We met in the Irish pub that I frequented and where he was employed. It was a week before St. Patrick’s Day and I was amazed that I had never seen him for the past year I had gone. He caught my attention when I heard a voice from across the bar, singing to the jukebox, one of my favorite tunes. I glance over and he glanced back. The next thing I knew, he was seated next to me. At first I couldn’t tell if he was gay or straight, honestly. Our conversation included education—he was a theater major (clue perhaps?), the typical waiter/actor you usually find out in Hollywood. Only, this was the East Coast, and a pastime of, I learned, was watching his favorite sports teams play to victory, chugging beer and nuts with his male friends. I was so confused. I figured at the very least, I would have a new gay best friend. At the most, a new love interest.
A week later, on St. Patrick’s Day, I found out the answer as we layed in my bed after an arousing romp. And that’s when it all began. I had a new friend with benefits. At the time, I was busy finishing my education and getting my foot in the door to my career. This arrangement had worked out just fine for me, given my schedule, as I’m sure it did for him. A friend of mine had once asked him if he felt anything more for me, replying that he knew I had other commitments, and that the timing wasn’t right for anything more. I graduated a few short months later and I suddenly had more free time then I knew what to do with. After years of constantly being on the go and committed to work and school, I realized that I was ready for something more. Only, he wasn’t.
By summer I had fell in love. I remember the exact moment when I knew. We had just finished our usual weekend routines and as we lay in bed, he looked up at me with the most adorable puppy dog eyes and kissed my shoulder with the softest, most intimate touch. My heart belonged to him from that moment on.
Through our conversations I knew that he had gone through a breakup, although I was never really clear on how long ago that had taken place. It hadn’t seemed too recent. He made it clear that he wasn’t looking for anything serious, that he just wanted to “be free to do his own thing” and not be tied down. I respected his wishes and remained just a friend. In the months that went by, falling more and more in love, I tried to tell him my true feelings on several occasions. My attempts were always followed by refusals. He “didn’t want to hear that stuff” or I “was scaring him.” Looking back, I see now how much I held back. I held back on being my true self for fear of saying or doing something he couldn’t and didn’t want to deal with and would result in walking away from what we had. I needed him. I loved him. And I never told him.
As my life began to get hectic again, I felt him slipping away. It was when I was already going through one of the roughest patches of my life that I found out the heartbreaking news. He had a girlfriend. Without even having the decency to tell me himself, I found out through other resources. The moment I saw the evidence, my heart had stopped, like it had just cracked into pieces, causing my palpitation. After recollecting myself, I confronted him about the recent news and he had confirmed my worst fear. He wanted to remain friends, but I told him that was impossible, seeing the man I loved be with someone else. I had finally told him, a little too late.
