over” him. I never took him for granted, and I never didn’t felt my knees go weak when I laid eyes on him after not seeing him for a day. I also found him to be endlessly fascinating. Just as a human specimen. And he eventually figured this out about me … and it was okay by him. It didn’t bother him. As a matter of fact, the last time I saw him – in 2003, he said to me, “You can’t spend your whole life making a study of me.” Wanna bet?

But here -in this entry – only the 4th time I was ever in his presence – it was all still totally tippity unbalanced scary … I read this and felt it all over again.

Oh, and a cool and weird thing: I was re-reading this this morning – and all of the peripheral people in this entry, every single one of them, all of his friends – they are all famous now. Names you would recognize. I saw many of them just win Emmys, and mill about on the huge stage, accepting awards. At the time I knew them, I was just the “hovering chick” of one of their good friends. They were just kids. 26 year old guys who happened to be extraordinarily funny.

But I’m amazed at how I dissect these moments. It’s exhausting and yet I very much admire my analysis. I don’t know if I would do that now.

SEPTEMBER

Friday ended up being another “no show” night [for Golden Boy – which was not, sadly enough, a hit. Sometimes we played to 5 people. We would cancel shows if less than 5 people showed up. Horrific.] It broke my heart. I felt crushed. After – when not one soul in this huge city showed up – we all kind of wandered around in a daze, comforting each other. I felt like my heart was cracking. Amelia started cleaning the dressing rooms like a maniac. “I need to do this!” Everyone sat in morbid silence. David went home to Maria. Bryan asked me, “Where’d David go?” “Home. After all, he is a newlywed.” Bryan got this very stricken lonely expression. “At least he has someone to go home to.”

Eventually, it was just a handful of us – Bobby included – sitting around, reading the stray NY Times lying around. Michael came downstairs, took one look at all of us and said, “Let’s get out of here. This is depressing.”

So we all went out for Mexican.

D.V. was crying in the darkened theatre and nurturing Earth Mother Kenny was sitting with him. We left word where we would be and took off.

We all had margaritas and a hell of a lot of food. We tried to shake the morose mood. The alcohol helped. There was live music. Bobby seemed to cheer up a little.

We (me, Bobby, Paulie, and Kenny) shared a cab home. It was 10:30 or so. We were standing on the sidewalk, waiting for a cab. Kenny glanced at his watch, made an exclamation of surprise – and said, “You guys – you guys -” and then in perfect Poppa cadences and accent said, “Come. We bring him home. Where he belong.” [This was one of his lines in the show. Hahahaha] It was hysterically funny – it was 10:30 – exactly when the show would have ended – it also gave me a pin prick of sadness.

The cab dropped me off at home.

I threw on a little black dress, my bleached jacket – and applied RED lipstick, fire engine red. And I was off again, to catch another cab north to the Wrigleyside. [I am amazed at myself. I used to start my evenings at 11 pm. That would be unheard of now. Or – I’d have to be REALLY in love with someone.]

It’s funny. I really am like Becca Thatcher now. [That is the funniest reference ever. I was SO into “Life Goes On” at that moment in my life – it was a burning obsession.] I never was before. Nerves would hold me back from action. They never ever stop me from doing something I want to do now. God! Never!

So I was pretty nervous in the cab. For a couple of reasons and on a couple levels. It all goes back to my expectations and worries about how gorgeous guys behave. Especially when you meet a gorgeous guy on his turf. Up until now, I have managed to meet him on neutral ground. It makes a big difference. But I was prepared for the worst. Which is totally strange because M. has exhibited none of the “gorgeous asshole” signs. He has never treated me that way. But still. Here I was – cruising alone to the Wrigleyside (at least I had a mission – retrieving my money – that grounded me somehow. I wasn’t going expressly to see him.) [God forbid you should just want to see him!!] So I kept imagining the worst – him being annoyed I was there, him being condescending to me – and I told myself – “If it’s like that – then just get my money – and GO.”

Thru this whole thing with M. so far – I have preserved my sense of self. Thank God. If there’s one thing I need – it’s my self.

But he’s not interested AT ALL in playing games. In fucking with me. He’s into the NOW of it all. What we do and how we are together is just what he likes and wants. Neither of us get freaked out – and it’s strange to me and strange to him.

