Dazed and Confused

Whenever I’m caught in the middle of a predicament like this, or whenever I really needed some alone time; time to think and sort out my thoughts, I used to go to the gym. I mean, I pay for it every 2 weeks so might as well use it. This particular gym, more specifically the classes it runs, was the place I went to after Vegas and I ended our engagement – it kept me moving when my world fell apart and gave me a sense of purpose, enough to get me out of bed and to work. And now, 3 years later, I am a fully fledged addict. I’ve met many of my friends and acquaintances through the gym, and I’ve brought along and addicted many of my friends to the exercise classes and ambiance of the gym-going world. Basically, it was home away from the hospital.

However with the arrival of The American… I’m finding it difficult to go. Since the last time we spoke, conveniently at the gym, it seems as if every single word that rolls out of his mouth makes it so hard for me to step inside a once familiar and welcoming environment - like entering your childhood home after it's been sold and remodeled by perfect strangers. A part of you knows that it is the same building; the same structure, the same memories; but a part of you knows that something is missing.

Let me explain; last night I saw The American - saw, not spoke - briefly in between my classes. I had left for the evening and spent a little time meandering around the mall until I realized that I had left my necklace somewhere in the change room. Now this particular necklace, although picked out by Philippe and purchased by my mother, has significant sentimental value to me. It is a teardrop moonstone and both the shape and particular stone is very difficult to find; it truly is one of a kind. The problem is I had managed to avoid speaking to The American that evening, only because I was still in shock and awe to his very existence – and the fact that I had spoken to Vegas not 2 hours ago about my impending visit. Perhaps I felt guilty, or nervous, or both, however the outcome was still the same: I didn’t know what to say or how to act. But knowing that my necklace had mere hours to sit before someone with a keen eye and fabulous taste in jewellery decided to make it their own I had no other choice but to go back. So with a deep breath and cautious step, I re-entered my gym to retrieve my necklace.

The American was sitting at a table outside of the yoga studio – which just so happens to be right beside the entrance to the ladies locker room. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him watch me walk down the stairs, so an all-out avoidance tactic was completely out of the question. He was surprised to see me back – he didn’t expect me to return, although I instantaneously clarified that it was for my necklace. I asked him why he was seemingly waiting, as he was neither jumping rope nor lifting weights, and he said that he was going to dinner with my instructor friend after yoga. He asked if I would stay for a chat after retrieving my necklace, and under the impression that he was waiting for my friend, I agreed to sit with him for the remainder of the class.

I wish I hadn’t.

The American started the conversation by asking me how my day was. Fine, I thought, as small talk between strangers that is usually a good place to start. He began to drop hints as to what he actually does as a job – not that I can explain what he does. (I’m not being coy. Honestly I have no idea what he does). He mentioned that, at 31 and in the service since 19, he was beginning to get the urge to settle down as so many of his colleagues were doing. The work he does is dangerous, at least from the bits and pieces he’s told me, and as much as it is his ‘honour’ to serve his country, if he found the right woman he would stop. He would give up the service, the one thing he loved in the world for a woman… And apparently that woman is me.

I turned away at that point and took a deep and audible breath. After meeting some men in the military I could somewhat understand his eagerness to remove himself from the dangers of service and the anonymity of his existence. I can only guess that living an extraordinary life for so long, the urge of normalcy when presented is too much to dismiss so quickly. However it was still rash; I mean, The American had just just met me, and now he was willing to give up his career and life for a girl he scarcely knows? To me it just didn’t make any sense: I mean, what would he do? And more importantly, and I had to ask this question, what makes him think I want that?

To that he responded “Picture this” and as I closed my eyes The American started to tell me a story… about how he'd take care of me from the second I walked in the door after a long day at work. How I’d walk in the door, tired beyond belief, and drop my purse to the floor, but before it even touched the ground he would catch and carry it, and me, and bring me to the living room. On the way I’d see the dinner table – perfectly laid out for a meal he’s prepared; The American would remove my shoes and socks and proceed to rub my feet as I talk about my day. Knowing that I was hungry but exhausted he would give me a strawberry smoothie to satisfy me before carrying and putting me in a milk bath to relax away the tension in my body. After dinner we’d then go for a walk before going to bed, only for him to wake up before me to prepare my breakfast and coffee and have it ready for me to go. He finished the story, or I guess I should say fairy tale, by proclaiming that he would do that for me every single day.

At this point I can barely open my eyes in fear that at any moment tears would begin to fall… so instead with my eyes closed I asked him “Won’t you get tired of it?”. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had boyfriends in the past who would make me dinner and breakfast and sit with me and talk about my day – but that usually ends once the honeymoon phase is over and the reality of fights and priorities seep into the time once occupied by romance. Also it was those very same boyfriends who seemed to only do those things for me as a way to ‘bank’ favours back in return, or hold it against me when I was unwilling to give in to their demands. Perhaps I am extra cynical after my ordeal with Philippe, but when it comes to relationships I’d rather have nothing if something is demanded in return. When I give to the one I love – no matter what – I don’t ever expect anything in return. But every man I’ve been with, I guess with the exception of Vegas, had an ulterior motive to giving me something, be it gifts, dinner, or otherwise… so I learned to live with nothing to avoid having a previous deed or favour given to me held over my head.

The American, however, proved me wrong. “No” he said, shaking his head while looking at me with sad eyes, not out of pity, but true sadness. “You never get tired of treating the one you love right.”

As I sat there in silence he continued to speak – “Listen Carrie; I know you just got back with this guy and you haven’t even been with him for a second, so I won’t come between you two. It’s just that… as my grandfather said, you will think that you are so cool, but then along comes that one woman who will make your body shake and your soul nervous… and you do that to me. But it’s like that song, ‘Hey Lover’. I’m not going to do anything… I’ll let you be – but I’ll be waiting. If he doesn’t treat you right, give me the chance to show you how good it could be.”

The class ended right on time. My instructor friend stepped out of the room, surprised to see me and The American there. After helping me with my coat and chatting with some friends, all three of us together exited the gym. My friend invited me to grab a bite afterwards, but I shook my head no, still unable to speak – my mind still processing what I had heard and imagined courtesy of The American. So I watched the two of them walk to the food court as I climbed the escalator I shook my head in wonder, moving in slow motion towards the bridge to walk home, asking myself if this was indeed my reality.

And then in my pocket I felt a vibration. Startled out of my dreams I reached into the pocket of my pink coat to retrieve my now loudly-ringing phone, wondering who could be calling me so late in the evening.

It was then when the tears finally fell from my eyes, for the person who was calling me was Vegas.