Cute boy from SC: part 4

Remember how I said Gabe had an uncanny ability to know when I was getting over him, and would somehow once again enter my life, bringing me back to the brink of desperate infatuation? He knew – as if he was tuned into my private thoughts and feelings.

I mentioned I would see him around campus – he’d always stop me to catch up. Perhaps he felt obligated after that evening confession, perhaps he enjoyed the ego boost that I offered. But I backed off – perhaps frightened by my uncharacteristic behavior, maybe understanding that this relationship was going nowhere. This was before the “he’s not that into you” catchphrase, but sometimes the situation is so clear that you don't need a bestseller to decode it.

Elle was in my room one night, working on my computer while I did homework problems lying on my bed. She was saying how I really needed to move on – that I was amazing and wonderful and it was clear he didn’t appreciate me. I should have someone who wanted to be with me, who came over, who called.

I was about to agree when the phone rang. It was Gabe, and we talked while Elle rolled her eyes. After a few minutes, I hung up and looked at her.

“Uncanny.” Was all she said.

Eventually though, snippets of attention become degrading. So my infatuation waned and irritation replaced it. I had been clear in my interest, he hadn’t told me no, and while I construed that as being polite, it had strung me along for another semester.

The last straw came near Christmas. He called and said he wanted to bring brownies over before we all escaped campus for holiday break. I told him I had plans to attend a party with Rachel, so he suggested we meet at my place around 10. The party was nice – Rachel wanted to stay, but as a good friend, politely made our excuses as 10:00 approached. We hurried home, and settled in to wait. He never came – no call, no email, no brownies.

I was hurt, and allowed animosity to replace the warm feelings he once inspired. I would avoid him when walking through campus, I decided, and that would be it. And it worked – I rarely saw him and didn’t talk to him.

Until one night in February. It was late on a Wednesday evening, I think. I was running late, but felt obligated to attend an environmental club meeting. So I headed across campus through the cold and snow. I was almost in the building, unable to feel my fingertips or nose, and I saw a bike thrown in the bushes. I stopped to look more carefully, my hand on the door handle.

No – I thought – can’t be his. I haven’t seen him at all this year at SC meetings, so he certainly wouldn’t be here now. But fully expecting to see him, I trotted up the stairs and bit my lip as he sat on the far side of the circle. There was an empty seat on his right, but I pulled a desk over closer to the door. I was careful not to make eye contact – focused on the leader (this one less militant) and the people I knew. I had an advantage – I knew most of the people through my involvement when I was trying to stalk Gabe. We adjourned the meeting early to watch some sort of news clip that someone had on tape. One of the women in the group thought there was a VCR in a classroom down the hall, so we all headed that direction.

I wasn’t interested – I don’t remember what the tape was about, but I vividly recall not caring. So I allowed everyone to precede me into the room, hovering in the doorway, deciding whether I could be impolite enough to leave early (and yes, probably trying to give Gabe an easy opportunity to talk to me – whatever). He did – stepping aside to let more people into the room and facing me.

I nodded and gave a half-smile in response to his greeting. He frowned at me.

"Are you OK?"

“Fine.” I replied. “Just tired. Busy. You?”

“Would a hug help?” he asked, opening his arms a bit and ignoring my question.

It earned him a smile. “No.” I sighed, charmed though I knew it was corny. I continued to speak. “You know – I don’t think I care about this tape. I should head home.” I had already bundled up in my coat and pulled my gloves out of the pockets. “It was good to see you.” Eyes down, focused on the gloves, I glanced up to find him zipping his coat too. We began walking down the hall.

“Aren’t you going to stay for the tape?” I asked.

“Nah. I don’t really care either. I’ll walk you back. We just need to grab my bike.”

Deciding I had been irritated at him for no reason – I knew he was unavailable a long time ago – I laughingly declined a ride on his handlebars. He straddled the bike, walking sometimes, coasting others, while I strode quickly to keep up. I started to chatter – unnerved by his silence, aware of his desire that I explain why I was so distant when my previous goal was to get closer.