Also – and this is very weird – I have no desire to call him. None! It’s very freeing. And – at this point – I wouldn’t be surprised if he did call me. And if the desire strikes to call him, I will. But until then – I don’t even think about it. I’m too busy. It’s just one of those things that IS. Its existence is solid and tangible – and FINE, just the way it is. No need to monkey with it.

I am dropped off at the Wrigleyside [this was a bar – with an improv club on the second floor].

Oh yes – one thing I was rather apprehensive about – but also curious and eager, too – was the prospect of Rob being there. [This made me laugh out loud. I was SO worried about this. Rob was also a comedian – and I think I had gone out on one date with him – the chemistry wasn’t there, even though he was nice and funny … but I was so terrified, on some level, that Rob and M. would start talking to each other, and comparing notes. It’s not like I was cheating on either one of them – I was a free agent – but I was so afraid that I would be hanging out with M. and Rob would be there or whatever. It’s so ridiculous. Also – no way on EARTH would M. ever talk to Rob about me – even if he knew we had gone out. M. was a gentleman. The soul of discretion. Way more discreet than I was. Anyway – the whole Rob vs. M. thing was tormenting to me – and yet I also totally enjoyed it, I loved the confusion – after 3 years of sterile monogamy.] I actually kind of wanted Rob to be there – the more chaos I invite into my life the better. I want to have adventures. I want my nights to be a series of bizarre encounters, embarrassing sizzling gaffes, of run-ins, of intrigue, of espionage.

So I kind of hoped to see him. See what would happen. Roll with the punches. Embrace anarchy.

I was in a state of alertness. I felt powerful, edgy – but not tense. [Oh, really, Sheila? You’re not tense? Okay.] Just ALERT.

The Wrigleyside was wall to wall people. [The place was always pretty much packed 100% with improvisers. It was an insane place. So much fun.] The noise was deafening. I could barely get into the place. Everyone was screaming and roaring and DRUNK. The jukebox was deafening. The bartenders looked frazzled, and were in states of constant motion. I stood there, scanning the crowd, conscious all the while of the fact that I could be being watched – M. could be there somewhere. Where was he?

Also – another word about M. [I have probably written 150,000 words about M. over the years. He is the star of the journals – more so than anybody else – even guys I was madly in love with. Nobody fascinated me like M.] He’s not devious – in that kind of self-conscious way. That kind of elaborate ACT that some guys put on and call a personality. (It’s always the gorgeous ones, because they know they have power, and they know they will always be forgiven – because of their beauty) Guys like that hold back, they distance themselves, they veil their eyees, they make sure they always look cool and aloof. M. does NOT behave this way. Not once has he pulled a cool or aloof act. He is who he is. He’s not tricky. Or cruel. He’s honest – but he’s not cruel. He’s a good person. He really is. [I knew this from the moment I laid eyes on him onstage. And I wasn’t wrong.]

Throngs. I started elbowling my way through, looking for him. The place was so packed that I did have a moment of thinking, “What if I can’t find him? What if he’s already left?”

There’s something very precarious and exciting about the Wrigleyside. [Oh God. That is an embarrassing statement. Sheila – it’s a BAR. That’s it.] It always feels like something is about to happen. And something always does happen to me when I go there. Nature abhors a vacuum – so even those 15 seconds of looking for M. in the crowds felt fraught with expectancy. Any second, some insane person is going to charge over to me and change my life. Demand to know me. Demand to be known by me. Whatever.

Quick, Sheila. Find him quick.

Finally, I caught sight of him [see – it’s so silly – but I feel all nervous just re-living this right now!] – sitting over in the corner in the front of the bar – against the wall. Bandana on that gorgeous head. God. He was talking to some people, nodding, listening … with that listening look in his eyes … that serious innocent look.

I saw him. I didn’t charge right over (as, undoubtedly, Becca would). [HA!!! Becca became my Model for Living.] I did a couple things at once. [Watch how I dissect this. I am giving myself a heart attack here …] I know I smiled – in anticipation and excitement for whatever was about to come next – I took a deep cleansing breath – to get “cool” – and keep my power.

