The Apple of My Eye

Don't Speak

I got back from that fateful business trip on a Friday night. Star, to whom I'd last talked on Wednesday, had already called me on my cell a number of times, but I decided it was best not to call her back. Yep. That was how I was going to deal with it: by not dealing with it. Then after Friday she didn't write me any emails for a few days, and only texted me a couple of times, you know, sort of inquiring what the fuck had happened to me and why I had become incommunicado all of a sudden and whatnot. I did text her back, but my answers were evasive at best. Did I think it was fair? No, I most certainly did not, but I didn't know how else to handle this thing.

After a few more days feeling ostracized by the man she'd sacrificed everything for, Star finally took a hint and sent me the email that called the whole deal off for good. Her words were blunt but not hostile, rude, or unpleasant. Whereas a lot of other women would have written me not one, but a series of hate-filled emails—or text messages, more like it—calling me all sorts of nasty names, Star was elegant, graceful, and in a single dispatch that was short and to the point, if a little bit brutal, too, she wrote me off her life for keeps. It was a lot like a cease-and-desist kind of thing, but one that conveyed that she would be the one ceasing all activities that had anything to do with me, and that she would also be the one desisting from taking up any of said activities henceforth.

It was a hard blow, I won't lie. Not to my pride, not to my self-esteem, but to my heart. Hey, I still loved Star. I hadn't stopped loving her for one second. That was never it. But I knew it would come to this in the long run. It was inevitable. I hadn't had the guts to do it, so she manned the fuck up and executed the task. She did what I should have done ages before. And she stayed true to her word, too: Star never again wrote to me, not even to reply to some of my ridiculous attempts to "see how she was doing."

Yes, I did do that, and I'm not proud. I wrote to her about a month later, maybe even sooner. Then I did it again. Then one more time. I'm sure to her the whole writing-just-to-see-how-you're-doing routine seemed like all I wanted was to continue to play havoc with her life and with her feelings, but to me it was just a weakness. I wasn't being the guy who won't go away because he says he wants to be friends and maybe play a little game of catch-up and all that crap. I know that shit backwards and forward. I know when you do that you're trying to prevent the girl from ever truly forgetting you. And you want to know what? It's low. It's below the ground low. It's preposterous. But I wasn't being that guy, seriously. I didn't want to be the old boyfriend who keeps rearing his ugly head just to mess with her mind and with her heart over and over. What happened was, I had these moments from time to time when I just needed to make sure she was still there, you know? Not there for me, mind you, just there. But I shouldn't have done that, I know. I'm sorry I ever did. Star gave me the silent treatment, and she did good.

I had trouble accepting that she had gone from loving me unconditionally to hating me so fervently that she wouldn't have anything to do with me anymore. At the time, I failed to realize that she probably didn't really hate me, but what else was she supposed to do, right? She had finally learned to love herself more than she loved me, and that was the right thing to do. She had learned from the master, too, had she not? Hadn't I been so crazy in love with myself when I treated her like my interstate booty call only weeks before? Well, I guess that's how it must have seemed to her when she finally caught on to my schemes. So what happened was, Star had finally learned to give herself the respect that I hadn't been showing her. And then she just fucking vanished from sight, leaving no trace, no sign, no clue. I tell you, she's certainly not on Facebook or Twitter. She's not even googleable. Over the years, I've tried all sorts of different search engines and word combinations and possible nicknames and anagrams, you name it, I've tried it. Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Star has all but disappeared from the face of the earth.

A few months after our final rendezvous, I went so far as to send her flowers on her birthday. I even included a nice little white card that said simply, "You are always on my mind, no matter what," and signed it "S." I thought it would be perceived as poignant and irresistible, and I was sure she was going to manifest herself to me somehow. I thought maybe she'd send me an email thanking me for the gesture, call me up to see how things were, something, anything. She could even return the damn flowers, at least that would be some sort of sign. Ah, but what the fuck did I know? Star did no such thing. She just cut me off completely. As well she should have, of course. Here was a guy who never reciprocated her feelings anymore, who conducted this relationship on his terms only. At the slightest sign of protestation on her part, I'd be quick to label her a whiner and a bellyacher and whatnot, and then I'd have the audacity to ask her to have a little patience and this and that. Star was addicted to me, just like I had once been addicted to her, only I had found a way to cope with the withdrawal, whereas she was constantly jumping to primp and preen every time I called a reunion. But then she'd always end up frustrated to discover that nothing had changed. Hell, if she were a friend of mine and not my lover, I have no doubt I would have told her to dump this motherfucker for good and never look back.

Well, that's just what she did.

It was a weird time for me. I missed Star, and I missed her dearly, but I had to accept the consequences of my actions and my decisions, which in due course I did. Outside of the emails and the flowers, I never again attempted any contact. I decided she had earned my deference and my distance, and so I kept it. Never went after her again. Star was never again to hear from this obviously very immature individual.

Just how immature, though,you're about to find out real soon.