Rule no. 42: Destiny is not always destined.
And then, there was Ian.
Our introduction was kinetic. I still can feel the energy, the tingles, which ran from my hands down to my toes, of our first meeting years ago.
He was thirteen years my senior, an Amherst College scholar, a brilliant writer, and his salt-and-pepper hair made his presence insatiable.
Two years passed, enduring brief and intermittent meetings. And then, he emailed me.
Ian expressed he wanted to meet me out for coffee, he needed to speak to me. His email was short and to the point, making his message seem all the more urgent. The next day, we meet at a small, quintessential bookstore turned coffee house.
As I sipped my coffee, the impossible, the unbelievable, the never-happens-to-me happened to me. This man, whom I have been intoxicated with for the past two years by mere hair and wit, announced he was ending his unsuccessful marriage of ten years to feel alive again, feel companionship again, feel romance again – because he had met me.
This was the impossible, the unbelievable, the never-happens-to-me because up until this point, we had never dated, never had unscrupulous, secret encounters (not counting the many in my mind). We had been friends. That’s it.
Six years and one hell of a romance later, nothing makes you feel more like a toaster, than being told he was leaving for another woman.
As kinetic as our meeting was, I was in denial of the looming end.
Destiny is not always fate, but fate is often destiny.
Yes, the impossible, the unbelievable, the never-happens-to-me happened to me
with a man I was intoxicated with by mere hair and wit for years previous,
however, I denied the fact intoxication inevitably leads to a long, slow death by poisoning of the soul.
His once insatiable presence is now mere memory.
Our brief and intermittent meetings turned long, romantic weekends reading in bed, are now gone.