Cafe Hitch-hike


Driving through fog

Well that was easy. I told Huck I couldn't do long distance anymore; I thought I could, but I couldn't. I said he seemed to have a very complicated life, and I couldn't see how that what work with what we had. Finally, I said I felt like he always told me half the story. It never gave me what I needed to know what was really going on with him or between us when we were apart; it was like driving through fog.

The conversation happened before he went to work. At least he was less likely to be fully distracted, stoned, or drunk. I could hear in his voice that he was not. I wasn't sure what to expect, but Huck didn't put up a fight. He seemed to accept it right away. He said it was a beautiful and happy experience, and that he'd never think badly of me or what we had. He acknowledged that he was a complicated person. He said all of this at the end, and again in a text message. I said simple but since thanks with a blessing (hands in prayer, Namaste, or Shalom).

I didn't feel the need to repeat how I felt about him or the relationship because I told him multiple times; I was expressive and transparent about my intentions and how I felt throughout the relationship. I didn't tell Huck I saw his ex-wife's pre-divorce painting and could relate to what she expressed even though I wasn't married to him for 12 years. I didn't say I knew about his 2 sons; they had his dark eyes and hair with their mother's tan skin tone, and kids looked alike. I only remarked that he had a complicated life, an easy allusion to what I knew but he never told me. I never told him I loved him but I wanted to say it and at the right time. I left some details unsaid, but I always told him how I really felt and what he meant to me.

Driving through fog, huh? That expression came out spontaneously. It brought me back to the image I had about the feeling of falling for someone: I'm chuted into a Formula One vehicle that's mostly on autopilot and all I can really do is attempt to steer and pray I don't crash and burn.

After talking about this to my mentor and feeling terrified by that image, I was led to use Danica Patrick as my muse. Instead of being injected into the racecar, I don the fire-retardant race suit (Go Daddy advertisement and all), hold my helmet, and strut my ass to the pit and vehicle. This ain't my first race, so I'm gonna use what I know to navigate that fucker and make it to the finish line. Watch for flags, follow the rules of the road, and be ready for head games and maneuvers from motherfuckers who want to take me out on the track. I'll have to swerve, avoid mishaps, and drive skillfully and with courage, of course. If I don't crash, I'm doing great. Hell, maybe I'd win or at least drive a damn good race. (It's not lost on me that Danica didn't drive F1, but she can still drive!)

Yeah, I went with what I knew from previous relationships and what I sensed. It certainly was one beautiful and dreamy time, and this was not the first of such relationships. We conjured each other for sure and plunged into each other's worlds for a while only to emerge not the same before we went under. We brought nice things to each other and probably out from within. Maybe we both got to see what it was we really wanted, like a sneak preview, and something to hope for that could be integrated into our lives but fully and for real someday.

downwind | upstream