I highly recommend it over every other breakup I’ve ever tried. Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of experience you can buy. B_ is an all-original character, as am I, so it’s only fitting that our love story is all-original, and this love story includes a breakup—not a Hollywood, two-thirds of the way through with enough time for a cutesy get-back-together-forever ending—a blending of life before and after us, from together to something else.
Even though we knew we wouldn’t stay together forever from the get-go, B_ and I didn’t want to deprive ourselves of great love, either. Embarking on a type of relationship we’ve never seen before has been awesome, in that we get to feel unique in our love stylings. But it’s tricky at times, particularly during what we prefer to think of as a “transition”, and what everyone else considers a “breakup ”.
When we met, I was going through a personal resurgence. I went to boot camp classes five times a week, and they were finally kicking in. I felt, and therefore looked, great. When I’d finish boot camp, I’d drink a protein shake while I walked Brooklyn. Sometimes I’d meet him out front of Cesar before going home to get dolled up, just to go back to Cesar, or wherever, and spend as much of the evening as I could justify having hilarious, in-the-moment-as-ever conversations with him.
A couple weeks after meeting, B_ and I found ourselves hanging out every day. Over drinks at Kerry House one night he told me,
“I’m really annoyed by how much I want to see you every day.”
I laughed and told him I felt exactly the same way. Several weeks later, we committed to a relationship with an unknown yet absolute expiration date.
At first we thought the very nature of our unconventional relationship would save us from the mistakes we’d made in past relationships. Before we were a couple, we’d mock-puke at overly soppy lovers. He told me about a couple he saw holding both hands over menus at a restaurant. I assured him that would never be us.
When the end of the night rolled around, he’d walk me home with his arm around me, swing me up against the back of my car, and we’d make out under the moonlight. Finally, we’d surrender to the night, he’d walk home, and I’d smile my way to bed. We waited awhile to sleep together, and until we started spending nights together,
I’d wake up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep through my throbbing.
When I told the women where I worked that I was falling in love, they weren’t surprised at all. Love was leaking out of my every pore.
Initially, I used the excuse of a new beau to flex my wardrobe. After a couple years in yoga pants, I busted out outfit after outfit, practicing one of my favorite forms of creativity, the art of lookin’ fly. And B_ loved it. He fully appreciated my ever-rotating style, which was conveniently a fusion of his tastes; Game of Thrones meets biker chick, hippy, granny-chic, diva in some badass boots. He loved my hair, so I wore it down and curly. He complimented my make-up, so I experimented with a new eye and lip nightly. When we’d finish dinner, he’d insist on a nightcap at Kerry House so he could “show me off” and I loved being paraded around. And when we would stroll back to his place at the end of the night,
I’d pull him into the doorways of closed shops on Piedmont Ave.,and we’d kiss like we never wanted it to end.
But end it did, and sooner than we’d thought. I’m still not completely clear on all the issues that factored into our romance ending sooner than expected, but I think the gist of it is that I didn’t follow the rules my girls and I had concocted before B_. What were those rules? Tune in for Part 2 to see, my dear lovies…