Utopia

Saturday , August 27, 2011-11:56 pm
"Utopia".

The word comes from the Greek: οὐ ("not") and τόπος ("place").

The word "Utopia" has two meanings, the first being "the PERFECT place," and the second being "the idealized place that DOES NOT EXIST."

One year ago, almost to the day, I happily decided I was going to stop wanting things from our relationship that Jay could not (yet) give me.

I made the decision to gratefully accept him for the person he was, to see our relationship as "the perfect place", rather than wishing for an idealized version, "the place that didn't exist (yet) ".

It was partly Zen and part cowardice. It would have been a breech of tact, as well as desperate or salacious , to give him an ultimatum about our sexual hiatus. When I actually talked to him about it, it never seemed as eloquent as it sounded when I was rehearsing it in my mind.

If tried to take inspiration from the psychologists of the world and employ "I" language. As in, "I really need X, I really like it when you do Y, ....by the way , I was hoping you could stick your Z in my O,"

WRONG! ALL WRONG!!

I eventually told him I was not going to try to convince him anymore. I decided to accept it and wait.

A year ago I would have given up almost anything to have a weekend like we routinely have now. I now have everything I ever wished for last year. To hear him tell me every day that he loves me, to have him call me every day, to spend the night together every weekend, rather than as a very rare exception; this was my definition of Utopia.

SIX MONTHS AGO

"Utopia" didn't prevent us from descending to a brief-but-painful spiral into separation.

During that time, I would have a reoccurring dream, that he was holding my hand as we walked on a narrow path on a precarious steep hill. He suddenly let his fingers slip away , causing me to fall from a very high place. Sometimes in the dream I was powerless to save myself. Sometimes I broke my fall.

Just when I had made the mistake of thinking he would always be with me.
Just when I decided that it was safe to grant my existence to someone else;s feelings, God worked in mysterious, ineffective and breathtakingly cruel ways.

He had always made me feel so loved , he had given me so much .It was a twist of fate, that 6 months ago, he wanted to take it all back . There was one thing that he could never take back:

A piece of him would stay with me always. I would keep all the beautiful memories forever. Even though they were followed by a difficult time, those little patches of perfection would always stay with me. I'd face the consequences of loving a man who held onto his dark illusions tighter than he held onto me. I'd hope he hadn't thrown out all our memories. I know I would never.

When we were connected I was happier than I have ever been, and when disconnected, he hurt me more than anyone or anything in the world. He is a wonderful, positive, caring, person.
He is beautiful inside and out. If I could ever make him understand how much
I love him and how I can never give up on him ,he would be that man all the time.

"One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful." - Freud

I held on to the idea that if people believe in something as incredulous as the infinity of the universe , and the Holy Trinity, then why shouldn't we believe something so simple as the belief of us being happy again? Our love and our future had been so big, so bright that I couldn't possibly give up easily. I was the one with the biggest dreams and I was not going to let this problem take that away from me.

I don't want to ever forget what it feels like to be afraid of losing him.
Utopia is not about sex, staying overnight and calling the next day. Utopia is now defined as "freedom from fear"

"LAST FRIDAY NIGHT...."

We spent the better part of last weekend together, as we usually do.

Last weekend something was vastly different. I went into a parallel universe. I ended up going over to his house, impromptu, after a party. It was the first time I had been there. My words were too fast, too forced, as I walked into "The Couple's" house , a little nervously .

I tried to be cool. I didn't want to sound like Ellie May Clampet and exclaim too loudly , with too much exuberance, what a bee-u-tiful place it was, (as if I , myself lived in a trailer park.)

As he showed me the house, I took it in with voyeuristic interest. I was hoping not to be subjected to seeing any framed photographs of "The Couple" on a mantle, any lacquered wall plaques with their old wedding invitation , "His-and Hers matching anything , or anything else reminiscent of "The Couple". In theory an object of memorabilia was just a still and cold memory of a relationship that has faded to obscurity , but I didn't want to have to look at it.

I ignored the ubiquitous refrain from my superego whispering "Appalling! Truly, it is a disgrace that you are here in "The Couple's" home!"

We walked past "The Couple's" former marital bedroom. He showed me the room where he now slept... alone . He seemed happy and content with this not -entirely-plausible-arrangement. That meant I was too.

We sat across from each other on "The Couple's" white leather couch and we had a drink. I peered across him over the rim of "The Couple's" fluted martini glass.

It was a hot humid night. The cool glass was dripping with beads of moisture. I was careful not to leave a ring of condensate on "The Couple's" glass table. That would be considered bad manners. Instead I politely formed a series of wet circles on "The Couple's" Architectural digest , Vanity Fair and Town and Country. The perfectly splayed fan pattern of magazines now had three wet intersecting circles on them. It was a metaphorical Venn diagram of our colliding worlds.

His , Mine, and "The Couple's".

After a while, the effect of the drinks set in, and I deconstructed my unease about being there, and for a just a moment I forgot where we were. It was just the two of us ,as if we belonged there together. Everything was right in the moment.

" ~~ FAST TIMES AT SUGAR HIGH ~~ "
We talked and held hands. I put one of "The Couple's" chocolates into my mouth and licked the melted chocolate off my fingertips. I had another. I enjoyed a Klondike bar. I finished my drink. I had another. I ate a Starbuck's Cake Pop. I didn't stop at one.

My bloodstream awash in Pyruvic acid.

Hypoglycemia. It is the obvious explanation as to what transformed me from a good girl into an ill-mannered rebel.

It gets even better--or worse.

It was late. I knew I should leave. He asked me if I wanted to come to his room for a little while and give him a backrub. I knew that was a terrible idea. I knew where that was going to end up. "Sure! What a good idea" I said cheerily.

In a horrendous breach of good manners and common decency, I ignored the nagging feeling of indecorum. I took my clothes off and let them fall to "The Couple's" hardwood floor... We got into his bed. It was comforting and erotic, holding each other in the dark in the radiant warmth of each others bodies.

My conscience reminded me what an interloper I was , sleeping on HER linen sheets , HER goose down comforter pulled over me, my head resting on the cool side of HER down pillow.
(I obliterated the rest of the sentence ..." with her husband" ... Those three little words hung in the air , unspoken, over sounds of crickets on a summer night .)

My subliminal thoughts didn't care where we were, just that I was so happy,
and that he could be so good to me ,
and how lucky I was that he could belong to me.

But of course he doesn't really belong to me.
Its OK.
It makes it sweeter knowing that it is pure affinity , pure intent, rather than obligation , that he is with me.

Being in love with him has had a profound effect on me. I'm a better person , a happier person than I was before I loved him. He affected me in ways I'll always value.
Nothing could ever compare to that .
Nothing.

My mind was quiet after that and I fell asleep.
And the night ran deeper.

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