Two

Recent news reports are declaring that studies are showing that when people enter serious relationships they lose exactly two friends.

Bill and I went to lunch today for the first time in a long time. After a chatting about this, that, and nothing, I mentioned it to him. "Yeah," he said, "well, in my case, you were it."

"'Were,'" I replied. "Past tense." We paused sadly for a moment. Then I went on to tell him that I really hope he's happy and that's what matters. Because, honestly, it's true. I do hope he's happy, and, for him, that's what matters. As we made our way upstairs I told him that I was done with dating, with relationships, with the whole letting people in bit. Because, frankly, when I let people in, I get hurt; and I'm done with getting hurt. Naturally, he tried to talk me out of it. "You know," I told him, "and, I don't even give a rat's ass if that means I end up alone. I'm already alone, it's not like it's changing the status quo or anything." I'm not sure he believes me.

To be honest, I've been there, and I like it better that way. I don't get hurt, and it's easier. Ironically, he's the one who opened me up, who asked me to expose myself and become vulnerable, to need people. And, when I did that's when he hurt me. I don't know how many times he told me that I should need people, and when I needed him, he wasn't there. So, I'm done. I'm done wasting time. I'm done getting hurt. I'm just done.

Later, over im, I asked him if he missed me, or if he was too busy to miss me. He said he misses me, "but it's a matter of time."

I replied, "No, it's a matter of priority. But, it is what it is." He said that he sees me just as much as he sees his other friends. "That's fine. But, selfishly, I don't want to be one of your 'other friends.' Because, frankly, going from best friend to someone you occasionally send lame-ass jokes to, sucks." I also told him that I needed to know where things are with us, because I need to box some things up and put them on the shelf. He protested that he didn't know why I do that. I told him that I need know that when I call someone, they'll be there for me. And if not, then I need to know that, too. "You know how I am with friendships. I hold on to them fiercely, until it's time put them aside, then I do." I know not everyone gets it, but that's the way I am. Friendships have a time and a place, and seldom do they transcend those bounds. I was certain this one would, and it kills me that I was wrong. So, into the emotional box, and on the shelf it goes. And, with that shelving, back come the fortified walls and some additional buffeting, just in case.

Now, how do I get my house key back from him without coming off like a complete jerk?

Trepidation

After the near miss on Tuesday I knew I had to get on my bike soon. Wednesday was out because I was going kayaking after work (roll practice—I nearly did it!) so I had to drive. Which left this morning.

The weather was Seattle, rainy off and on, but I've ridden in worse. Deciding to ride was the easy part. I geared up and just as I was about to toss my leg over the bike to make my way to work I noticed that my heart was pounding. I was slightly hesitant and a bit trepidatious. A few minutes into the ride, however, and I was good to go.

The ride home was just as easy.

Thank goodness.

Near Death, no, Literally

I bike. I love it. It's something I do for exercise, for transportation, and for me.

Today I was biking for transportation. I had an appointment 4 or 5 miles from home and afterward was riding home. The route takes me down a hill which is steep enough that, without pedaling, one can easily hit 30 mph (which, it works out, is the speed limit). As I was flying down hill a pickup truck pulled out in front of me, the driver hadn't given me much notice, but I knew he was there. Then, without warning, he slowed, pulled into the bike lane and started making a right hand turn into me.

Panicked, I started calling out "Hey! HEY! HEY!!!! No! NO! NOOOO!!!" while braking, trying to find a way to swerve around him—which, unfortunately, meant turning right, hopefully squeezing between his truck and the curb, and then not hitting any of the parked cars on the street I was turning on to. When the realization that impact was unavoidable hit me, I screamed. The anticipatory scream of someone who knows they're very likely not going to make another sound. He slammed on his brakes and I made it around him, and safely onto the street still on my bike and unscathed. I came to a complete stop to regroup, and the drive pulled beside me. I was scared and angry and relieved and, most importantly, alive.

"I'm so sorry!" he began, "that was totally my fault! I didn't see you. Thank you for screaming, that's the reason I stopped!" A few apologies and my reply of "yeah, me too!" and he went on his way.

Me, I collapsed in a heap at the side of road and bawled. I was too shaken to ride my bike and just needed a hug. I text to Bill (who lives right around the corner from my near demise) proved fruitless—he was at the fair. I paced. I cried. I shook. And, once it was readily apparent that my only way home was to get back on my bike and pedal, I did. Tears streaming down my face the whole way.

There are no words to fully capture how I feel. The closest I can get is that I'm in need desperate of physical human contact and acutely aware of my own mortality.