Buffalo Dave

I met with Lucia the other day, and we talked about what happened with Rich.

We talked about my childhood and tried to make some connection as to why I do this to myself, why I think of myself as so unworthy. It came back to the weight issues again, the way it was the family project, from the time I was 8 or 9, to try to get me to lose weight -- even though I didn't need to.

And again, if my family couldn't accept me the way I was, if they didn't see me as fine as is, how could I? How could I ever?

And so today, as I was driving back from Syracuse, I was thinking more about it. I was suddenly sad -- hormonal, about to ovulate, suddenly mourning the fact that I've given up on finding love -- and it made me think about all of the relationships I've had, and I wondered, beyond my childhood issues, beyond not loving myself as is, did I ever have a normal relationship?

Ten years ago, when I lived in Rochester...10 years ago I had a thing for my friend Dave. More than a thing -- it was a crush of the hugest proportions, and it got bigger every day.

Dave lived in Buffalo, and our friendship was mostly on the phone. And because of that, we got to know each other really well, from the inside out. And because of that, I thought he was amazing. And because of that, I knew that he cared for me, that he valued my opinion, that I was one of his best friends.

For two years this went on. For two years, every time we talked on the phone, as soon as I hung up, I would say "I love you." And for two years, I wondered when he would figure it out. I drove my friends crazy -- "you have to tell him how you feel, or you need to move on."

Two of my co-workers and I had to go to Buffalo for a business thing, and we arranged to meet Dave and some of our mutual friends out that night. Wanda and Julie saw it that night, they saw how I was the one he would lean into and make a private comment to, how his arm hung casually and comfortably around my shoulder, how he was attentive to only me, how he always made sure I had a drink. And so I knew I wasn't crazy, I knew that I was not imagining this connection between us. I had confirmation.

It took me months -- maybe even a half year -- after that to figure out what to do. I lost sleep over him, I had dreams about him, and finally, one night, in the middle of the night, I pulled out a notebook and wrote him a letter.

It was not a rambling diatribe, it only filled one side of a sheet of paper. It wasn't overly gushing or emotional, but it was from my heart. I remember that unbelievably the letter was perfect in one take. Perfect in what I wanted to say, and perfect in that there were no scratched out words, no need to rewrite it. It was exactly what I felt and exactly what I needed him to know. I folded it and put it in an envelope, and mailed it to my friend Ed in Connecticut. Ed would be visiting Dave in two weeks, and he could hand deliver it.

For two weeks, I called Ed almost daily (and sometimes more than once a day), "don't give it to him," "you have to give it to him," until finally the weekend Ed was in Buffalo had arrived, and the fate of the letter was out of my hands.

He gave Dave the letter on Sunday, at the airport as Dave was dropping him off. And then I waited. Two days later, Dave called me at the office. And to his credit, he told me what I didn't want to hear in the only way I would want to hear it. He loved me, as friend; he didn't want to lose me; he appreciated my honesty; he apologized if he had led me on; he didn't want this to change our relationship.

A few months after the letter incident, Ed was back in Buffalo and I went to visit for the weekend. The three of us were out drinking, and Dave was acting as he always did around me. I don't know if it was the beer, the situation, the fact that he didn't know the effect he had on me -- but it was all too much. I literally felt my heart break. My chest hurt and it was hard to breath. I looked at Ed and said, "I need to get out of here."

Dave never knew what happened that night, never knew the tears I cried over him on Ed's shoulder. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was that important to me, even after he told me I would never be more than a friend to him.

And so while it was awkward for awhile, Dave and I have stayed friends. I attended his wedding, and sent presents when his son, and then his twins, were born.

But as I look back now, Dave was the last single man I ever let myself feel anything real for. Since him, the only relationships have been married men: J of Baltimore, Bruce, Chris. Along the way, there have been a string of one-night stands -- some married, some single. But really what was going to come from a hook-up? I'm not that girl who gets a phone call the next day.

And so what does this all have to do with anything? I don't know. All I know is I can't get these things out of my head and wonder if this is why I am the way I am? Is this why I can't open myself up to a single man?

I wasn't good enough for my family, and then the one time I took a risk, I wasn't good enough for. Sure, he cared about me, but I wasn't good enough for him to even try to see if a relationship would work. And it just wasn't worth the risk again. I got nothing more than a broken heart, and from that point on, I've put up a wall. A wall to protect myself from the one thing that I really really want.