I've been thinking a lot lately about regrets. I always say that I have none, and I guess that is still true (if I did not go through certain things, other things would never have been able to happen, and yada yada yada). But one thing has been annoying the hell out of me lately, and I am not sure why it is hurting me so much now more than usual (though, truth be told, it is always there, lurking somewhere in the back of my mind).
You will get the entire back story. Because, well, I feel like writing it all.
When I was twenty-one, I met this guy at work. He was smart, and funny, and actually befriended me despite my quiet keep-to-myself demeanor. Well, one day this guy (oh, he needs a code name. Let's call him "Len." Yeah, that'll work) asked me out to grab a bite after work. I didn't think it was the best idea, since he was married, but he assured me that he and his wife were on their way to a separation. I was new to the area, and was living with some friends, and really didn't know my way from work to home (they drove, I did not), so I insisted that my roommates had to come with us. So, the four of us went out, had dinner, and I had a good time. I, of course noticed when "Len" laughed at something, he sort of leaned into me. And I thought "wow, perhaps this guy likes me." Going home that night, I paid attention to every street we turned on. You know, just in case.
A few nights later, he asked me out for a drink. It would be just the two of us, so I was a bit apprehensive (Wife. At home. Crap). But he assured me that it would be fine, and that it was just a drink. I ought to mention that "Len" was twenty-five years my senior, married, always smelled absolutely amazing, and had stunning blue eyes (wait, those last things might not be terribly important for the purposes of this story). So, we went out for a drink. We talked. He drove me home. And damn butterflies flittered around my belly.
The next night, I somehow dug up the courage to tell him that I owed him a drink (where did that come from?! I have never been so brave in my life). We went out that night. And after we had drinks, we sat in his car in the parking lot talking. He told me that he wanted to kiss me. Oh no. More butterflies. I should mention that I had never been kissed before, and didn't know the first thing about it. I told him I didn't think it was a good idea (wife. At home. Crap). But I was so damn curious. And he smelled so damn good (did I mention he smelled good ALL THE TIME?). And I liked him so damn much. So I told him I changed my mind. And the kiss was awkward, and I had no idea what to do, and I felt like an idiot.
He drove me home, and the next day I told him that we couldn't do this anymore. This was a bad idea.
That somehow turned into me caving, seeing him a few nights later, and having a wonderfully sneaky affair of driving around, parking and making out for hours. Without a doubt, these were the most exciting, fun times of my life.
His wife did eventually move out, and I got to stay at his place most nights. I realized that I cared deeply for him. He told me he loved me one night, completely on accident. He asked me if that scared me, and I told him no. He asked why, and I told him that it was because I, too, had fallen in love. And my life was perfect. I loved him, and he loved me, and everything was right with the world. His kisses gave me butterflies, and he could make me fall apart with just a touch.
But then I moved. I had been planning the move since before we got together, and was going with my roommates. I told him I wanted to stay, that I didn't want to leave him, that he was more important than moving to Nashville. He insisted that I go, that I would regret it if I didn't.
When I came to visit about two months later, I told him we couldn't be together anymore. I wanted kids, and he didn't, and I just couldn't give that up for someone. It was the hardest thing I ever said in my life. I tried to take it back, but he told me that I was right, that it wasn't fair to me. He told me he didn't want to hold me back from what I really wanted. I had never been so confused in my life about "what I really wanted." I cried. For days, weeks, I don't even know. I was lost.
We remained friends for a while, but it was always hard for me to do so. It hurt too much to know that he wasn't mine anymore, but I think that I always just sort of assumed that this would blow over, that we could pretend it never happened, that he would want me back. A few months later I called him, tired of Nashville, and wanting to come home. I asked if I could stay with him if I did. He told me he was dating someone, and that he had been for a month. My heart fell apart. Someone else? And I knew her? Oh, her. That really pretty lady we worked with? Yeah, I know her. Yeah. Oh. Well, I hope you're happy. Shit, shit, shit.
For a while, we still talked, but eventually it all died down. I dated someone else, I started to enjoy my new life. He never left my mind though. Ever.
Fast forward to about two years ago. I get a phone call, while I am on a greyhound bus headed up to Pennsylvania. It's him. He is apologizing for not being a better friend. He'd like to see me. Oh, that pretty lady he's been dating? They broke up. WHAT? I will be gone for a week, but I tell him I would love to get together with him when I get back. I secretly do a happy dance. I glow. My entire personality changes. I am happy - truly happy - for the first time in a long time.
By the time my vacation was over, they were back together. They had worked things out. He couldn't see me, since she didn't like when we talked.
In a matter of days, I went from being the happiest girl in the world to the most disappointed. Crap.
I guess I should wrap this up, and talk about the point of all of this. So, the point. We broke up because I want kids, and he does not (he already has one. I think she is around thirteen or fourteen by now - she was just a kid when we were dating). Ready for the ironic twist? I am fairly certain at this point that I can not have kids (and am working on coming to terms with this). I need to see a doctor and find out what in the world is wrong with me, and confirm or deny my suspicions (but this would require money. Or insurance. Neither of which I have right now. I can not even afford a meal, let alone a visit to the gyno) . But the thing is, if I was able, I feel that I would have by now. Not that it might have been the best idea or anything, but there certainly have been scares. So, here I am, single, childless, and pining over the man I never should have let get away. All because I wanted something that I can never have anyway.
How's that for a big pile of shitty irony, huh?