I took Stoker to the airport this morning. His flight left at 7:10 am, and we were an hour and half away. So, we left at 4:30 am. He texted me at 9 am to tell me that they were on the ground in L.A. and they’d get their luggage and whatnot and then he’d call me. That was an hour and a half ago. Why hasn’t he called?
I feel like a nutcase. I can’t take this. All I can think about is that he’s forgotten me. He’s in sunshiney Los Angeles, city of angels, surrounded by beautiful surfer girls in a very Beach Boys-esque way, and I’m the frumpy mountain girl from boring, cold Utah. He probably met some hot girl in the airport. He probably got off the plane and it was like in the movies when you go to Hawaii, with the gorgeous natives draping a lei around your neck saying, “Aloha,” with a dazzling, straight-toothed smile and dark, exotic skin. California airports have probably started welcoming tourists like that now, and the girl with the lei probably fell in love with his adorable, boyish face and asked for his phone number and how long he’ll be staying. She’ll probably take him to the beach in his spare time and teach him how to surf. Then they’ll sit on a blanket in the dusk with a little fire going (do they allow fires on beaches? I don’t know) and she’ll kiss him. What a bitch.
Okay. Stoker just called me. He didn’t say anything about a girl with flowers at the gate.
But I’m still a nutcase. Last night I told him that this trip will be the final test to determine whether or not I’ll marry him. If we pass this, great. I have my doubts. I’m already crazy and he’s only been gone four hours. I kind of thought I’d be fine. Kind of thought I’d be so busy I’d hardly notice. He lives an hour and half away from me anyway. We only see each other once during the week and on the weekends. I guess it’s not the distance that’s killing me. It’s the idea of where he is and who he’s with.
I have these ideals about love—that it’s not putting chains on someone, but finding freedom in the ability to trust someone and have their support. I have a friend, an older woman whose children are raised and she’s remarried. I really like how her relationship looks from the outside. It’s redundant to say that I don’t know what it’s like from the inside. But anyway, they get along very well. She’s a poet and her husband is always there to support her. He’s a carpenter and owns a dry-wall company—they’re from completely opposite worlds, in a way. Yet they love and support each other. They’re not trying to shape the other, make them into what they think they should be. I like that. I want that for myself. I want to trust Stoker and have him trust me. I want to grow because he supports my desires and dreams and I want to do that for him. It’s just difficult to feel like maybe he’ll forget me. Maybe he’ll be having so much fun and he won’t miss me and calling me will be a burden for him.
So I think that and then I push him away.
I have this other friend who’s been married for less than a year. She’s a year or two younger than me (I’m 26) and she just found out her husband has been living this whole lie, this other life. They’re getting divorced, and not because that’s what she wants. I think she’d work it out with him. It’s pretty nasty, what’s happening to her and I worry about my own life. I’m a worrier, I guess. I think in some ways I’m better off staying single. I’m not such a nutcase when I’m single. I don’t have to feel lonely and achy about being left behind, like I feel right now. I don’t have to worry about naked women on the covers of magazines at the 7-Eleven, or the fake-breasted (or not fake, you decide) woman with the thong hanging out walking past me on the street. I don’t have to worry about the gap I sometimes feel between me (a woman), and men. Sometimes I think it’d be easier to be a lesbian, except I’d be forcing that.
Anyway, I’m sure I can overcome the desire to push Stoker away, just because he’s in California and I’m not. Tonight I’ll run a million miles at the gym and I’ll exhaust myself. I’ll get enough sleep and eat healthily, take care of myself. I’ll get my hair trimmed. I’ll tie up all the loose ends that are flapping in my face all the time and distracting me. It’ll be like in the movies. Stupid movies, they’re always ruining my life.