Somehow, two weeks’ time has passed since I saw Dave at DaVinci’s. When it happened, and after I had a day or two to decompress and get some perspective, I promised myself I’d blog about it straightaway. And then one day became another, and I got on a plane and flew to England, and now I’m looking at the calendar and realizing that two weeks have passed and I’ve barely thought about it or him for days.
For a long time, a few months shy of two years, I’ve thought of Dave as my soulmate, as someone who was close to being, if not actually, The One. I should say that I don’t really believe in the concept of “The One,” at least not as classically rendered. I refuse to believe that there’s only one person out there with whom I could make an honest go of love and sharing my life. But I do believe that there’s someone out there with whom I will do that stuff, and I choose to think about that anonymous person as My One. I’ve believed, for so much of the last two years, that that person was Dave, that he’d eventually wake up, realize I’m awesome, and come back, begging me to take him back and give him another chance.
A few times, over the last several months, I’ve felt like that day was nigh. He has reached out to me a few times, wanting us to get together and try to reignite the incredible, all-consuming spark that we felt for a short time. Each time, plans fell through, and each time they did, he disappeared for a time… this last time, now, for several months.
And then, while out getting pizza with my two favorite Pell boys, Dave and his date waltzed back into my world and sat — the nerve! the fucking, fucking nerve! — within arm’s reach of our table. From the second he walked through that door, I felt his presence. I still can’t quite explain how I knew it was him; I was sitting with the front door only just in my peripheral vision, so if I saw him walk in, I certainly didn’t have time to register it. Then they disappeared from view as they approached the area to wait for a table, and I stopped talking, mid-word, as I waited for him to come back into view. Derik knew something was up, asked me what was happening, and then Dave +1 were there, and it was clearly him, and I was frozen, immobile, in shock. Derik knew it was him; “is that him?” — he didn’t even have to provide an antecedent. We both knew who “him” was, and yes, that was definitely him.
Do you know what surprised me most of all? Out of the whole experience of seeing him again, there in three dimensions, all blonde hair, coy smile, quiet demeanor? What surprised me more than anything else was how *little* I felt for him. I didn’t have the visceral pull towards him that I always expected would appear the second I once again laid eyes on him. I didn’t feel the crush of hurt or disappointment or melancholy. Instead, I just felt shock. Hell, I’m still shocked. But there is no emotion, neither positive nor negative, that lies behind the shock. It’s just shock. I cannot believe I saw him again, and I cannot believe he was with another woman. End of story.
Honestly, this is probably the best part of it all… that I don’t feel anything more than shock. I’ve spent so much of the last two years wanting closure, wanting to feel I could move on without the inevitable what ifs or wondering when he’ll wise up to what he’s lost. Seeing him again like that, like two ships passing in the night but unwilling to even acknowledge the other? It was the perfect kind of closure. No great apologies, no gesticulating, no hurt feelings. Maybe he didn’t see me; maybe he didn’t recognize me. God knows I’ve changed a lot since we last saw one another. But the whole experience, that whole 5-minute intersection, gave me the peace and the ability to move forward without wondering about him anymore. I’m done with Dave Harris, and I feel great peace about it.