[Funny thing: I was the one who did the “cool and aloof” thing in this relationship. I totally thought it was necessary – because I felt like M. had so much power over me … but turns out, it was just me being scared, trying to protect myself – and, on occasion, just being a total ASS. When I look back on this – I think: maybe all those gorgeous guys out there pretending to be cool and aloof – are actually scared little boys inside, trying to protect themselves? Maybe they’re just assholes – I know many of them are … but still … I find it interesting that I wrote all that stuff about how I liked that M. wasn’t cool or aloof … and there I was, trying to get “cool and aloof”.]

But before I did all that – I quick quick quick flitted my eyes over who he was talking to. One person had long hair and I wanted to make sure he wasn’t coming on to some girl when I went over. I felt no jealousy or anything like that. It was a totally practical thought. Well, no, it was just a guy with long hair – and I realized that he was basically talking to his fellow team members [Improv clubs usually have “teams” – people who constantly work together. M.’s “team” were made up of the funniest guys in Chicago. Their shows were un-fucking-believable.] Instantly, I deemed it safe to go over. I didn’t give it a second thought. Over I went.

I am “specifically brave”. M. is Claude Collier, and I am Mary Grace. [References to “Lives of the Saints” – my favorite novel at that time. I adore it still. “Specifically brave” was a phrase used to describe the volatile nutso Mary Grace – a woman who left men in “crumpled heaps” about the town. A real heartbreaker. And Claude Collier was the kind-hearted heavy-drinking INSANE lead of the novel … an indelible character.]

I have begun to walk through the world – my world – like I belong in it. I have forever tiptoed thru my life – apologizing left and right – for merely taking up space. No more. I belong here. This is MY world.

My heart was POUNDING. [So much for being “cool”!!] I elbowed my way towards him – he still hadn’t seen me – he was talking and listening – talking vigorously with 2 others – the big big black-haired guy with glasses from his team (very very good – they’re all very very good) – and the long-haired boy. And here I come! What’s it gonna be, M? Scorn or pride? Are you gonna blow me off or welcome me? I love this shit.

His face makes me laugh.

Then he saw me – and his face totally lit up in excitement and joy. [Seriously: I re-read this this morning and sighed in relief. I’m reading about my own damn life – but I didn’t remember any of this … and I found myself thinking: “Oh God, I hope he’s nice to her. She sounds so fragile to me!” Yeah. That’s yourself you’re talking about, Sheila.] Any anxieties I may have had just dissolved when I saw how happy he was to see me, and how open and welcoming his face was.

He had this huge smile. “Hey! Hi!”

“Hi, doll.”

“I didn’t think you were gonna show.” he said.

I held out my hand for my money. [HA! Nothing like cutting to the chase. I have never been a “romantic” person – and I appreciated M. because … he didn’t try to romance me. Romance kinda makes me itch. I love LOVE itself – but romance? I can barely keep a straight face.] He reached into his shirt pocket and slapped me a wad of cash. He looked so happy to see me.

Guys can be so different when they’re with their friends – and I did not encounter this – he was the same person.

I interrupted the guy conversation – just by walking over – and M’s face lit up in recognition and we had this whole exchange with very few words that ended with him giving me a bunch of money. His 2 friends had no idea what was happening, who I was [I hadn’t formally met any of them yet – although I had seen them perform a bazillion times] – or why M. was paying me. The 2 of them sat back – staring at me with curiosity. Also staring at M. With this look of: “Who is she? What is happening?” I glanced at them – and their faces were so expressive I started laughing.

I really think that – outside of improv – they lead – well, M. said it – “lame circles” of lives – they hang out at the Wrigleyside and get drunk. [And now they parade up and down red carpets on both coasts, clutching trophies, giving soundbites to entertainment reporters. Amazing!] And here I come – this brand new face – a GIRL too – they’re such a macho group, no women – they were staring at M. sending him eye-telegraphs: “Who is this? Who is this? Who is this?” I felt like a celebrity.

I think M. was mostly relieved that I had shown up so that he would no longer have to be under the burden of debt. He fumbled so quickly for the money. “I even kept it in another pocket – separated from my other money – cause otherwise I’d just spend it.”

