I was back in Los Angeles after a period in Vancouver who saw my future husband when he realized his dreams of becoming a successful actor and connecting with a movie star that was not me. He was injured, but it had always been a terrible relationship with more anguish than happiness. And now, although I still lick my wounds and feeling drifting, I was enjoying my new freedom.
I bought a nice yoga outfit, burned innumerable scented candles with faces, I started a morning ritual to walk towards the local bakery for a bael and a coffee, I redecoked my apartment to my pleasure and took a French lover.
I met him on a night that can only be described as delighted. Spontaneously, I had joined a group of old friends on their way to a party in Hollywood. He crowded on a shared trip, someone passed out small yellow pills weakened with an E. He had made ecstasy once before, and the maximum I felt that he had not approached the casualty that was still worth it. He had never sworn. But this was a new day, and a new self that was not deterred by anything as inconsequential as the despair of the soul. I put the little yellow pill in my pocket for later.
The party was in an elegant work space: four industrial design stories that hits music and full of hipsters. My crew grabbed beers and dispersed. Walking on a balcony, I folded a corner, and there it was, tall and thin, with moving brown eyes and a brown hair traper that threatens to hide them. In his flap, he wore a small button, a heart on the transverse bones. “Are you a heart pirate?” I asked.
His answer did not matter. The moment he opened his mouth and a French accent came out, I didn't care what he said as he kept talking. He didn't spend much time before he kissed us. The pill in my forgotten pocket, had found all the ecstasy I needed.
The next day, he sent me a text message with an hour and an appointment with a drawing of what seemed giant floating lamp giants with two pairs of small feet standing out from underneath. I immediately knew that the place was an exhibition of public art in Silver Lake and that nothing could prevent a couple of those shoes.
A first electrical appointment quickly drove another to another, and we easily slid in a coupling of beautiful texts, dinner and exploring the angels together. He was an animator in the country with a work visa and invited me to his group of friends, also young men from around the world in a great adventure. They often went out to explore new bars, restaurants and interesting attractions. Or they simply gathered in someone's apartment to prepare dinner together. When wives and brides were included, I also arrived. They were fun and animated, and I enjoyed them almost as much as I enjoyed.
I had opened his world, and showing him my views made him feel fresh and new to me too. We made a trip along the coast to Big Sur, passing the seals of Elephants and San Simeón, staying in the Madonna Inn and leading to the Nepenthe restaurant, where we ate an elegant dinner and camped on the other side of the road. We also made a trip to low, we stayed in the fonda and visited Ensenada. Walking on the beach, I was almost too much in love to feel ashamed of its fast speedometer. Later, a woman in a restaurant commented on how sweet it was to see two people so in love.
This was very different from tortured procession with my ex. This was so easy and light, and much of what I had expected when cracks appeared on the perfect facade, I reasoned them before they became large enough to threaten the dream.
Valentine's Day, he told me that he did not believe on Valentine's Day because it was commercial. Instead, he said he would have dinner in his department. I would have been happy with the dinner offer in less the anti-consumption explanation. But something about the fact that he felt forced to do so and that he had not bothered to ask me how I felt about Valentine's Day, as if he were clarifying that what he thought or wanted him not to be in his choices.
When we met, he had just returned from a trip home to France. While he was there, he had taken care of another woman who was now sending him text messages and angry. When I asked about the situation, he shrugged and said: “She thought it was more than something fun.”
Surely what we had was different, I told myself, despite the revealing well in my stomach.
When we were alone, his approach was in me. But when we were with his friends, he often felt like it was alone, just another member of the gang. Bad to want this to be different from my codependent and suffocating marriage, I told myself that his distance was something good. It meant that we both had our own lives, that we were not losing ourselves so much in the other that we lost.
But he was not the one in danger of getting lost. Despite my best efforts, it was increasingly difficult to ignore that what I wanted to believe that it was a flourishing relationship was actually two people in very different places with very different ideas.
He had entered this promising honesty, but had been working overtime to avoid the truth. Even when I hit my head, like when he told me he loved me and then quickly joked: “Unless you get pregnant. Then goodbye!” I laughed, pretending that the comment had not stung. I was 28 years old to my 32. I wanted a bad baby, and the realities of biology told me that I had not long to waste.
In the end, I was the one who broke it. We went to a great study launch party and, as usual, when they were offered the possibility of something newer and interesting than me, it came out. The party was in a sincere warehouse converted to an intergalactic space station.
While exploring the party, feeling abandoned and alone, the pieces began to form a complete image that could no longer ignore. When we met hours later to leave, I understood that I could take in this part place during the time I chose, but that it would never be the association I wanted. I was looking for a destination, while I was in love with the trip. He was not a pirate; It was a tourist for my heart.
Like the first time I took ecstasy, getting out of our romance sent me to a despair well. But as a stomach pain of too sweet, the pain was of short duration. He didn't spend much time before he met someone who wanted to share his life with me, everything. For years, I kept the little yellow pill in my jeweler. I never took it.
The author helps brands to tell their stories; Sometimes she tells one of her own. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and two children. You can find it in LinkedIn.com/in/ksmayfield.
Los Angeles Affairs Chronices The search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the Los Angeles area, and we want to listen to their real history. We pay $ 400 for a published essay. Email [email protected]. You can find presentation guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
