What an odd and unexpected evening.
I left work and went to the gym. To my regular class. I critiqued my body. Felt fat, untoned. The comments by one of the trainers here ruled my thoughts. The gym once was a place that always restored my positive body image. Working out and seeing my reflection once quieted any negative dialog that existed in other hours of the day. Yet tonight, I couldn’t shake feeling inadequate. I thought about what else I could do. I work out almost daily. I eat incredibly well, aside from the occasional depressive binge. While the image that stared back at me was anything but fat, I wondered what she really looked like. As if, I lost the ability to see myself. Perhaps, I should ask others if they see me as overweight. I entertained the idea and searched for some other body that resembled mine. A way to avoid the lies a mirror can tell.
After the gym, I was to get a drink and/or a bite to eat with Mr. AB, someone I briefly dated here on the island in my months of initiation. He has been outside my radar for the many months since. The brief conversations we had, informed me that he was in Dominican Republic, New York, Panama, anywhere but here . . .
I ran into him in New York at a crazy St. Barth-esque brunch two weeks ago. I believed he was with his girlfriend. Always polite, I had likened him to a friend. Our dating simply fizzled. No abrupt stop, but perhaps the way dating can dissipate when no one demands an answer and traveling serves as the distracter—the realization that it has cooled and lacked that effortless quality and permanence “the one” should elicit.
So, after our run-in at brunch, he has been in touch. He texted me yesterday upon Fortuno’s win. I suggested a drink and today he reached out. I expected to see him, and talk, mostly about business—for he always loved my understanding of his. Always stated how I am ultra-cool and simpatica (so much so, that I seriously thought he needed new friends.)
We meet. We drive. He reaches for my hand.
We go the most amazing restaurant here. I have been to it twice, yet I only remember my first date with J, the one man here who I feel for and still fall for in PR. I sit in the same seat as I did that evening with J. The evening where I made a conscious decision to sabotage everything with J by sleeping with him. Mr. AB and I talk. He starts again with his ultra-cool statements. How gorgeous I am. He talks about how we made love. How he is so comfortable with me. He holds my hand, kisses me over appetizers. I am amused, curious. He acts as if there was no pause in our dating. As if the five months were but an hour. He talks about how I touched him in the shower. I remember how in awe he was in that moment. His words and awe became worthless with his stopped calls. I not one to chase, refrained. This evening, I listened and I watched. I heard these words and compliments again and couldn’t make sense of it at all.
I refused to go home with him. I tried to figure out why he disappeared. Yet, he stated that I was the one who did. That I had only foot here. My life, my friends, my Facebook??, New York—how odd as I have mostly been in PR . . . And then I realized this is his second comment about Facebook and the initial one five months ago also marked our datings’ digression. I believe the life of me projected on Facebook was one that caused him unease. This sounds insane, but after tonight, I give some credence to this possibility . . . hmmm, can Facebook deter a relationship? And if so, will a man really stop a pursuit based on a Facebook perception?
Regardless, a little foray into a memory, a enchanting, curious evening. Most importantly, as I washed my face, the reflection that pained me 5 hours ago, stared back—she was sexy and beautiful.