De Ce Monde Secret de l’ Amelie Americaine

We stood in Penn Station waiting for his departure gate to be posted after spending the weekend together. We were silent but harmonious. The weekend had flowed and unfolded gently. There was nothing about him that had grated on me, except for the fear that it would not happen again. Like a warm cup of coffee, being treated like a woman had awoken in me, a deep need for more. The highlight being when he put his arm over my shoulder for five hours, intermittently holding me close, while we listened to music at a local bar. He was a bit tossed at the time, and what happened in the Mercury Lounge was going to stay there. Naughty confessions about the past and all.

Two friends standing in front of us tearfully spilled their hearts out and held each other’s hands. Mr. Republican Hair Part and I looked at them, appreciating their expressions of love and then smiled at one another. I had been surprised with my candor, although I had only known him peripherally for several years. There he had been in the background, living his life as a prince among men. Yet I know that at this point we are definitely JUST friends.

There were zero episodes of fun-killing tension or friction, although Mr Republican Hair Part is someone who on the surface is very opposite to me in many ways. We navigated our decisions about our weekend and our opinions on life with humor, compassion and aplomb. I slowly realized how our experiences had shaped us in complementary ways, almost as if I was suppose to have those experiences so that I could appreciate someone JUST like him.

But unfortunately, I know full well, that he is unwilling at this point to give up on his uncommitted, twelve time zones away, pseudo-girlfriend, living in another country. And I have to respect that his true romantic attentions are elsewhere, and make sure that I do not get ahead of myself. Love is not an intellectual concept, and on this we both agreed.

I turned to him, after the two friends in front of us parted ways and said,”There is a movie called Love Actually. Hugh Grant plays the prime minister, and in the first line of the movie he says, “Where ever I get gloomy about the state of the world I think of the arrival gate at Heathrow airport. The general opinion is that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don’t see that. Mother’s and fathers, girlfriends and boyfriends, old friends, new friends…Love actually is all around us.” He smiled really big, and we continued to people watch while we waited for his gate to be announced.

When it was, we hugged tight, he smiled at me and said, “I had an amazing time.” There was something that I didn’t know how to interpret in his slightly cheeky smile. I couldn’t translate exactly what it meant, so I smiled back without saying a word. We said our goodbyes, and I turned around and left, aching a bit, each step of the way.

For now, I was accepting goodbye with no assurances, except that he wants to come back very soon during the holiday season. No specific plans had been decided upon, but I kept his bed made on the couch where he said he slept, “so comfortably”. I am not ready to wash the sheets just yet.

Relief from this anxiety came this morning when Mr. Motorcycle stopped by my desk and said hello and offered to bring me the crossword. He was obviously pleased by my reaction when I smiled and accepted wholeheartedly. I needed an assurance, an attraction, something that would once again fill that insecure, pin-hole sized vacuum in my heart. Mr. Motorcycle’s fundamental look of stupid on his face when he saw me, was that medicine.

If I could find someone who gives me that look, along with the noble, courageous, forthright nature of Mr. Republican Hair Part, then I will have found the “perfect man.”

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