Call Me Scooter

You know how dating a fat chick and riding a scooter are alike? Both are a lot of fun, but you don't want your friends to know you do it.

Or so they say...

I've recently experienced a disappointment. Shocking, I know. My life is fraught with such. However, this disappointment hits harder than even I anticipated.

So, I'd been seeing this guy. You can't really call it dating, but more of an arrangement. I've known him for a while, admired him. We were friends. Everything about him drew me in: his laugh, his intelligence, the flash of intuition on his face when he knew exactly what I was thinking. Knowing the kind of person he is, I knew that a girl like me stood zero chance. So, imagine my surprise when he sought me out. In the five months we saw each other, I always wondered why.

In a nutshell, we're not seeing each other that way anymore. I got the standby, "It's not you, it's me" line. Sure, we can still be friends. Hang out. Drink beer. Crack jokes.

Initially, I was cool with it. Deep down, I knew that it would never work out...not because I tend to gravitate towards the noncommittal, but because I was constantly waiting for him to end it. How could a guy like him possibly be interested in someone like me?

A long time ago, before we became involved, we were having a conversation and he had mentioned that his ideal was an 18-year old gymnast. While I am a work in progress, I'm no 18-year old gymnast. So, whenever I thought of this guy, that's what I thought of: 18-year old gymnast. When we were together, it raced through my mind: 18-year old gymnast, 18-year old gymnast.

Even though I'm smarter than most 18-year old gymnasts, I was comparing myself to that impossible standard. So when he says, "It's not you, it's me", what I hear is "You're not an 18-year old gymnast."

I know, I'm an idiot.

Back to the point...

I initially played it cool, because I thought I was okay with it. The arrangement ran it's course, and it was time to move on to other things. Bigger, better things. (like an 18 year old gymnast?)

However, the more I sit and think about it, the tighter my throat becomes, which is bullshit because I'm stronger than this. Right? I'm the hard ass. The rock.

Now I sit, filled with all these emotions that I've ignored for I don't know how long. I'm at a loss as to what to do with them. Maybe if I just turn my back on them, they will just go away, because acknowledging them out loud does nothing but make the situation worse for me.

Maybe I deserve this. I thought I could be noncommittal like a man. Emotionally stoic like one. I thought I didn't need anyone or anything. I pegged myself the non-marrying, non-children type (because I never thought it in the cards for me). I didn't need to be close to anyone, because after all, don't they just lie to you and leave you in the end? This, I learned from the master...my father.

But now I'm blubbering like a woman on the Lifetime channel. My feelings are raw, exposed, and there is not a damned thing I can do about it. It's the worst feeling in the world. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone.

Do I really hate myself this much that I would allow this to happen??

I can't hate him, though. He didn't ask for this. He got exactly what he wanted, and nothing more as per the agreement. He's still the same great person, still way out of my league. Maybe we shouldn't have gotten involved in the first place. Then, I would still be admiring from afar, blissfully unaware at the depth and scope of my feelings for this person.

But now it's done, and I just need to pick up my heart which has escaped me, stuff it in a drawer, and soldier on through life, the way I have always done.