I was upset about a roommate situation, stressed and feeling inadequate. As I talked and we walked (or rather I walked and he did some sort of half riding, half walking thing), I realized I was just in a crappy place – disappointed that he wasn’t my boy, confused about what I wanted from the future, distressed over the fact that the 3 women I considered to be critically important in my life were struggling and I was failing as a friend. Life was just sucking pretty hard.

We arrived at my building and I stood outside with him until I started to shiver. I told him I was too cold to stay and talk, and thanked him for walking me home. As I turned to finish the walk to my building, he once again asked

“Are we done? Are you OK?” And I turned around to respond to the question that had ended our last walk together.

“I’ll be fine. I’m just sad. And cold.” I smiled and waited for him to walk away, knowing that a glimpse here and there would probably be all I’d have until he graduated. He had a girlfriend, and though their relationship was new, I realized that nothing would ever develop between us.

“I have time. We could talk…” he offered, making no move to head home.

“That might be good.” I murmured, confused over the offer, but knowing Gabe was highly focused. I’d never captured this much of his attention before, and was unsure as to how to handle it.

“So, my place or yours?” I raised my eyebrows at his question. Seriously? We were going to talk?

“Yours.” I said after a moment, wanting to wallow in him if I had the chance – see his things, be in his space. So we walked to his house. I don’t remember if we talked or not – I was overwhelmed. Completely.

I remember arriving, him dragging his bike up the stairs to his back deck and entering through the kitchen.

“Let’s get settled and I’ll get you a drink.” He lead me to his room, while I glanced around for the roommate I had only met once.

“He’s not home tonight.” Gabe told me, apparently knowing who I was looking for. I decided that since we had the apartment to ourselves, we’d sit in the living room. That was actually the reason I had given him for choosing his place over mine. My 3 girls would probably join us in the living area of my apartment, so we’d have a better chance of talking in his house.

But we continued toward his bedroom, and I once again watched him push piles of laundry around. This time, he threw clothes in the closet, cleared off the bed and put the piles of papers and books lying on the couch under his desk. Then he smiled at me, standing with the tips of my toes just touching his carpet.

“Are you coming in?”

“Oh. Sure. I thought we were … never mind.” I said, trying once again to reconcile what was actually happening to the mental picture I had of us in his living room. I took a step inside and he gestured to the far section of the couch under his window.

“Are you cold? I keep it much colder in here than in the rest of the house.” I assured him that I too preferred the cold – I love winter.

He went to get drinks – listing the mixes he could make with the liquor they owned – and I requested water. I was freaking out a little – not understanding why we were in his room, fully aware that he was dating someone, and not comprehending the vibe he had going.

He returned, closing and locking his door, and we talked. I can’t really remember the conversation. I do remember the music – he asked what I liked, and when I didn’t offer a suggestion – too afraid to select something gauche – he played Tori Amos. I still think of him when I hear her. Mellow, smooth, a little sexy. I do remember him talking about being sad himself, sharing some of his struggles when all I had seen was confidence and clear views of his goals and future.

After a few hours, I was growing more and more shaky and upset. I was the same way in therapy a couple years later – talking didn’t clarify or calm, it only wound me up tighter, focusing attention on problems I wasn’t even aware of in addition to the ones that had originally upset me.

“I should go.” I finally said – freaked out by my own issues and still not reading Gabe all that well.

“You’re still upset.” He noted. “Stay and we’ll talk.”

“The talking isn’t working for me. I think I’ll just go.”

“No, you should stay. We’ll figure it out.”

I shook my head, thanked him for the talk, and set my plastic cup on his desk. And I stood up.

“Don’t go.” He said again. “I’ll give you a massage.” I looked at him, beyond surprised and into shocked.

“It’ll help,” he promised, “and I’m good at it.”

“I don’t think so.” I said quietly, but making no move to get my coat, suspended in thought, wanting but not being brave enough to take. And where would it lead? He had a girlfriend – were guys with girlfriends allowed to give massages to girls who had crushes on them?

