By mid-week, I had departure times worked out and I�d found a copilot for the journey home. Nick was heading down to DC to attend a memorial day camping trip, so he happily agreed to ride along.
Driving alone stinks. It can be done, but it still stinks.
Gretchen cleared her entire weekend schedule so she could budget the maximum allowable time for me. We would be inseparable for almost four solid days, which would actually mark the longest single period of time we�ve ever spent together.
In my mind, passion�s proof lies in time. Anyone can feel intense infatuation when their partner is never around, but sustaining the emotion is the real challenge. I suspected that this weekend would either prove our compatibility, or rain napalm on our parade.
As with everything, truth always lies between.
Gretchen tells me that her mother is intent on having me over for dinner with the family. Of course, both the parents have already met me, but I suppose this time it�s in a different context. This one is more the �so you�re the one who�s been defiling my daughter� kind of meeting.
�So, sleeping together in sin, eh? Could you pass the salad?� says Mom.
�Watch where you stick that thing, son, or I�ll have your nuts.� says Pops, �Speaking of which, would you like more meatballs?�
Thoughts like these give me the famed �meeting the parents� anxiety, but I quickly remind myself that I�m not a scumbag. That alone puts me miles ahead of some of Gretchen�s previous suitors. The rest, as far as I can tell, are either lowlifes or dirtballs, with the occasional hapless jerk scattered between.
I tell her that I�d be free any night that was good for her folks, and the matter is settled until later. I make a make a mental note to resist the urge to pack a shirt and tie.
By Thursday, I�d quite literally stepped in Dexter�s shit one too many times, and I was not even slightly saddened to be receiving an extended break from him.
Despite all the time we�d been spending together, the little gifts of dog shit left under my desk had grown tiresome. He did not seem to understand the concept of walking, every time I took him out he gleefully held his bladder until we returned to the apartment, at which time he would look up at me, smile, and piss himself dry.
Patience is one of my strongest virtues, but I am far from Herculean in temper control. A few more days of insolence would surely be met by a schizophrenic break on my part, and it would be a shame to see his little hot dog body flailing all the way down to the street below.
Either way, he�d be making a mess outside the apartment for a change.
Gladly, my roommate was intent on finding him a home over the weekend. Her patience is paltry compared to mine, and so Dexter�s very survival demanded a change of venue.
Nick arrived at my house around four in the afternoon, and after I�d packed up my things, we headed out into rush-hour New York, traveling eagerly towards vacationland. I left Dexter with little fanfare, forgetting that this would probably be the last time I�d ever see him. Normally I�d feel some remorse about that.
As a child, I had to create a rotating schedule so that my stuffed animals got equal time in the bed with me. Between the various puppies, frogs, and other assorted animals (including my terminal sidekicks, Pooh and Samuel), I didn�t want anyone to feel left out. So, I rotated the available positions on a weekly basis to give equal time to all my inanimate friends. Every time I forgot about a particular dog or ostrich, I was wracked with guilt. Painful, authentic guilt.
Unhealthy guilt.
Sometimes that guilt returns in my present life, but with Dexter, I just told myself that he was getting a new home full of new doggy love, and his pea-sized young brain would shortly be forgetting my very existence.
On to bigger and better things, Dexter. You won�t miss me for long.
The highways passed by in a vaguely familiar montage. This is the third time in two weeks that I�m making this drive, and everything�s starting to blur together. Nearly six hours later, I was sitting on a friend�s couch, gobbling down a box of fried chicken while watching a videotape rerun of Celebrity Boxing II.
Both were ultimately unappealing.
I finally got to my house and in my bed at close to midnight, setting a new record of three visits in one month. While I�d like to pretend the allure of sex and companionship was less of a factor, in reality it was almost the only reason for my being here.
The promise of kisses drives ships to war, be it any less for me?
Friday.
Gretchen wouldn�t be free until late at night, so I successfully wasted my time performing endless internet research into all the toys I would never get around to purchasing.
I sat around for hours on end, coveting the soviet-block medium format camera that my eye so richly deserves. I traveled from website to website, educating myself on all the arcane facts and procedures inherent to the sometimes shoddy Ukrainian workmanship.
At close to ten that night, I traveled up to Baltimore and met Gretchen and her best friend, Erin. We sat around on Erin�s porch for a few hours, getting acquainted and sharing stories until well past midnight. Gretchen drank three beers and got incoherently drunk. She had to lay on the porch in efforts to stop the world from spinning.
Apparently, she has a flippant tolerance, ranging from drunk after three beers to functional after half a bottle of vodka.
So much for consistency.
Eventually, I said my goodbyes, and expressed how nice it was to finally meet Erin after hearing so much about her. The feeling seemed pretty mutual, so it was a successful visit in my mind. I�ve buttered up the best friend, now only the parents remain in my quest for total Gretchen domination.
Satisfied, I collected Gretchen in a pitcher, poured her into the passenger seat of my car and drove back to my house.
Later, I sat there in bed cradling her in my arms in amazement at the endlessly transforming nature of existence.
How life can go from the most routine and expected pattern to one of complete uncertainty and confusion. How three months ago I assumed I�d never speak to this girl again, and here we were, sleeping together in my boyhood home. I�d just gotten comfortable with the idea of being alone, and then suddenly I�m...
I�m...a�couple?
There�s no reason to wrap yourself up in the quagmire of relationship dissection when there�s something this lovely in your arms. You can analyze and examine all the angles of concept, searching for clarity until night fades, all the while forgetting the truth of flesh in your arms.
And with that thought, I breathe deep and fall to sleep, comforted in the thought that things couldn�t get more perfect right at this moment...