A. – the big black-haired guy – when M. finally introduced us, he said, “Hi. I’m A., and I’m an 8th of a ton.” – this was a phrase much repeated over the night. But anyway. A. was the most blatant starer. Once he got over the surprise of this chick in a black minidress coming straight up to M. and being paid – he was full of questions. He wanted to know – and instantly – exactly what our entire story was. He bombarded me with questions.

How did he come to owe you money?
How did you guys meet?
Where was the car towed from?
What? Now – how?
What? Tell me it again?

He kept saying, “Now let me get this straight. You leant this man money?”

A. contemplated the entire situation very seriously, checking me out the whole time, trying to get a line on the whole thing, glancing over at M. to see how he was behaving. The other guy – J. – proceeded to sing a song very loudly, right in my face, trying to get my attention. Then N. came over – he’s another absolutely talented guy on the team. He and M., for me, are the best. M. loves N. so much – it is obvious every time he mentions him – Just the thought of the guy makes N. laugh. “The guy inherently knows what is funny.” said M.

So M. introduced us (he actually was very good about introducing me this time – he did it right away) – I shook hands all around. I had a moment of awkwardness. Now that I got my $ – should I leave? [Can you imagine how rude and weird that would have been? But that’s my dysfunction. I don’t tolerate awkwardness well. If I feel it – I disapear in a pouf of smoke. Leaving confused men behind me, going: “Where the hell did that girl go?” Thank God M. was patient with this weirdness of mine.] Does he want me to leave? [Yeah, that happy expression on his face says: “Please leave, Sheila.” Sheesh. I was retarded. Or maybe just a quarter tard.]

But then I thought – Fuck it. I’m staying. I ordered a beer. I told M. that no one had shown for our show. His reply: “Ouch.” We talked about his show – it had gone really well. M. and N. sat and discussed it – and it was wonderful to listen in. They’re so fucking good at it – they respect the form so totally – and they respect each other – they’re all about structure – they know that structure serves them rather than limits them. They work together. They talked – about split-second missed moments – and also times when they read each other’s minds.

M. loves N. It’s obvious onstage and it’s obvious off. He trusts him totally. “I knew you could see what I was doing.” I drank my beer. I didn’t say a word. They were all very welcoming to me, though – very inclusive. Even though there wasn’t a woman in the bunch.

M. informed us all that for the next 5 days he was going to be going through an intensive detox. [I’m laughing out loud. Even though it’s not really funny] He said, “No drinking, no smoking, and no eating. Just drinking water” and taking this herbal medicine he’s really into. “My body needs a purge. It really does.”

I said, “Why? You don’t feel good?”

“No, y’know? I don’t. I’m wrecking myself. So I bought all these herbs from my acupuncturist —”

A. interrupted. “Your what?”

“My acupuncturist.”

“YOUR ACUPUNCTURIST?”

“Yeah, my acupuncturist.”

You have an acupuncturist?

M.’s eyes can be so serious, so inward-looking. And also, open. He’s apocalyptically sexy, I think. [Ha! He’s so sexy it’s like the end of the world!] We all sat there and discussed acupuncture, making fun of it. The whole thing was like a comedy routine – M. being serious, all of us busting on him. M. is very into it, and would seriously defend it. N. thinks M. is crazy – as far as buying all those herbs goes. N. said, “Fine, if you want to get taken by some pseudo-guru in Oak Park …” This made M. laugh. God. The laugh. [See what I mean? Overwhelmed by him.]

M. was dreading not smoking. A. started calling M. “Johnny Detox”.

At one point, I was standing up against the wall – and A. and M. were both on bar stools. I was drinking my beer, cool as a cuke. There was a lull in the conversation. M. glanced at me, and then didn’t look away. He was just STARING at me. With something very kind in his eyes. Something soft. A. was alert as an eagle, watching the whole thing.

M. said, “You’re beautiful, you know that?” Reached out and ran his finger along my jaw. Slowly. Then he said to A., “Isn’t she beautiful?” He looked back at me, cupped my chin and jaw in his hand. “Isn’t this a beautiful girl?”

The whole thing – the action of it – the tenderness – was almost too much to deal with. I couldn’t respond. I just stood there and took it.

