My, my, my.
Let me start by saying this: I’ve been keeping a diary/journal, on and off, since I was 12 years old. I tend to write during the more dramatic/emotional times of my life, which makes sense. It’s my therapy, a way of getting my thoughts and feelings in order, or at least getting them out of my head, so I can continue to function in the world. That is now the chief function/purpose of my blog. For some reason, it just feels more satisfying to have an “audience” to write for, regardless of whether that audience is actually interested in what I have to say.
My chief dilemma today is where to draw the line as to what I want to/should share. I want to share every detail. How much is too much? And who says? I will admit to a bit of fear in over-sharing right now, due to the fact that my emotions are a little raw. That’s a biggie. I haven’t felt emotions like this in years. Good, because I now have proof that I am, in fact, NOT dead inside, a possibility that has disturbed me for quite some time. Bad, because, well, feelings are scary. At this very moment, I feel sick to my stomach with butterflies and, at the same time, on the verge of tears.
I’ll just start, and see where it goes.
I invited Frank over Friday night for drinks so that we could continue our previously interrupted evening from last Friday. I had certain ideas about where that interrupted evening would have lead and I needed to find out. This would be our first entirely social engagement; all of our previous encounters have been related to work projects and/or payment of said work projects. I am out of money for awhile, and I’m pretty sure that I am Frank’s main source of income right now. That in itself needs to be a red flag for me…I don’t need to be getting involved again with someone who doesn’t have any money. The thing is that, unlike Damien and any number of other “deadbeats” around here, Frank does not want to be in his situation and is trying damned hard to fix it. His work ethic is the thing I am most attracted to. Well, that, and his intellect, and his story-telling ability, and his perseverance, and his dangerousness, and his omg-sexiness.
I really had no expectations. I just needed to see what would happen. It would also be the first time we would be alone together, assuming no surprise appearances by others, namely TC, or maybe the cops.
We began the evening on the front porch. We talked first about his week-from-hell after being arrested last Friday. He and TC never even made it out of Mountain Grove when TC got pulled over for a burned out taillight. The cops recognized Frank and took him in for an outstanding warrant which was supposed to have been “taken care of.” There are many other legal complications he is dealing with, not to mention the fact that he is still married (with kids) (currently separated from his family due to reasons as yet to be disclosed…I told him I wasn’t ready to hear this particular story, although it is one that I need to hear, obviously).
Despite Frank telling me previously that he is no longer “connected” with his past, bits and pieces of information he has alluded to, tell a different story. He teases me a lot, with these allusions, and more often than not, I choose to remain mostly ignorant of the full details, cutting him short if I get too tantalized. I’m not sure I fully understand where or why I’m drawing lines in the sand, but there are several possible theories, one of them being simple boredom. Or a fear of being overwhelmed by the truth. Or maybe I want to draw this whole thing out, like a really good meal, or a really good book.
Frank’s life reads like a book. A movie. A peek into the dark side. I’ve always been fascinated with the mob, and I have an equally strong fascination with the legal system. And despite my firm commitment to keep other people’s drama out of my life – meaning that I stay woefully disconnected from people in general – Frank is not regular people. He is not like anyone I’ve ever met, and I am beyond intrigued.
And I’m touched. Maybe a bit naïve, but I believe every word he says. I’m sure he’s not telling me everything, as much out of self-preservation as anything else, but I believe he no longer wants to be that person. He wants to sever the ties that bind him, but given what I know (about what he’s said so far, as well as the nature of life in general), it will be much easier said than done. But he perseveres. And I admire that a lot. And he’s a good person, with a good heart and a noble spirit, regardless of his past “deeds,” which, for now shall remain confidential.
And he is a real man. Maybe the first I’ve ever met.
We were together for hours. He arrived about 6:30 p.m. To say I lost track of time would be an understatement, but I’m pretty sure it was nearly dawn before he left. We talked and talked and talked. We listened to music. We drank and drank and drank. It was a release, for both of us. We started on the front porch, eventually moving to the back yard, by the pool, where he adroitly built an amazing, perfect fire. We kissed a little. We cuddled a little, alternately wrapping ourselves around each other on the chaise lounge. It felt so good to be touched, to be held. To be a little vulnerable. I’ve been strong for so long. He’s strong through-and-through. We both let our defenses down a little, I think.
I invited him to spend the night. No sex, no strings. Just share my bed. He politely declined, saying he values our friendship too much. It’s too soon, if it will be at all. Too complicated. He’s right. He’s smart. And – he did not state this fact – but he’s got a really good reason not to change our relationship from employer and employee. How in the world could I continue to pay him to help me around here if we are romantically involved? That would be just a little too much like prostituting myself, don’t you think? I’m sure it’s been done. In a movie. In a book. In real life, but not my life. Not now.
My heart hurts, just a little. My ego is a bit bruised. I feel a small sense of hopelessness…I’ve been in this town for 14 years and Frank is the second man I’ve met (Gene being the first, another sad story) that I would even consider having a relationship with. He has stirred my emotions, reminded me what it feels like to…feel. Now what?
Anyone care to make a prediction?