Monday, August 20, 2012

The Great and Terrible Story of The Boy, Part 4

The email I sent said:

Boy,

I'm miserable. And I'm tired of the misery. I have reached a point in my life where I must consider my own happiness more than I have allowed myself in the past several years. And part of that happiness would be to have you in my life, even as just a friend.

His reply did not come for three weeks. Three. Weeks.

And the gist of it was this:

I am sorry to hear you are not happy. I can try to be your friend, but I enjoy the flirting more. I think I could say some sexually charged things that would make you blush and your husband uncomfortable.

You are at a strange distance to me, Ashley, being Mormon. The Mormon church is an organization that I do not repspect.

You know where I'm going with this- the church's stance on homosexuality. Homosexuality is not a disease. It is not to be cured.

I hope you feel better soon. Keep in touch.

My reply:

So, are you saying that you don't know how to respect me because you don't respect the church?

My feelings about homosexuality are quite the opposite of the Mormon church's. And have been for several years.

Anyway, thank you for writing me back. I'd like to tell you what's been going on with me.

I then explained my severe depression and coming out of it with a renewed sense of purpose. I said nothing about talking divorce with Matt again.

Another three weeks went by before his next reply.

At this point I'm guessing he's in a relationship or he's realized he doesn't really love me.

I don't remember what he said in that next email. But I remember that I told him the three week delays between his replies was unfun for me.

And when a week or two went by after that with nothing from him, I wrote and said, Never mind. Just forget this. I'll be fine.

And that ended that.


Almost two years later, Matt and I called it quits.


I waited a full week to contact The Boy.

I stressed about how to craft this email! The email of all emails. The one I'd fantasized about sending for eight years! Oh my god.

I decided it should be casual and straight forward. So this is what I came up with:

Dear Boy,

My husband has informed me that he has taken to doing dudes a of late. We are finally calling it quits.

Ashley

His response came only a few hours later:

Ashley

Well that is some news indeed. But didn't you already know this?

I really cannot tolerate the mentality that if you are gay you have to hide behind a wife and children. It's not the 1960's anymore.

Boy

Um...THAT'S THE RESPONSE I GET???

No "Ashley, my love, I'll be on the next plane,"?

I was, uh, upset. Like, pissed.

But then, he sent another email not too long after that.  It said:

I'm sorry. Can't imagine the stress you're under. You must be feeling betrayed. That is a horrible feeling.

I don't quite remember what I said next, except that I just attempted to further the conversation- not re-profess my undying love, or bring up my desire to see him yesterday and make sweet, sweet love. I was available now. No need to go nuts. Keep it light. Don't force anything.

All I remember of his next reply is the last sentence:

Drop me a line from time to time. 

UM...WHAT?!

WHAT?!

It was time for some very non-casual communication:

Boy, 

Here's the thing.  I want you in my life.  And not in a line-dropping sort of way.  I am still in love with you.  

Ashley

After an entire month of NOTHING, I sent this:

Boy, 

Can we talk? Can you at least tell me how you are? 

I'm not sure exactly when after that he replied, but he informed me that he was in New York. It was a very unforgiving place to live.  He told me that he was heart-sick.  Tired of failed relationships (of which he'd apparently had several).  Only 2 or 3 months before I contacted him about my divorce, he'd ended a relationship with a crazy girl who he thought he'd marry and start a life with, but got too sick of her crazy. He didn't miss her or still love her, but he was 'heart-sick'.

And then he gave me his number.

Well, I'm not gonna call him, I thought.

So I emailed him back. Told him I was sorry to hear about his heartache. And gave him my number.

Matt called me one day when I was at my job of cleaning the district courthouse.

"Has The Boy called you yet??"

"No."

"Have you called him?"

"No."

"Texted?"

"No."

"Um, it's time."

"But Matt, I want him to make the first move here.  And apparently he's not ready or something because of a string of 'crazy' girlfriends."

"Ash. Text him, for heaven's sakes."

SIGH

I knew the perfect text to send.  An inside joke of ours that I think only the two of us were savvy to.

I had already put his number into my phone with his name so I'd be prepared in case he called. I could make sure I wasn't like eating a cheeseburger or something when I answered.

The text:

Louis, phone caw.

And I pushed send.  And my heart was pounding.  And I started getting moist everywhere.

No more than five minutes later, my phone rang.  The screen on my phone said, "The Boy".

End of Part 4

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