His name is Kevin and he is my best friend, my confidante, my joy, my hero.
But because this is real life and not a Hollywood movie (but certainly a West Hollywood one), we're married to different people. Am I that much of a gay man clichˇ that I can pine and wonder about my best friend and the endless romantic possibilities safely in my imagination without ever having to commit to my real feelings?
After all, it's so much safer here. I can listen to the Springsteen on the radio and imagine cradling his blonde hair in the curve of my chest, I can ponder the angle of his jaw cupped in my palm as our smiles move to a kiss, and I can see us years from now sitting beside each other, reading the morning paper over coffee, laugh lines on either side of our eyes.
And even though we have both expressed our feelings for each other, we resemble a more 90's version of that Aretha Franklin song I call ON THE ON-RAMP OF THE FREEWAY OF LOVE.
Thank God I have AAA and car insurance but that don't mean shit once you're in THAT car pool lane.
Why am I so petrified of commitment? Oh, yes, I've been married. Almost six years which in hetero time means about fifteen. Now I'm not going to dog my ex because relationships take two people and I know I was no Mother Theresa-- more like Carol Brady on acid. We tried individual therapy, couple therapy, trial separation, separate vacations, family vacations, pool parties, drugs, booze, and lots of television. Never in my life had I worked so hard to make something so square fit into a perfect circle. And he was an angel-- absolutely beautiful, patient, and loving to a fault. The problem? He was also unmotivated, fearful, unassertive, insecure, and naive. But nevertheless, I thought it was just a phase and that soon he would be knocking down walls and helping us achieve that perfect gay salmon-and-teal picket fence lifestyle of two buff boys living in WeHo.
Looking back, I have to laugh. Ironically enough, our therapist was on one of those West Hollywood streets named after a single name: Kevin Street. Oh sure, I can bore with you other "coincidences" that clearly mean Kevin and I are meant to be together in some bizarre Celestine Prophesy meets La Cage Aux Folles kind of way. But to put it simply, I could be walking down the street and a pay phone would ring and it would be Kevin calling to just say "hi."
God, what kind of cruel torture is this? Meanwhile, now I'm dating a handful of guys, seeing one guy kind of steady, and am pondering my future of turning 35 this year without Kevin. Believe me, he'll be there I'm sure-- staring at me as we're surrounded by friends as I blow out more candles on my cake-- pondering the future possibility that maybe THIS birth year we'll get together and it'll be so much more. Or, maybe New Year's Eve we'll get together...
Or maybe the FOLLOWING year, or perhaps the year AFTER THAT, or...
This thing is going to do what it's going to do. Hell, he's married to wonderful man right now and I refuse to play that game. I am a gentleman. No, for us to explore this, or us to know-- we'll have to embark on the journey together.
Will it be a rectangle trying to fit into triangle? My instinct tells me it's the one jigsaw puzzle piece I've been searching for my entire life. From there, the rest of the puzzle will simply build on itself. Oh sure, we'll have to work at it the rest of our lives, but that's okay. Imagine all those cups of coffee we'll share, all those edges touching each other, and all that laughter as it becomes larger and larger until in the end it's a perfect puzzle completed and realized...
Our own.