Love Trips: Keep It Moving
I’ve been dating for 15 some odd years, which means I’ve chased after men, fallen into a drinking and dialing and sobbing stupor, and did I mention I angrily wobbled after a man while shouting, “WE ARE NOT DONE!”? Yes, 15 years of dating have left me with many, many stories and even more war wounds to lick and heal. But no matter what has occurred, each experience has taught me a valuable lesson on how to deal with the pitfalls of, well, dating. Like when you give a man the privilege to store your number, you should wait for him to call, not circle his block in a Dominican gypsy cab en la madrugada or become a bartender or busgirl at the bar he frequents. If he never calls, take a deep breath and shrug. There is no need to sob in despair in the shower. No need to stare at the heavens, shake your fists and scream “WHYYYYYY?!”. Just learn the lesson and keep it moving.
That was exactly my plan for Mr. G. After my weekend trip to Boston, I left him a message, announcing my return, as promised. He had called me minutes later after our first kiss so I didn’t see any harm in holding my end of the bargain. But two days passed and there was no return call. I dialed my voicemail each time reception bars rose when above ground. Maybe I missed his call when on the train, I thought. Or maybe Mr. G wasn’t going to call, I reconsidered. No. That kiss was too perfect, too spectacularly uncommon. Mr. G would call. I just needed to think positive. So I retrained my mind. I had recently read The Secret and it had become increasingly easy to visualize and believe. I also decided to practice another hard lesson learned: Take care of Sujeiry.
The following Friday my cousin Sassy and I arrived at Spa Castle – the Queens Village version of an Arizona spa. Sure we were surrounded by fat men and views of two-family houses, but the sun was shining and so were we! We soaked in the whirlpool; relaxed in the sauna; and dipped our toes in the wading pool. It was just what I needed to remain on my positive course.
Soon, Sassy and I were on the 7 train, making our way back to Washington Heights. She suddenly turned to me, eyebrows raised, and asked:
“Ven aca, has Mr. G called you?”
I remained serene, looked at Sassy and shook my head from side to side.
“Ah, he’s full of shit,” she concluded.
“No, he’s not,” I finally spoke.
“But didn’t you call him like two or three days ago?” Sassy sucked her teeth as if Mr. G had kissed her passionately and left her con la boca abierta, yearning for more.
“He’s going to call. I can feel it,” I replied confidently. Sassy raised her eyebrows, silently questioning my sanity. She knows I’m a hopeless romantic and it worries her. Because hopeless romantics never loose hope and sometimes never let go.
“I’m not calling him again but he’s going to call,” I finished firmly. Sassy nodded, her eyes widening slightly in disbelief. I looked ahead and peered through the partially lit window. Soon, my eyes squinted. The sun’s rays warmed my cold arms and illuminated the silver car and my Blackberry? I looked down at my hands and saw the blinking light. The screen showed a picture of a small, unopened envelope. Voicemail. I looked at Sassy who was now on her cell phone. I turned back to my phone, pressed “Send” and waited for my voicemail instructions. “You have one new message”, the machine reported. It’s him, I thought. I could sense it. I listened as the raspy voice on the other end of the line asked how I was doing, said he wanted to see me, hoped I had returned from Boston safely and wished me a pleasant day. He also wondered if my phone was now functioning and, if not, here was his number just in case I didn’t have it stored anymore. I listened to the message one more time and smiled before ending the call.
“Who was that?” Sassy asked, noticing my sunny disposition.
“Mr. G!” I beamed. Sassy’s mouth dropped. I turned away from her shocked expression and rested my head against the train map that lay behind me. There was no need to hop in a Dominican gypsy cab. No need to job hunt at bar or whine or holler. Mr. G had called, and right then and there I knew that no matter what warnings were uttered, judgments were whispered or comments were made, I would always listen to my heart. Another lesson learned, and that’s how I keep it moving.