"Reckless "
I was following her down the I-10 in the pouring rain. It seemed I was always following her. Seemed I had always been following her.
She was driving her new Acura through the Thanksgiving holiday traffic like an Indy car. More than 75 mph in a thunderstorm. I knew better, but I continued to keep her pace. I chased after her despite my instincts, despite what I knew to be prudent, what I knew to be right.
Reckless I suppose. Nearly 80 mph in the very worst of conditions on a road congested with holiday travelers. In a November downpour. I kept up - until my tires lost contact with the road.
I had met her in the spring at my health club. She walked by me and my world stopped. I was instantly fixated on her. With a glance, I knew I had to be with her. I remember pointing her out to my friend Eric. "See her? I have got to meet her."
I pursued her relentlessly, patiently, passionately. A few conversations at first. An email address. Long talks after working out. She was in the end of a tumultuous relationship. She started rock climbing with me. Just two days after she broke up with her boyfriend, she and I were dating.
She was always aloof, always inside herself. I desperately wanted to join her there. To share her space. And to some extent, she allowed me in - but only for a while. She was never coy or manipulative. She once told me she knew there was a place for me in her life, she just didn't know where. I don't think she was ever able to resolve that. And I continued to chase after that glimmer of hope.
We spent the summer in this strange game of romantic cat and mouse. I'm still not sure what role I played in this game. Sporadic. Awkward. Maybe I was just tired of being single. Maybe I was in love with the idea of being in love. But I kept chasing after her with limited emotional or even physical success.
Officially, I called off the pursuit in September. For all intents and purposes, she had called it off weeks earlier. I told myself I was tired of running after something that clearly I was never going to catch.
Ironically, however, breaking up only pulled me deeper into her life, and the race began again with renewed fervor and intensity. For when we had removed the perceived pressure of romantic involvement, we were free to reveal more of who we actually were. She could finally let me into her world - at least in a way she could control. With this new and clearly more honest involvement, I only wanted her more.
I kept giving her pieces of myself. Pieces of my heart. She awkwardly accepted these gifts not with joy or gratitude, but with trepidation - like she was handed a responsibility she didn't request or desire. I was giving her control of my heart. And a heart is a precious thing, cherished by those who covet it, dreaded by those who don't.
We began spending more time together. She began to trust me. She could laugh with me. She could cry with me. She could share her bed with me. But she couldn't love me. The closer I got, the more distance I put between us. I was falling deeper and deeper in love with her. I was losing more and more of myself, longing for more of what I could not have. And that November, I lost control.
We had spent the Thanksgiving holiday weekend climbing and camping in Joshua Tree National Park. She had fought with her new boyfriend the week prior, and in my pursuit, I was conveniently, predictably, uncontrollably there.
We spent Wednesday together clinging to the rocks in the desert sun and the night clinging to each other in the crisp November air. She left to spend Thanksgiving with her family, and I spent a sleepless night in a tent surrounded by the scent of her, lost in a fog of heartache and denial. On Friday she returned to the park for another day of climbing and another night of emotional recklessness. By Friday night clouds had moved over the desert and Saturday morning the desert was drenched. We hastily packed our muddy gear into the cars and soon were speeding out of the desert toward LA.
I was speeding after a fantasy. And I lost control.
Just prior to the highway 60 interchange, my tires lost contact with the road. My Mitsubishi slid left off the asphalt onto the embankment, the left front fender bouncing off the guardrail. The front tires finally grabbed the pavement, and the rear fender swung inward and slammed into the rail, catapulting my car into a series of three full revolutions across all five lanes of the Westbound I-10.
Spinning across the busy highway, I watched the other cars with remarkable composure. I felt no fear; I was rather numb, actually. I was no longer in control of my car, so accepting my fate, whatever it might be, seemed to be my only real choice. I merely sat and waited for the shattering glass and explosion of the air bag that miraculously never came.
The car came to rest on the far right shoulder of the I-10. I sat there in shock, in silence, devastated by this sudden instant of clarity. Devastated at what I had let become of myself. My car was a mess. My life was a mess. Physically, I was alive, but emotionally I was bleeding in a thousand places by the jagged edges of my own broken heart. For the first time, I was truly aware of those wounds.
I drove to her house, and held onto her for what I knew was the last time.
Desire is a hard thing to live with. It leaves you hollow, hungry. I was happiest when around her, and miserable when I wasn't. But always, I was unsatisfied. When finally confronted with the reality of this unrequited love, the weight of this emotional house of cards I built collapsed in upon itself.
I lost control. I was reckless with my heart, reckless with my life. I was reckless and my desire nearly cost me both.
