My first love was calling me just about every other day for the past six months. Years ago he was dark, dangerous and mysterious - straight from the cast of Wise Guys, the exact opposite of my Jehovah’s Witness elder ex-husband. It was 1975 or thereabouts. I was 25, still about as naïve as naïve gets and he said he was 26.
He was Italian, connected - one time I hugged him good-bye and was surprised to find he was packin’. That’s hot stuff for a former Bible thumper. Very hot.
There is Type A personality that is gogogogo … there is Type B personality, which is laid back like me. He was Triple A. He jogged, he played tennis and racquetball. Charlton Heston could have used him for a body double in Ben Hur.
I dabbled in fitness, but it bored me. It didn’t matter so much then - I was young.
He gambled, he hung with da boyz. And he lied about everything. He lied about being single (said he was in a relationship that would take “some sensitivity to get out of”), lied about being faithful to me, lied about his age (to the tune of about 9 years) … whatever he was dishing out, I was buying hook, line and sinker. I was living episodes from the Sopranos.
We had a wildly passionate relationship that lasted just under three years. Well, if you subtract the time I spent watching him watch football games he had bets on, maybe it was two years. Towards the end we were living together and I was pressing for commitment. One afternoon he called me at the office to say he’d gone to my apartment and packed his things.
I was a wreck at work. It was going on a month when my boss explained "that's what happens when you lose your first love." Hafe Kerbawy was like a father to me. He said "You need a vacation." I said “I can’t afford to go anywhere.” He said “pick a place - I’ll pay.”
It was a wildly generous thing for Hafe to do, but a total waste of money. A week in Acapulco did me no good.
It took three years to get over that first love. Maybe I never did get over it because four years ago I looked him up online - and found him, of course. He had married about a year after dumping me and that relationship was starting to decay. I was battling Lyme Disease and my relationship was failing too.
We met for coffee and he cried. He told me about his battle with cancer and said “I thought I might die without ever seeing you again.” In the months and years that followed, he kept saying his life would have been much better if he had married me.
Over the years he became a completely different guy. He had turned into an honorable and faithful husband to another woman. He had actively involved himself in raising her daughters and they’d had a son together.
We became friends. When you go from lover to friend, there is no loss - there is actually gain. Because friendship lasts. He got buddies to help move me out of my bad situation and we all supported him as he tried to decide between trying to work things out with his wife or give it up. In the years that followed, I repeatedly left and went back with my ex-boyfriend. Then, finally, I moved to Florida.
During that time he reconnected with a daughter he wasn't sure he had, moved in with her and her partner, got a divorce and found Jesus. We never got out of touch. When I went up north for Thanksgiving last month, I spent some time with him and his friends and family. It was great fun.
When you’re my age, female and single, you like to be able to think of one special person that you could potentially spend the rest of your life with. In this case, we were long past lovers - but maybe my feelings would change if we built on our strong friendship. I told my daughter-in-law “I think I could live with him for the rest of our lives and we would never exchange a harsh word.”
It was time to test the theory.
He had been asking me if he could come down for a visit. Not asking so much as hammering me. Here we are, both between relationships. So I finally said OK. He was glad, adding “we never got a chance to cuddle when you were up here.” And I thought to myself “that’s because I didn’t want to.” It's very rare for me to click with guys these days. I've become a bit of a loner. I’m used to solitude - just me and my bitchez. They are so much a part of my life that I’m incapable of using the term “dogs”.
I am also a slob in my solitude, so I cleaned for two days. The place sparkled. He arrived around 3:00 on Thursday and gave me a big hug. I do not exaggerate; I was in pain from cleaning. Within a few days of arrival he made some comment about “some things never change; you need a laundry basket.” I winced. If he had any idea how hard I’d worked to make things perfect for him he would have been ashamed. I even washed the sheets for his bed the day he arrived so they would be fresher than fresh.
The day he arrived, he asked where he should take his bag. I pointed to the upstairs guest room, just past my bedroom. That first night he gave me a hug in front of my bedroom door as if to say “let’s both sleep here” and I patted his back like you pat a drunk uncle, shook my head and said “I have emails to catch up on.”
Living in Florida is wonderful. I get far more exercise now than when we were together and I love it. He works out … pretty much not at all, and he's proud of it. He’s a guy and - direct quote - "towns like this are crawling with desperate women.” He said it like he hoped it would bother me.
I was his chauffeur. I drove us to the Seminole Casino … and he dozed off open-mouthed in the passenger seat like my Grandma used to. I always feared her teeth would fall out and land in her lap.
