DC Boy and I met in August 2007 on a plane home from Puerto Rico. We were row mates. His blue eyes mixed well with my Bloody Mary(s) and the tranquil ocean seas between San Juan and Miami. We exchanged business cards and I thought that was that.
A few weeks later I received an email and we've been emailing daily, sometimes hourly, ever since. Until last week, anyway.
Last week was a winner. Started out with what I thought was a broken washing machine. That ended up being a backed up sewer pipe. While trying to fix that, the garage door broke, the heater went out and I had a complete and utter chick breakdown. Hysterical sobs, snot, the whole nine yards. I was damn sexy! DC Boy was there telling me all would be well.
And just when I thought the week from hell was over, some 17-year-old decided to turn in front of me at an an intersection. The airbag hit my face, the seat belt ratcheted against my sternum and the crock pot in the back seat broke into smithereens. DC Boy hasn't told me all would be well; he doesn't know about the wreck.
Two hours after the adrenaline rush of the car wreck ended, an email came over from someone purporting to be DC Boy's wife. Stop contacting her husband and thank god her daughter, 9, didn't see the email that was hanging out on the printer.
What? A wife? A daughter? But I had a green light! And my car was going to be paid off in 5 months!
DC Boy had mentioned an ex-wife; he called her a psycho who cheated on him when he was deployed for Desert Storm. He mentioned a divorce; said he had no kids. For almost 4 years he's stuck to his guns: travel for work all the time, Eric his friend, strip clubs, Marriott hotels, baseball, golf, watches, a sister and troubled-niece, Mom and Dad. Tell me good-night, blondie. Never wife and daughter.
True, there was always a reason why we haven't seen each other in 2 of those 4 years: work, delayed flights, too tired...and I bought it all. Even when I cried myself to sleep knowing he was just across the river. "There's no way," I would defend him to my friends who insisted he was married or gay. "It was just bad timing." "The traffic was insane." "He got called away."
I still don't know if he's married; I have to assume he is. Or for how long he's been married; I have to assume the whole time. Or why he emailed me all the time, every night, almost daily for 4 years. Once I received the email Friday -- cc'ed to his two personal email accounts -- DC Boy has been silent. Even with a plea to tell me what was up.
I do believe, now, unfortunately, that silence speaks much louder than words. In this instance, at least.
What a poetic end to a shitty week. Four years of having a car and a friend I enjoyed. Both gone in an instant.
Good-bye DC Boy. I absolutely adored you.
A few weeks later I received an email and we've been emailing daily, sometimes hourly, ever since. Until last week, anyway.
Last week was a winner. Started out with what I thought was a broken washing machine. That ended up being a backed up sewer pipe. While trying to fix that, the garage door broke, the heater went out and I had a complete and utter chick breakdown. Hysterical sobs, snot, the whole nine yards. I was damn sexy! DC Boy was there telling me all would be well.
And just when I thought the week from hell was over, some 17-year-old decided to turn in front of me at an an intersection. The airbag hit my face, the seat belt ratcheted against my sternum and the crock pot in the back seat broke into smithereens. DC Boy hasn't told me all would be well; he doesn't know about the wreck.
Two hours after the adrenaline rush of the car wreck ended, an email came over from someone purporting to be DC Boy's wife. Stop contacting her husband and thank god her daughter, 9, didn't see the email that was hanging out on the printer.
What? A wife? A daughter? But I had a green light! And my car was going to be paid off in 5 months!
DC Boy had mentioned an ex-wife; he called her a psycho who cheated on him when he was deployed for Desert Storm. He mentioned a divorce; said he had no kids. For almost 4 years he's stuck to his guns: travel for work all the time, Eric his friend, strip clubs, Marriott hotels, baseball, golf, watches, a sister and troubled-niece, Mom and Dad. Tell me good-night, blondie. Never wife and daughter.
True, there was always a reason why we haven't seen each other in 2 of those 4 years: work, delayed flights, too tired...and I bought it all. Even when I cried myself to sleep knowing he was just across the river. "There's no way," I would defend him to my friends who insisted he was married or gay. "It was just bad timing." "The traffic was insane." "He got called away."
I still don't know if he's married; I have to assume he is. Or for how long he's been married; I have to assume the whole time. Or why he emailed me all the time, every night, almost daily for 4 years. Once I received the email Friday -- cc'ed to his two personal email accounts -- DC Boy has been silent. Even with a plea to tell me what was up.
I do believe, now, unfortunately, that silence speaks much louder than words. In this instance, at least.
What a poetic end to a shitty week. Four years of having a car and a friend I enjoyed. Both gone in an instant.
Good-bye DC Boy. I absolutely adored you.
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I have no words. Except:
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Holy shit, girl. On so many levels.
*MAJOR HUGS* isn't even enough.
Sigh.
I hope by now the pain from the effed up week has subsided.
Why does life throw us such effed up crap?