A. said, “She’s blushing.”

I was. My face was hot. But weird. I felt beautiful for the first time. Cause of how he was looking at me. [And that’s love, folks]

M. kept touching my chin – my jaw line – ran his finger up my jaw bone – ear to chin – said to A., “Look at that. God. Look at that.” [I have no memory of this. It’s like I’m a racehorse he’s assessing or something] I felt mortified – but also GREAT. I didn’t move. I just let him examine my jaw to his hearts’ content. I was totally alive in this moment. [That sentence chokes me up.] That moment: his touch, the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, A. watching … Believe it or not, M. was not intoxicated either.

Eventually I got me a bar stool. M.’s eyes kill me. Gotta say it. He was very into detox-ing and kept talking about it. He was dreading it but committed to it. He has this admiration for his acupuncturist – “a phenomenal man” – and suddenly – I wasn’t paying attention – M. nudged me and gestured to a plastic cup of liquid put down in front of me. He said, “That was sent over you from Nancy.” ! [I think that Nancy is … actually, I have no idea. It has something to do with that Rob person. But I don’t know why I wrote an enormous exclamation point there.] I stared at the drink blankly. Sniffed it. Sure enough – it was that same drink she had sent over the night I met Rob. Holy shit. [so dramatic – ha – I have no idea why it’s so dramatic]

Meanwhile, M. became seriously intrigued by what was going on – interested and confused by me – “You know Nancy?”

I nodded. My face was hot. He’s got eagle eyes. I avoided him – looked around for Nancy – and there she was – at the other end of the bar – smiling and waving Hello to me. I smiled and waved Hello – but I didn’t see Rob with her – however, I suddenly felt very very peculiar. It was a huge gesture on her part – ultimately friendly, I believe, but it had the strange flavor of: “Remember Rob? Remember Rob, while you’re over there talking to M.” And I know that it will get back to Rob that I was at the Wrigleyside with M. [And this I remember: yes, it did get back to Rob that I was “hanging out with M”. Next time I saw him, Rob was all: “YOU LIKE HIM BETTER THAN ME!” I finally had to be blunt and say, “Yes. I do like him better than you.” Strangely enough, even after that, Rob and I remained friends. Funny funny guy who looked just like Montgomery Clift. Scary good-looking. Hysterically funny.]

So that was bizarre and gave me heart palpitations.

The evening raged on.

At some point I found myself laughing absolutely hysterically with A. He was roaring – he asked me all about myself – what I did – I mentioned Golden Boy – he said, “Hey, you guys got the Critics Choice, didn’t you?” I said, “Yup. Didn’t bring in an audience though.” At one point I told him to fuck off (I’m so shy) – and we made each other laugh.

M. was totally the same person in the bosom of his friends as he is alone with me. Me being there didn’t cause him a conflict in his personality. He doesn’t split himself like that. He is who he is – with no pretense. In a kind of fearful way, I expected him to be totally different with his friends. Guys do that. And suddenly you feel like an orphan if you’re going out with a guy like that. But I should have known better. M. wouldn’t be like that. Pretense doesn’t fit with his personality.

I had somehow gotten quite quite drunk. All of these people, including the bartender, bought me drinks. I only paid for one beer. So the drunkenness snuck up on me. And that drink from Nancy – sweet as candy but lethal – pushed me over the edge. When I came home I lay in bed, and the room whirled about me. Anyway, I sat on the stool – feelin’ sexy, and carefree, and enjoying life. Next to big galumphy M.

Oh – I caught a snippet of a conversation – they all play basketball together – a raging argument occurred about some play – some controversial game they had had – much dispute. M. kept saying, “I totally dogged you. No question about it. Yes, what you say is also true. But STILL. I dogged you.” M. then told this story about when he was in high school, playing basketball, and being courted by colleges – all of these colleges vying for him – I started to listen very carefully – watching his face very carefully. He doesn’t talk about himself a lot. So I fill in the blanks.

Or, wait. No I don’t.

I accept the blanks.

[Sorry, but I think that’s a bit profound. And THAT is why we lasted so long.]

I’m very intrigued. Very moved by him. Crazy, huh. My talent for obsession. [Some things never change.]