“I do think so. It’ll help. Take your hair down.” He waved his hand at my ponytail, and began moving around the room. Tori Amos gave way to a man I wasn’t familiar with – slower, maybe more soothing. After changing the music, he lit a candle – a large orange one with 3 wicks. “It’s supposed to be relaxing.” He explained as he turned off the overhead light, leaving us in the flickering illumination of 3 small flames. He moved to the window, closing the blinds. Why close the blinds? I thought. This is too much – I don’t understand what’s happening.

He told me to lie on the floor on my back. I got as far as sitting on his carpet with my legs crossed, suddenly completely unsure as to what the hell I was doing. He had a girlfriend, I was being melodramatic over some minor problems, and it was late. What was happening here? He sat behind me, and eased me into a prone position between his legs.

“Stretch your legs out. Relax.” He advised softly as they remained crossed and I was more tense than I could remember being. Ever. He chuckled when he touched my shoulders. I closed my eyes – looking up at him, sitting directly above me, was far too intimate.

“This is the worst part. Letting go and getting into it. Try to relax and let me move your head. Just give up control.”

I couldn’t. I lifted my head so he could slide his hands underneath. Tried to anticipate his moves so that I could turn my head for him. He continued to request relaxation as he manipulated my neck, twisting my head slowly.

“OK,” he decided, “we’ll try that again in a minute.” He started rubbing my shoulders, which felt lovely. I carry tension in my shoulders and upper back, according to the professional masseuses I now frequent. He rubbed at it, moving down my arms and into my hands. We’re holding hands. How sweet.

“Think about what makes you happy. Something nice.” I frowned – there’s no freaking way. I was trying to enjoy the attention – I’d later pay for people to work tension out of my tired body. He rubbed my scalp with the pads of his fingers. Smoothed my forehead, my cheeks, my earlobes, warming them with friction between 2 fingers. Under and over my lips, pressing the soft skin against my teeth, tracing lightly around the edge of my face. How intimate, I thought, all the problems fading as I focused on him, on how I felt. On wondering how he felt, what his motives were, on the phone call he’d taken from his girlfriend earlier. He told me it was the library, though I didn’t think they were open and making calls after 11 PM. Were they having problems? Was this some vindictive thing?

It didn’t feel negative to me though.

“How is it?” He asked softly, barely intruding on my whirling thoughts.

“It was good. It helped – you were right.” I glanced up at him, and he smiled down at me, face shadowed in the dim room.

“Is there a favorite part I could do again for you?” Wow – he must be an incredible lover, I thought, already disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to find out. Seductive, confident, attentive.

“Maybe just another minute on my shoulders.”

He started to rub, the pressure perfect, the intimacy taken down a notch from having him touch my face, ears and scalp.

“No one has ever asked for more shoulder work before.” He commented lightly.

So he did this all the time, I mused, relieved. This was a big deal for me, but maybe it was normal for him. Lock the door, put on music, light candles, close the blinds. Make a memory for a young woman who was freaking out over her privileged life. We got off the floor, and I reiterated that I should go. He handed me my coat and grabbed his own.

“You don’t have to walk me back. It’s cold and I’ll be there in 2 minutes.”

“It’s not safe. And I don’t mind.” Knowing that I didn’t tend to win arguments with him, I decided to quit. He handed me the band that had held my hair back. I wrapped it around my wrist. I quietly waited while he unlocked the door, and followed him out of the apartment, down the stairs and across the grass until we reached the sidewalk. We talked about squirrels.

Arriving back at the front door to my apartment, I turned to look at him.

“Thank you. For tonight. It helped.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “Could I maybe have the hug now?”

He wrapped his arms around me, and for a moment, I held on to his coat and rested my chin on his shoulder, breathing him in and wishing for something I couldn’t have. Then I let him go, and opened the front door, headed up the steps. And while I’ll do a post-mortem tomorrow - how I told the girls, how I desperately wished something would happen - this was it. The big finale to a silly story, but one that shaped me and how I view relationships.

Part 5 comes tomorrow. And then, I’m letting Gabe go for good.