Lovin's for fools

I asked the ether, fate, the air, luck, anything that would listen, for a man to keep me company. “All I want,” I told the wall, “is man taller than me. Dark hair, dark eyes, a sense of humour, good taste in music and must like a drink. Well a few drinks. I just want a heavy drinker really.” And fate gave me Richard. He was EXACTLY all of those things. And his name doesn’t rhyme with anything. Perfect.
So we met in a dark dingy bar. I was wearing a ginger beard, you were dressed as a sailor. We had fun. We had vodka. We had Jagermeister. We had champagne. We had absinthe. I had a hangover. And we remade Jaws. Aaaaarrrrr shark! But I wasn’t sure if you liked me. I gave you a peck on the cheek and got nothing back.
So we both like vodka. How about we go to a vodka bar? A vodka bar made of ice. The bar was made of ice, the tables are made of ice, the chairs are made of ice, the glasses are made of ice. Its all ice. Except the vodka. So Richard and an over-zealous barman poured another 8-9 shots down my throat. Its time to leave. I’m a bit fuzzy. We have conversation. I’m not sure what about but it ends up with a lot of kissing. And very nice kissing too.
Date three: not really a date as we had both already arranged to go to the same festival weeks ago with our friends. I get there (late of course) and he’s wasted. Hmph. Pretty soon I’m wasted too and we have the best time ever. It rains so of course we snuggle up together. He kisses me again. Its so lovely. We agree all the shit bands are shit and all the good bands are in fact amazing. He has a perfect taste in music. He has beautiful eyes that always look a little bit sad. But he always smiles at me.
Date four: an acoustic night. I am almost on time. Richard looks ill. Is he ill? Or just unhappy I don’t know. We see an acoustic singer with an aocustic guitar and groan to ourselves slightly. Initially; it turns out he stopped my heart beating. “Go on love her, love her forever. I won’t tell her I told you to… lovin’s for fools, lovin’s for fools.” I wish those words were about me. I look at Richard and I notice he has melted too. Those sad eyes are weeping, but I doubt its for me. Not the most exicting date in the world. Emotive.
A week later: I get us free tickets to a television recording of a comedy show. We’re restricted to free nights out now cos we’re both so poor. And sober. After weeks of heavy drinking we both need to give our livers a rest. I was late, of course. We only just make it into the studio on time. Richard is trying not to show it but I can see he’s a bit annoyed. At the end of the night he asks “so did we have fun sober?” why yes. We did. “see? That’s another thing I’ve got going for me.” Ahhhh so you are trying to impress me. I like.
Next time: feels like I’m moving more into girlfriend territory. It’s the most uninspiring date going. We’re both skint and we’re both house hunting. I’m invited to sit in a pub in Bethnal Green waiting for Richard to look at house. The twist is we’ve both decided to have a sober night. It only takes him fifteen minutes, which was a blessed relief. But in that time I’ve had a pint of Guinness. I feel like I’ve been let into his real life now. House hunting, sobreity, talking about work. He tells me about the death of his father. And his ex. Actually he talks about her a lot. We head to Brick Lane and sit on the pavement with cans of cider and he puts his arm round me and its all just perfect.
I promised to cook for Richard. We’ve never really eaten together. Well, we never really eat. Just drink. So I go to a whole world of effort to make sushi and bake cakes. This is the first time he’s been to my house. This is the first time he’ll stay over. Fingers crossed. This is the first chance I really have to ask him if we can move this on. I want to be more than just your date. I want to be your girlfriend. Except… I have noticed you talk about yourself. You talk about your ex. You talk about your family arguments and you’ve only ever asked me “want a drink?” That is a bloody good question, ask it any time. Well, I’m excited. We meet at the train station. No kiss hello today. I’m worried about the rice. Richard wants to drink in the sun while it still shines. I just want to talk to him. In the park he talks about his ex, a fight with his brother and the loss of his dad. I know why your eyes are sad but I don’t want to. I pretend they’re not. You make hurtful quips and you don’t even realise they hurt. I have nothing to say. I can’t think of anything that won’t betray my hurt.
Back at mine you ask if I’ve stopped sulking. Sulking? You’re insensitive. I can’t say that. I don’t want you to walk away. I just like you so much. So much more than you like me. An uneven yoke will never plough a straight line. I know this, but I don’t want to. Those big round eyes bore into me as you make another hurtful quip. “Do you like anything about me?” I ask. I had to. This isn’t the night I planned. I see you visibly shrink and quietly say “yeah, I like you”. I start wittering. “I need some reassurance you fancy me even a little bit”, “I want to move this on” “I just want to know if you feel the same.” You’re so defensive. Am I that unfair? Is it wrong to ask? You give nothing back. “Isn’t it too early for all this?” you say. Yes, it is. I’m not ready to settle down and see you every day and let you rule my life. But I don’t like the way every time I see you I fear its going to be the last. Of course I can’t say this. I can’t say anything. I don’t know what I’m saying but every time I open my mouth it’s the wrong thing. I’m such a bad therapist. I work in communication and I still can’t say the right things. I thought we had kissed and made up. We defintiely kissed. A lot. Kissing is easier than talking. But on the doorstep I ask “will I see you over the weekend?” “I dunno,” you say because ‘no’ is too difficult. Its fine I understand. “Its too much pressure. I don’t know what I want”. That means you do, you just don’t know if you should say it.
That’s it. I got what I asked for. I got my perfect man and I fucked it up and I don’t even know how. He didn’t speak to me for days. In the end I had to ask. Again. I wrote what I thought had happened. I wrote I pushed him and I didn’t mean to, I just wanted clarity. We don’t have to change the way things are as long as I know they are still there. He wrote back. His last girlfriend was bipolar and I am exactly the same. I am insecure and irrational, and what? Needy? Too much too soon? Well, Richard, I am sorry your dad died. I’m sorry your ex-girlfriend was too difficult for you. I’m sorry you feel you wasted your life with her. You didn’t. And I’m not her. I’m not irrational or insecure. I knew you didn’t want me, not how I wanted you. I’m sorry this is too soon for you. Not that I am pushing you. You’re just not ready. I cannot be your stepping stone to hover on until your life begins again. I’m not a magic sponge to suck up all your pain at half time. I’m just a person. A normal person, not a bipolar person, a normal person who wanted to be loved. All of this is fine. We were unevenly yoked, it cannot be. I have moved on.