Tracks, Fences

Seeming to be in a perpetual state of single desolation blessedness, I am reminded that the grass is not always greener for my friends who are coupled. They say, "enjoy your freedom." I say, "I'd like to come home and have somebody there." Everybody moans about something because that seems to be in our nature. "The other side of the tracks", "the road not taken", "just around the bend" ... it's funny how many of those clichés jump into my head.

Friends who have --- houses and kids and more stable careers: I find out there are also endless, expensive renovations, children who turn out to be a lot more work than expected, and careers that sputter and stall.

Worst of all, you wake up one day and discover that whatever bond or attraction you once felt is gone. And now the property, the kids -- you have to find a way to make that work.

My nightmare is to have someone say, "I love you," and not be able to say it in return. Not sincerely. But the truth always comes out in some way, either then or twenty years down the road. Or it stays locked inside and affects the whole quality of your life.

There was a guy I dated who had a great job as a high-level exec at MTV, with all the trimmings: fabulous apartment, enough money for five people to live very comfortably on. We had a blind date and met at the Paramount Hotel in NYC.

"Well, I'm not disappointed," he whispered over a cold martini.

What are you supposed to say? I probably mumbled, "Me, either," but it was way too soon for me to say it. He was saying he was attracted, but, while I found him nice-looking, I wouldn't have led with that statement.

He took me to the best places: restaurants, Broadway shows, up to that fabulous apartment looking overlooking Manhattan. He kept herding me into the bedroom every time I came over. He looked so crestfallen when I didn't want to go further, I finally gave in.

We rolled around for a while and I tried -- swear to God -- to ignite whatever attraction there might be. Nothing. He was soft; not just his body but his presence and intellect. Nothing extraordinary, and I needed extraordinary. At least back then.

I talked my way out of a clinch and suggested places for dinner. When we walked, he was always just an inch away. When we watched skaters at Rockefeller Center, he practically took me from behind, he was pressed so close behind me. I could barely breathe. And when I was positive this was never going to work for me, I broke it off.

I've always wondered if I moved too soon; that even his neediness might have been tempered if I gave it more than a couple months. But here was my nightmare: he was always saying, "I love you," and I couldn't look him in the eye. Not fair to him. I told him I was letting him go so he could find the person who was right for him, who would love him. Maybe he did.

Funny, that scenario popped up two or three times in my life, and it always played out the same. Too much attention, too fast a pace, and I was gone.

If I'd stayed a bit longer, would I have the house, the kids, the subsidized career opportunities? Makes me wonder.