Hope Dies Last

“You know it must be really hard for guys. Planning a proposal. Think of all the pressure that is put on them. They have to surprise you, they have to make it special. I think we probably need to lower our expectations and give them a little bit of a break.”

“I don’t think so. After all, I’m the one whose going to have to carry a baby for nine months AND give birth to it.”

***

“I told your brother about our proposal/giving birth conversation and he was all, “Oh for crying out loud! I am so sick of women pulling the ‘Yea? Well we have to give birth’ card.”

“Hmm. Maybe he is right. Maybe we do use it too much.”

“Yea, we do.”

“We should probably only be allowed to use it three times a year.Because otherwise it would be like,”Honey, YOU get the remote because I’M THE ONE WHOSE GOING TO GIVE BIRTH. Hypothetically. At some point. In the future. If this relationship works out. You know…”

The temperature has dropped a little. The wind is almost chilly. There are clouds in the sky, not grey heavy ones but wisps of white that have descended over the city slowly teasing me.  Autumn seems to finally be one leaf away from falling gingerly into my lap. I drink hot tea in the evening while Diego purrs sweet nothings into an empty room. The radio is playing the same song over and over again.

This is the beginning of my season.

While the rest of Greece mourns the near end of summer, I scowl at the light before breaking into a happy whistle because it is almost over; the sun won’t be a constant for much longer. I suffer summer. I survive it. But now the wind is almost chilly. And the clouds are almost grey. And I am drinking hot tea.

I am writing, but mostly looking out the window, while Diego purrs sweet nothings into an empty room. I try to make space for his presence to fill me. It works for awhile. But then the radio plays the same song over and over again. Diego stops purring. And the silence, the silence pulsates into me, through me, out of me. This is my season. The rain, the chill, the clouds, the song, even the tea.

But an object for my pent up desire is missing.

I don’t do summer flings so I scowl at the light and I wait patiently for my season to arrive.

It’s been a long summer and I am restless.

When I am restless, when I am filled with undirected desire, when raindrops glimmer with mirages of romance, I am mercilessly tempted to do something I really shouldn’t do.

“Your brother told me that you were in hospital and all about your health troubles. I’m so sorry.”

“Aw, thank you. Yea, I have The Crohn’s.”

“If I remember correctly, weren’t you in hospital four years ago too though?”

“Yes! It’s the freaking Olympics. Every four years in August as if on cue. But that time I had an ovarian cyst.”

“I get cysts too. But they just leave. Why were you in hospital?”

“Oh I had to have it removed because it kept getting bigger and bigger. My doctor wanted to see what it was.”

“He didn’t put you on The Pill? The Pill usually helps.”

“Oh I can’t take The Pill.”

“Why not?”

“I have Raynard’s Disease. It’s a problem with my blood circulation so it is very dangerous to take the pill. I had the surgery to remove the cyst. And it turned out that it wasn’t just a benign cyst. And I have Endometriosis.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yea.”

***

At T’s house on Sunday we clutched our stomachs from laughter as I recited that conversation.Tears streaming down my face from a certain type of black humour that keeps me from falling apart, I said,

“I mean when do I tell a guy I am seeing all of this?  Isn’t it ridiculous? It’s like “Hi, I live with depression and panic attacks so you know I won’t be able to do a lot of things that you might enjoy doing. I might not be able to get out bed for a couple of weeks either.  Also, there’s a 40% chance that I won’t be able to have children. I can’t drink with you or share popcorn at the movies and oh! I might, you know, die from cancer of the intestine. But despite all of that I swear I’m a catch. MARRY ME!”

***

l laughed. And I am still laughing as I write this. I laugh because when I stop to take a breath and seriously consider my physical and psychological health I always reach the same conclusion.

“I’m damaged. Who would want to have to deal with all of this?”

Then I start laughing again because I make the best damn tsatsiki this side of the Aegean. I actually enjoy watching football and I love, love, love games. I have a great smile and I’m kind of cute.

But really I think my best selling point is that I have a selection of magazines in my bathroom. I encourage spending as much time as you need on the toilet.

Thus, I believe that a good man should really overlook all my defects for that fact alone. Don’t you?

He’s been slamming back into my mind with the force of a door that you forgot was open; a door that you thought you had closed.

I thought I had closed the door so each and every time I think of him, I am surprised by the intensity, no intensity is the wrong word, by just the idea of it all. I thought I had closed the door because I said things to people. I said things like, “He’s not the type of guy that I want in my life.” I said things like, “Not good enough”, “Not man enough”, “Does not know what he wants so I don’t want him”. I said these things to people. And the thing about people is that they remember.

They don’t forget about the doors that you have apparently closed.

***

For the last two months, I have been cat sitting a grey little dude called Diego while his owner gallivanted across the East Coast of the US. I grew quite attached to him and had also warmed considerably to the idea of becoming a bona fide single, cat lady.  So, I decided that I would get my own kitten after Diego left. Soon after, a friend found a stray orphan in her garden and like that it was a done deal. I would take her when she was old enough.

Then, Diego’s owner dropped the bombshell.

“You know I was thinking, since he is so happy with you and you obviously love him so much, why don’t you keep him? I’m going back to New York next year, so I was going to have to find someone to take him then anyway.”

I had a choice to make. Do I keep Diego? Or do I get the new kitten? Do I choose to walk through the door that I thought was closed? Or do I walk through a new door?

After several hours of thought, I decided that Diego would stay.

“I know him. I don’t want the responsibility of two cats and well…I know Diego.” I offered as an explanation to the friend who has to now find a new home for an adorable, month-old, feisty little kitten.

I know him.

***

He’s been slamming into my mind with the force of a door I forgot was open.

I am thinking of him. But in a way that I do not recognize; in a way I do not remember ever feeling. In the past, it was incessant. It was obsessive, manic, an explosion of what could be, what will be, what should be. It was uncontrollable. I acted for attention. I reacted in a manner I thought he would like. It was not healthy. Or particularly dignified.

Now, it is a lover’s secret whispering its way into me slowly. It is calm and quiet. It is rare and reflective. It is the thought that this person, this person who I met randomly seven months ago, is special. But not at all in the way it sounds. But in the way that for this person the door remains open.

Indefinitely.

For reasons I have yet to fully understand.

***

And then I wonder. Is this feeling I have purely of my own creation? Is it [R]eal? Or is it just me a little scared that a new door might not ever open?

It is me choosing to go back to that forgotten door simply because at the moment…I know him?

As I write this I have clothes in the washing machine, am eating my lunch and am desperately trying to finish an article that I need to hand in by tomorrow all the while trying to decide what on earth I will wear out today.

My ONE pair of jeans that fit are hanging next to me taking way too long to dry.  I am sitting in a pair of black shorts and a vest.  The age old conundrum brewing on my mind;  a cupboard full of clothes and nothing to wear.

This got me thinking. I am warning you its quite controversial.

Is it better to be overdressed or underdressed?