Day Fifteen

April 18, 2006,

Dear Lunch Buddy,

Today has been a very peculiar day. It began with a panic attack over the e-mail I sent you last night. I felt the need to call you and make sure that I haven’t spoiled anything. That was a disaster. I can’t seem to talk to you without bursting into tears. I missed the sound of your voice so much.

You told me that everything was fine and that you love me, and while that should have made me feel better, it didn’t. So I spent the next several hours obsessing over you; waiting for the call I knew would come.

It’s funny where clarity will strike a person. I drove to the district warehouse to pick up something I’d ordered for work, and as I was putting the item in my trunk, I knew without doubt that you don’t want to move past me any more than I want to move past you. It was such a calm and peaceful feeling that washed over me as I realized that if you were trying to put me behind you and forget and move on, you wouldn’t be looking me up on Yahoo, or looking to chat with me in EQ.

And later, you didn’t disappoint. You called me right around 2:30, just the time I expected you to, because I know how your work rhythm works. Of course, as soon as we started talking, I started crying.

You told me something that I think you meant for me to take as wonderful, but since I’m a freak and read into everything, I took it to mean that you do want to make a life without me. You told me that people never forget their first love, and for that, you could never forget me. I know that your intention was that I would hear "Oniongirl, you are my first love." But I heard, "I’m going to continue with this charade that my marriage is successful and that I can be happy in it, so you and I will never be together again… but you’ll be a fond memory." Why do I latch on to the most negative interpretations?

I just want to scream at you and shake you and slap you in the face and make you listen to logic. YOU AREN’T DOING ANYONE ANY FAVORS BY STAYING IN YOUR MARRIAGE! Your kids are learning that it’s ok to treat someone like crap or it’s ok to be treated like crap because their mom treats you like crap and you make it better by giving up more and more of the things you like. Your wife is never going to be happy in your marriage because YOU DON’T LOVE HER. SHE’S NEVER GOING TO BE SATISFIED BECAUSE YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO LOVE HER THE WAY SHE WANTS YOU TO. The only thing you’re doing by giving me up is placating her for a short time. How long until the next blow up? What will be the excuse then? What if you can’t fix it? Will I still be waiting?

Is it the monetary? Pay her spousal support. Hell, I’ll work a second job to help out. Is it that you feel you owe her something? What about what she owes you? How much effort have you put in to trying to make her happy? How much effort has she put in to YOUR happiness? Why is hers so much more important than yours? Don’t forget that you and I met because SHE was looking for a boyfriend.

COME ON!!!!!!! Talk to your mother! You promised me you would talk to them and tell them everything. She’s a smart woman. She’ll agree with me.

And then you can come live here. I already told Jessica that that was a possibility and she was totally ok with that. And the way things are going, I might be kicking her out anyway, and could use a roommate. Your station is still set up and waiting for you.

God, I’m so angry right now. I feel like you just broke up with me again. I don’t know what to think anymore. Only a few hours ago, I was positive that you were biding your time until we could be together forever. Now I don’t know what to think.

I just miss you so so so much. I miss your baldness and your sleepy eyes. I miss your arms and the way you hold me so perfectly. I miss the way we just instinctively got naked together, because that’s just what felt natural. I miss the way you talk to Teddy and the way you got excited about Harry Potter. I miss the prickly hairs on your nose, and the blackhead on your head that never goes away, and that weird spot on your back that always itches. I miss the way you stroke my breasts and tell me how perfect they are. I miss our conversations about life and the cosmos and I miss kissing you.

Please, Lunch Buddy, don’t let this die. The best parts of both of us will die with it.