For starters, it’s Sunday morning: 4:28 am. You need to know this for the context of what’s about to come. Now then, if you scroll down to the ALL CAPS with RON’s name once you click "I remember", you’ll learn about my being in love. It’s someone you really haven’t met in years–not him; I mean me. It’s the me full of passion and hope; I loved a man deeply, way before I was married. To be honest, though, even during my marriage, I thought of him often and wondered if I’d made the right decision. It actually came down to a list of pros and cons, one Pete actually found on my computer and saved to a disk titled, "Law Precidents" so I’d never know he read it, or saved it even still. Tonight, I’d like to say I ran into Ron; we didn’t.
A few months ago, I ran into my ex-boyfriend’s (Ron) good friend from college (David). In college, David was the kind of friend girlfriends don’t like; the kind that asks for lap dances for his buddies and makes his friends play wingman. Still, when I ran into this guy months ago, I asked him for my ex-boyfriend’s phone number anyway. "Well, he’s getting married next Memorial day." And with the word married, my stomach dropped, even though it didn’t have the right to. I never called him. I wanted him to really be happy, even if it wasn’t with me.
Tonight, months later, I called him. I was scrolling through the cell looking for another number to text message to find out our next move of the night. My girls were huddled around me waiting for the moves. Then sudden as that I’m dialing; no conversations about it, no thinking.
I’ ve met men I like, but usually, they’ll make out with me plenty but never bother to call and invite me out properly. You know, like a meal or daylight. Otherwise, I like them but they’re too shy to make out and leave all moves up to me– and that’s a boy; I don’t do boy anymore. So it never lasts unless they know how to be men and powerful and listen and be. Just Be. Be normal, and seexy, and want breakfast. I can’t stand men who need to leave or have a need to tell me to relax. So I don’t date; I haven’t in months. Basically because I fear the man who’ll tell me to relax, or tell me he needs to leave. I just want to kick around with a buddy I can’t keep my hands off.
Okay, so, tonight, I was with Monique, Yasmin, and Smelly. Jen and Kim had traveled upper west without me, yawning. I don’t know what the hell on earth moved me to go here, besides the wine, but I did. I dialed RON. RON, for the record, was my end all before the dreaded Wasband. It was a long time ago, too long to cover or explain in a few paragraphs or pages, only that he was my "it." My just as you are, adoration. I loved his family, his cat, him in sweatpants, the whole everything of him. Try to obsess, just try. Okay, now you’re with me. Tonight, after not speaking with him for 3 or 4 years, I called him. He answered.
"I just wanted to congratulate you on your upcoming marriage," I lied. Shit, I wished I ‘d said I was just drunk dialing and it was about time I got to "R."
"Oh, well, Steph?"
"Yes. I just–"
"Well, thanks, but we’re not getting married."
Imaging my saying "what a shame" with a grin like the Grinch. "Where are you? Don’t think. Just meet me. Don’t think." And I showed up.
And so did he. It was as if no time at all had gone by. In my cab ride home, I strained to remember why we had broken up to begin with. It was drinking; and it was college. It was timing. I wanted to get married to anybody at that point. I was on some kind of pre-wed plan with a vengeance. We were young. But that’s it.
The rest, my friends, remains to be seen. I’m glad I had witnesses, otherwise, I’d never believe tonight. It was a night full of fate. From Turks and Frogs to Star bar (star bore) to The W and Underbar to watching Chris bartend, to The Bryant Park Hotel to hang with the adorable Stephen Bender, to Bleeker Street and an old beau at 3am.
I know you want to know what happens; so do I.