M. was standing against the front window. I was sitting, talking to A. There was a pause, and M. said, very pointedly, “Nice legs.” My crossed legs in the black tights. “Nice legs.” he said again. Then to A.: “Aren’t they nice?” [Again, with the racehorse assessment behavior.] Poor A. Trying to be like, “Yes. Nice legs.” and still be polite.

We still, though, by this point, had had no real physical contact. It is uncanny. Whatever it is between us is all right. I think, too, in looking back, that I went into that bar – with my paranoias – afraid he’d blow me off – that the whole thing would be a smouldering agonizing event full of hot silences and twitchy neuroses (a word: when have I ever experienced this with M.? Never.) So anyways, I was so determined that the night wouldn’t go like that that, at first, I think I was giving off the vibes of aloofness. Not cold aloofness – I’m never chilly – but behind my little wall. My casual “Hey, what’s up” wall. I would have loved to just fall upon him and hug him – but I felt the need to not do that. At first. However. I think he wanted to hug and kiss me – it was all over his face when he first saw me – it was in his body language, how he said, “Hey!” He’s very unconflicted, and unafraid. So I ended up being the one discouraging him touching me, discouraging him warming up to me. At first. Because it’s scary to be on someone else’s turf, so completely. But – as usual – I was the one with that attitude. Not him.

So he didn’t lunge at me – not for a while – but at the first opening that I gave him, the first softening up of my body language – he did. Then he was hugging me, and yanking me to his side, and all that. It was like we were both feeling each other out, protecting ourselves, circling around each other … reading subliminal messages, all the while just wanting to hug each other.

Hugging and kissing can be quite complicated (at least if I’m involved in it). [HAHAHAHA]

So we were all talking in a big group. M. said something – the conversation swirled on – but I stopped to ask M. something about his comment. He leaned forward to hear me better – his forehead wrinkles in thought, his serious blue eyes – those listening eyes full of light – intense – and suddenly – with our tiny one on one exchange – he took the sky diving leap. He came across the crowd and wrapped me up in his arms. [Thank GOD he was strong enough to deal with me. I was a mess! So afraid! He could handle it. He also didn’t take any of it personally. He knew that my weirdness didn’t mean I didn’t like him. He knew it meant just the opposite.] He squeezed beside me on my stool – engulfing me in his big eyes. Announced, “Ah. This is much better.” Kissed me on the forehead for a very long time. Incredibly sweet. M. noticed A. watching this whole thing. Grinned. I informed A., “I’m good gumbo.” (I was drunk.) M. threw back his head and laughed – then bellowed to the entire bar, “YES, BOYS. THIS IS GOOD GUMBO. SHEILA IS GOOD GUMBO. MM-MM.” Smacked his lips.

A. was baffled by the dynamic between M. and me. Kept asking us questions.

Oh, this was really funny – M. wanted to sit on my lap [which is so ridiculous – the guy had to be 200 pounds – ] – so we worked it out – he draped his body on my lap – in a way that we could have our arms free, to drink our beers. We weren’t kissing or anything, just hanging out, sharing space, being totally happy with it. A. checked the both of us out – looking from M. to me and back. Finally A. said, “Do you guys want to … talk to each other? ….. Or anything … like that …?” [A. was such a funny person. Still is.] It was like A. was giving us suggestions for behavior – trying to help us out – because we hadn’t said 2 words to each other in the whole time I was there. It appeared to A. that we were sitting there silently – which was true. But M. and I exist on another level, an existence level, a telepathic level. What you see with us is NOT what you get. [I had known this guy 2 months as I wrote this way. Amazing the confidence with which I believe all of this. And even stranger: I was right. I wasn’t just a stalker crazy girl projecting stuff onto this guy … He really was all that. Hmm. Weird.]

But A. was making a joke – seeming kind of – concerned – anxious to help M. and me interact with each other.

M. and I said, in response, simultaneously: “Oh, we’re fine.”

M. then said, “That’s not what we’re about.”

And I said at the same time, “We don’t really talk.”

Which completely threw M. into a tailspin. It was hilarious. I felt that M. and I were saying the same thing – but suddenly M. pulled back from me and said to me, “What do you mean? We talk.” He was annoyed. Defending himself as though I were saying something bad about him.

