The Fourteen Years War - 1993 - Volume I

1993 dawned bright and clear. Frankly, I don’t know how it dawned, but having celebrated AZ’s birthday in December and receiving my first and only Christmas card from him, it appeared as though things were going to be starting out okay. 1993 is both fuzzy and deathly clear. In January and the beginning of February, I don’t remember a whole lot. I know that sometime in the 92-93 segue, I had heard AZ talking on the radio about some ex-girlfriend and it got my back up. (Ya’ll know what “got my back up” means, right? Like a cat or a porcupine? Yeah? Okay.) I mentioned it to him and he asked, “Why do you care?” I said, “Because it’s mean.” He said, “Well, you’ve never been my girlfriend, so I wasn’t talking about you.” *Pause* “Why haven’t we ever dated?” *Pause* “Don’t know.” Then came the inevitable question of, “If you have a girlfriend and I have a boyfriend, then what are we doing here?” And then the inevitable snark, “Well, you must not be very happy with him if you’re here with me.” And the retort snark, “Well, you can’t be very happy with her if you’re here with me either.” Talk about talking around something. Then came the incident about the address book, which I blogged about but will put the pertinent part here. We were laying in the bed. He was on his back and I was curled up next to him since its always arctic cold when we sleep (whether together or separately) and I was just drifting off when he ran his hand up my back and he said, "Hey." I raised my head and looked at him but he didn't look at me. "Know what I did the other day?" "No, what?" "I went through my address book and I erased people right out of my life." That sent a chill right up my spine. The finality of his words. "Oh." "But when I got your name, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make myself erase you," and then he looked at me and I saw anger and pain in his eyes, and then they softened. I don't remember what I said, but I do know I probably kissed him and ran my hand down his chest. Then I would have turned over and he would have pulled me flush against him, draping his left arm over my waist, our hands intertwined and tucked between my breasts as we slept. Sometime after that, we hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks and he called me, so I went to see him. Now, AZ was just not one for coming out with emotional things and to hear him say things sometimes takes me full off guard (like last night when he was pissy with me because I had made a flyby of the shop and didn’t spend anytime with him - that man... *sigh*) but that day, we were laying in bed, and he said, “I missed you.” I hate to even write these words out. I hate it. God, but I fucked that up and royally. Fuck. My response was a light-hearted, “Are you on drugs?” Yeah. Smooth. Wonder he even speaks to me, huh? Ever want to snatch your words back onto your mouth? There was no recovery from that, even when I realized, he actually meant it and it meant a lot for him to say it. Again, it would have helped had I known a little bit more about him. However, not a great moment. Guess who wouldn’t speak to me for a while? Yeah.