When he wasn't on the phone, he was dozing off. He put his feet up on the ottoman when we watched TV and his ankles were as poofy as his rug; that was my chance to sneak up to my room and lock the door for the night.
When he was awake he was sharp and I guess I never noticed how black and white we are until now. There is no gray.
I'm vegetarian and he's veal.
I'm Stephen Colbert and he's Glenn Beck.
I’m Buddhist and he’s born again. He walked in, saw my Buddhas and suggested we “throw some crosses in here somewhere.”
He sees the way I love my girls and it makes him sick. He thinks there is something essentially fucked up about people who love animals. “God put them here to serve our purposes - to bend to our will, plow our fields and fill our plates.”
He is on the Tony Soprano diet. I offered to buy groceries but he insisted on eating every meal out - and every meal came with unwanted conversation. He sees vegetarian as cultlike and stupid.
On Sunday he asked me to direct him to a good sports bar and I was relieved to have some time off. He called around 5 and said the game was almost over, come on up - then we’d go out for pizza. I came up and the game went on ad nauseam. I joked “this is just like old times.” Except that I didn’t want halftime sex and I have a Blackberry to keep me occupied.
Dinner at Starz in South Fort Myers is a very pleasant experience and fussy Mr. Pizza Afficionado LOVED the pizza. However ... I don’t know which behavior is more rude - to text at the dinner table or talk to someone else on your cell phone at a restaurant, voice raised with Wise Guy-isms and profanities that had the meek white masses cowering with eyes as wide as his 70s lapels.
I kept hoping he'd take his calls outside, but ... I dunno, maybe he enjoys making a spectacle of himself. At one point he bellowed into his phone “I’D LIKE TO KILL THAT MUTHAFUCKER!!!”
I slipped down in my side of the booth and muttered “nice Christian”.
We were out for greasy breakfasts at the Sunshine Café every morning. It’s a local legend for great inexpensive breakfasts and our waitress was a riot.
We didn’t have lunch so much as we had pre-dinner before dinner and on and on and on and on. He was extremely generous. I went out more in the past five days than I've been out in five months, but I missed my simple life, my peace, my quiet.
Some people have a personal theme that lies at the core of all conversation. His was anti-pet - “animals are here to serve US, not vice versa.” I was a good Buddhist for five days. Then I blew this morning at the Sunshine Café. It was our last greasy breakfast before he headed to the airport.
He put $40 on my dining room table before we took his bags out to the car. He said it was for dog food. (Yeah, I don’t quite get it either. Is that a pre-apology? Men - the new women.)
So we’re sitting there at the Sunshine Café and Dash is waiting on us. (I want Dash’s wildly outgoing personality in my next life.)
She was hanging out with us a bit, then she wandered away so we could eat our breakfast.
Him - "I really do like animals."
Me - (joking) "Yeah, sauteed or blackened."
Him - "My dad had a hunting dog ..."
Me - (blowing) "YOU MAY NEVER TELL ME THAT STORY AGAIN!!! YOUR FATHER'S ACTIONS WERE DESPICABLE."
He has told me this story about five times in the past year. It makes me sick.
His father had a hunting dog up in Michigan. It was never allowed in the house except for ONE BITTER COLD WINTER DAY when his mother convinced his father to let the poor thing in so it wouldn't freeze to death. When the dog had puppies, his father DROWNED them because he couldn't sell them or give them away.
He always ends the story with "that's just how things were then. Dogs are just dogs." In the past I've always sat there seething as he blabbers on. I know damned well my family never treated their dogs that way before I was born - or after.
This particular morning I was off the leash - not with volume, but with choice of words and waving my finger in his face. I can’t believe I did that, I think it’s genetic. He got the expression of vaguely remembering that level of rage from our past. Except I don’t remember having anything like balls when we were together. Now mine are bigger than his.
I raged “top of the food chain means we’re smart enough to choose whether we NEED to take the life of one of God’s creatures or learn how to do without.” Rant rant rant … silently mouthing all F-bombs because I know the demographic in South Fort Myers and I respect their right to not hear my profanities.
Nearby tables went stone silent.
I was a HORRENDOUS Buddhist. When I was done he looked at his napkin and said “I’ve noticed I push buttons more than I used to.”
He joked I would be glad to see him go. I don't remember coming back with a comforting response.
In answer to my own question - no, I could NOT spend the rest of my life with this man. Time has changed ME too much.
And - until I meet the right person - I really do like my life the way it is.
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