I said, “Yeah, we talk – but it’s not like I know one damn thing about you or you know one damn thing about me. That’s what I meant.” (A. is watching this whole thing like a ping-pong match.)

M. had perplexity and seriousness in his eyes. “Well – I think we exist more in the present.”

And I said – because I didn’t want him to feel defensive – we are in agreement – I said, “I know we do. I love it.”

He gave me that look he had given me that pool playing night – that searching piercing look – trying to see into me. Then he stated, “You’re lying.”

I said, in the emphatic way that I have – “M. I am TOTALLY not lying.”

It was important to me that he knew it. Because that living in the present thing is EXACTLY what I value in him – and what I need right now. I don’t want it to be anything else.

He kept giving me that searching look – and then apparently was satisfied that I was telling the truth. He said, “Okay.” Then he yelled, “So don’t give me that We Don’t Talk crap!”

And at that point, I believe he took my entire nose in his mouth. We were back to normal.

I said, “So what are you gonna do during detox?”

“Sleep.”

The stopping of smoking is the most incomprehensible thing to him. Even more than the drinking. “I can’t imagine not smoking, Sheila. It’s gonna be so fucking hard.” This detox is inherently temporary. I asked him if he had any desire to quit permanently. He said he did, but not now. He can’t fathom life without cigarettes. He also knows, though, that he feels like hell most of the time.

A. said something to M. that gave me a chill. He said, “You realize, buddy, that we aren’t gonna see 30.”

M. balked at that and started talking feverishly about acupuncture and herbs and energy systems. He has the constitution of a 60 year old man. That’s when A. said, “Herbs won’t do it, Johnny Detox.”

They’re a scary crowd. On the edge. In their 20s. Reckless. Out of control. They love each other dearly – and deal with each other on a very honest level. But they rage. They rage. On the edge.

M. was going to go home and go to sleep, begin his Detox hell. He is crazy. But he is cute cute cute.

I am drawn to him in such a STRONG way. His face just kills me.

He told me about setting the money aside in his room for me. “I had to keep it separate from my other money – Like: This money is NOT MINE.”

He said, “I told you I was good for it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you told me.”

He gave me a massive hug which nearly cracked my ribs. He looks at me with friendliness and no fear. Maybe a little bit of confusion. But ultimately warm. He likes me.

He kissed me. His friend of the present moment. And then he went home to bed. And I caught a cab and went home. Drunker than I realized. I realized my drunkenness only when I got off the stool.

But it was a fun night.

Really fun. The touch of his fingers on my jaw bone. No pressure though. I’m, by nature, a hyper person. But I am comfortable with this non-hyper thing that we are inventing for ourselves. And so far, it’s all been okay. I would not be surprised if more adventures were to come our way – but I also would not be surprised if I never saw him again.

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6 Responses to Diary Friday: “Hugging and kissing can be quite complicated (at least if I’m involved in it).”

  1. brendan says:

    good lord.

    i feel drunk just reading this. and hungover in the good way, the just about to dig in to a breakfast that will cure it kind.

    what’s the writing thing this weekend? want to hear more about that…

  2. red says:

    Re-reading it makes ME want to become “Johnny Detox”.

    I’ll tell you about the writing thing when I come back – I can’t wait!

  3. tracey says:

    Uhm, I don’t know what else to say except I love this whole entry.

  4. will says:

    WOW, You are an amazing writer.

    I don’t know how I stumbled on to your site, but I sure am glad I did.

    I’m in Afghanistan with a lot of time on my hands, and I want to thank you in advance for entertaining me for a while.

  5. Diana says:

    My 14-yo daughter and I are watching My So-Called Life (did you ever watch that?) via Netflix and it’s bringing it all back for me, that kind of guy to whom you feel inexplicably drawn to. Pheremonally – perfect description. All these years later I still melt a little bit at Jordan Catalano! That show depicted that so well.

    Anyway, yeah – I want to tell her to hold out from the whole dating thing until she finds THAT one; that it’s just not worth it.

    (But I don’t want her to get hurt, either!)

  6. Diana says:

    To whom you feel drawn to… Blame it on Jordan Catalano. I’m all flustered. :)

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