Sunday, July 18, 2010
Posted by Zek J. Evets at 2:57 AM
This particular post has been a long time in the making. Okay, well, actually that's not true. Honestly, this post has been procrastinated for months (and then some). Sometimes sufficient motivation is reached to plan doing it, only for that then to be dashed upon the rocks of reality's cold, hard edges. Also known as: I've got too much shit to do.
However, here we are at last! (Cue: Etta James track.) I've got a free few hours and have planned to catch-up on this whopper of a topic.
How I met my girlfriend.
Well, surprising as that might seem, we "met" on this very blog! Yes, my first (and hopefully only) serious relationship was begotten through the twisted wiles of the internets.
Does that seem strange? I suppose to an older generation, yes, but I expect better from you younger kids! The world wide web is a bigger imitation than any spider's original. It catches all flies, and in some way, we find ourselves bound inside it next to one another. Trapped, confused, angry, upset and other, myriad emotions, we wander along bumping into each other only to separate again and lose touch.
This did not occur between my girlfriend and I.
It started when I was getting into my swing of blogging on the topics of "race relations" (or lack thereof). I'd just gotten out of a series of toxic relationships. She was enjoying the single life. We collided via this common interest of race-blogs, and our views weren't completely incompatible. I'd make wildly outrageous blanket controversial statements, and then she'd puncture my beautiful audacity with cruel logic. It was the closest to flirting you can come to with a complete stranger on the internet. So you could say we "hooked up" online by exchanging a comment or two. Then we got serious.
I tricked her into making the first move -- emailing me. Though she denies, and/or modifies the happenstance, the fact of the matter is I threw her a pass to message me and she took the shot. I was delighted, of course, and immediately made-up for my cool, player-esque stylistics with genuine personality. Or as much genuine personality as can be put into an email -- which for writers like me isn't all that difficult.
Anyways, we did that dance for a while, trading emails, coming up with crafty, cute topic-lines. It was playful, in a very 2nd grade kind of way. (Minus cooties and the reverse psychology. "She's mean to you because she likes you!") Still, sorry to say, but I was kind of a jerk and continued dating other people in real life while this whole shebang went down. I guess I was just lonesome? Or maybe that's just a cover for my own lustful nature. Maybe I just wanted to keep things casual after so many failed romances in my life. It's hard to say the exact reasons in a single anecdote, but I can tell you none of the girls I met in-person compared to her letters.
She was sassy. I was gentlemanly. She was funny. I tried to be. She was conservative. I was liberal, pushing a lot of her boundaries. We eventually exchanged phone-numbers. (It took a while; she made me guess it via some crazy word-game.) Started having those long phone conversations most people only get in high school or romantic-comedies. Then tried video-chat. Got to see her face and some of her body. I remember crossing my legs to cover The Battle of the Bulge in my pants.
One night we had an intense conversation covering past, present, and future tense. My expressed desire to not get married clashed with her innate wish to be. I didn't want kids. She did. We hit an impasse. Luckily I convinced her not to write me off as a waste of time, and first see where this -- dare I say, relationship? -- could go. So she bought a plane a ticket and flew out here to see me for the New Year.
I can be very convincing.
I sweated a few lakes worth of perspiration as I slowly realized that she was really coming to visit. At first I believed something would happen. Something would come up and put a nix on the whole thing. Family emergency. Busy workload. Canceled flight. Health issue. Possible cyber-con-artist. I thought a lot of things. (Over-thinking is a talent of both Jews and women.) But no flights were canceled. No family emergencies came up.
So I went to the airport, dressed to the nines, and yet still thinking somehow this is all going to collapse around my poor, still bruised heart. (After our confrontational conversation, and before she got the plane-ticket I dumped the last girl I was seeing. One of the only times I've ever dumped... anyone. But the ghosts and wounds of past relationships still lurked in shadowed spots along my heart.) I stood at the meeting point imaging the path that led from that first comment on my blog to this moment here and now. I recollected on the various ways this could have not happened. The rarity of it. The sheer beautiful impossibility. It made me afraid, to hold something possibly so precious in my smalls, awkward hands.
Then a text-message. "I'm here!" My head started swiveling with telescopic vision. And as I saw her moving in and out of eye-line on the walkway from her gate to the meeting point my heart suddenly jumped in my chest. Is that her? Does she see me? Do I look okay? Should I smile or act cool? Uh-oh, there's this Black family next to me, what will they think about me with her? What if they disapprove? (I might've forgotten to mention, my girlfriend is Black. Not the first Black girl I've dated, but the first one I've ever been serious with.) I imagined various scenarios, both possible and blatantly impossible. Luckily she walked quickly, or I might've fainted on the spot, knocked-out by an over-active imagination.
She strutted through the checkpoint and I got my first good look at her. She was beautiful. High-heels, tight jeans, magic-boob shirt, lip-gloss, hair done. I was struck for a moment. Taking advantage of my silence she joked, "Well, hi there, are you going to say anything?"
So I kissed her. Deeply. Passionately. For more than a minute. Somehow my arms got stuck to her waist, and hers were wrapped across my shoulders. I forgot about the people around us, or the fact that I'd never met her in real life before this and the whole situation seemed totally crazy, or even the fact that I could hear the Black family nearby making shocked noises, and someone somewhere whistled. I entered this vacuum bubble where our lips existed all by themselves for a time. Then reality asked to come back and we walked to the baggage claim a little light-headed.
And the rest, as they say, is history.
P.S. Love you darling!