Last Monday, as I was airing my cell phone deletion vitriol, I got a voicemail from the someone I've entered and deleted many times over.
Randomness? Serendipity? Accio Dementor? I dunno.
He was going to be in town for a meeting today, and considering coming to DC Monday afternoon. And would I be available to hang out in the afternoon? Or do dinner? Or both? Yes.
And I knew, as I walked up and said hello yesterday afternoon, that it was going to be the kind of evening that makes me ache. No, actually, I knew it before I got there. The kind of time we can have together where the banter is so quick and sharp, the conversation about life and family so deep and sincere, and the attraction palpable.
We have this weird history. We dated for a couple months and broke up. This was two years ago. And then he moved to New York. I could say I don't know why we keep in touch, but there's a particular connection that you have with very few people that is very hard to sever.
In many ways it's surprising that we're still in each other's lives. We do not have friends in common; we have few, if any, common interests. We've basically formed a friendship of sorts over two years of meeting up every several months for a dinner, a drink, a last-minute coffee.
What we do have is a profound understanding of where the other person comes from, and a ridiculously intense connection. It's not just the red hots, although that kind of breathless sparkle is hard to pass up.
In the past year I've called him a couple times in crisis, totally out of the blue, not because he is my closest person, but because he was exactly who I needed to talk to. Because he knows how things are, and where I'm coming from. And he's so cynical about the world, and sugar coats nothing.
We will never be together again; I know this for a fact. And yet, I'm unwilling to delete him from my life. And in fact, there are moments, completely irrational moments, where I want him more in it. Much more in it.
As we were having dinner last night, I got a couple texts from guy friends, enquiring about the state of Azkaban.
And the truth is, sometimes I'm tempted to walk inside and pull the door firmly behind me. Sometimes it's utterly intoxicating.