A regular Friday night at a happening gay night spot in Orlando, my close friends and I had assembled by the bar for our weekly ritual of dishing, judging and drinking.
As the night progressed, our group grew larger, louder and more intoxicated. I was in a conversation with a girlfriend of mine when another friend, Dan walked up with one of the boys I had been secretly judging earlier in the night. “Oh, great,' I thought, rolling my eyes. “Another Orlando pretty boy.'
I paid little attention to them and continued my conversation with Ruthie. A hand thrust itself into my personal space. I leaned back in my chair defensively. “I'm Peter,” a Latin accent stated. I looked up to see Pretty Boy.
“Erik,” I replied, unenthusiastically shaking his hand then quickly cutting him off to continue talking to Ruthie. I could sense his jilted-ness, yet didn't care. Still licking my wounds after a tumultuous break-up and countless bad dates, I had told myself I wasn't going to allow myself to worry about anyone but me for awhile. Of course, that didn't mean they weren't going to try.
In no time, P.B. was sitting next to me on the ground, fawning over Dan. My guard came down when I realized he wasn't interested in me, so I decided to get to know him. He was 24, an illustrator, a Puerto-Rican native and gorgeous.
“You're not his type,” I whispered to PB as I noticed him staring at Dan.
“Why's that?” he inquired.
“The facial hair,” I said, rubbing my beard. “And the fact that you look like a guy,” I jested. He smiled and I knew I was already smitten”¦
Jump to a month later, we were still seeing each other. When we weren't together, we talked on the phone for hours. However, in that same month, I had already seen some red flags. He didn't work, lived with his parents and – get this – had a curfew. What was I getting myself into?
Luckily, I didn't have to hold out for long. Peter was fickle enough for the both of us. One day, he'd be trying to convince me what an asshole he was and how he wasn't ready to date anyone. Ooh, make me swoon. The next day, he'd be open-hearted, telling me how great I was and talking about “our” future.
I wasn't too surprised. It seemed to fit my pattern. Whenever I thought I'd found someone who had a potential place in my life, they'd end up having some type of emotional baggage. Yes, I know. Who doesn't? Usually it fits safely in the overhead. Peter seemed to have so much that it needed to be stored in the cargo hold as well.
Still, I pushed my standards and common sense aside. I felt needed and fell into that trap of thinking if I stuck it out, I could help him through his issues and in the end have an eternally grateful and loyal boyfriend. Hilarious, right?
After a week of not hearing from him, I received a call. He told me he had moved back to Puerto-Rico. Damn, I'm good. Not only do I know how to push men away, but I can get them to leave the continental U.S.
Still, I wasn't shocked. It wasn't meant to be and this was the proof. Our contact dwindled. Two weeks passed, then the other night I got a random late night Ambien-induced phone call from him. He wanted to tell me about a date he had just finished, but thinking I'd be bitter, was afraid to. I honestly couldn't have cared less”¦Until he started with the comparisons.
“You know you weren't so bad,” he whimpered. He continued with compliments about what a great person I am and how sorry he was that he didn't try harder.
I stopped him. “Why are you telling me this? I mean, what's the point?”
Peter got upset over how nonchalant I was being.
“Well,” I defended. “Why dredge up these feelings now?! We're only going to get hurt all over again.”
He then began rehashing conversations we had on our dates. For example, one where I mentioned that a salesman at Banana Republic had given me his number and wanted to go out for drinks. At the time, Peter showed no opinion either way, but now he was attacking me for even telling him and how much it really pissed him off. In my defense, I only told him about it in an effort to have open and honest communication.
“What are we fighting for?” I laughed. “Are we still dating? Did I miss that memo?”
“I just wanted you to know how I felt,” he said humbly.
“Ok. Now it's done.” I said it and then it dawned on me what I really meant. We were done. Adia³s, amigo.
Erik Fact: “In Genesis, it says that it is not good for a man to be alone; but sometimes it is a great relief.” – John Barrymore
