Ah, yes…
But I digress…
The candle on my desk is now extinguished by the passage of time, its flame whispered out of existence hours ago like the name of someone we wish to forget, the Evanescence CD replaced by the excruciatingly gay yet always satisfying 106.7 KDL, the only dance music station in the DFW metroplex area (how pitiful we are to have only one here). "Appreciate Me" by Amuka is on right now while it has begun to rain outside.
Rick and I hit it off immediately, as I said, and we began — how shall I say it? — we began seeing each other. Yes, that could be defined as dating or as just messing around or… Oh hell! Do I really need to spell it out for you?
This was well before my back surgery in 1996 as I remember clearly how our relationship had climaxed just before I was hospitalized.
I must admit that my initial relationship with Rick was exceptionally comfortable, like a warm blanket just pulled from the drier, and was without friction until problems bubbled to the surface from my other life (you know, the guy at home…).
I see no need at this time to translate the intimate details from my memory, so don't ask.
Despite the adolescent drama that seemed increasingly to thrive on simple conversations, we remained friends and stayed close for some time. But, and this so often happens to us when we aren't watching closely enough, Rick and I eventually grew apart and rarely talked for a few years. We didn't part on bad terms — we parted on almost no terms whatsoever. As I said, we drifted apart as people sometimes do.
Much to my pleasure, when my roommate and I moved last year, I learned that Rick was still living in this area and — fate? — actually lived in the same apartment complex we had just moved to. Oh, he actually lived just two buildings away.
Having matured significantly since he and I first met, I was thrilled to see him and happily pursued our friendship with vigor. The drama jacket of youth had been slipped off long ago in favor of a new, mature parka. The cold reality of life could now be dealt with easily and without fear of harm.
Many people say such things and may actually feel it to be true, but I sincerely say that slipping back into our friendship was like putting on a perfectly fitted glove. It felt like it had always been this way and was never meant to be any other way.
Under the pressure of a too-full life and excessively stressful job, I found my time with Rick to be relaxing, engaging, and a welcome respite. I have other friends with whom I can spend time and enjoy the same emotional satisfaction, so don't try to put words into my mouth. For the first six months or so, I was content with my comfortably familiar and soothingly satisfying friendship with him. Home life was anything bust restful, work was… well, it was work… and I was spending far too much time running hither and thither on this and that errand to enjoy even a few restful moments living life rather than working for it.
With Rick's proximity, it was quite easy to escape for a few moments (or several hours).
But life continued to get more complicated and stressful. That meant my time with friends — time away from all things responsible — was becoming more precious and dear, a cherished retreat from a life that was threatening to overwhelm me.
It was after six months or so that I realized I was still infatuated with Rick.
Still? I knew you'd ask.
I had been infatuated with him 10 years ago when we first met. Our relationship at the time served to solidify that infatuation, making it one of those life-long crushes we always carry with us. You undoubtedly know the kind — when you can never truly get over the person, you can never think about them without fondness, you can never stroll through your memories of them without feeling remorse over their absence.
All things being equal, an infatuation is a school-age crush which should be ignored. It will, after all, go away. And it is just an infatuation.
But all things are not equal.