Waiting...

There's this fantasy I have: I'm attending a family dinner--dressed well, clean, potentially in heels and earrings--and the doorbell rings.

I've just been chatting with someone about my recent relationship, a lovely look of melancholy on my face, describing briefly how it ended merely a day or two ago. At the ring, I set down my wineglass and offer to see who could possibly be at the door. Heels click across the wood floor, laughter echoes behind me from the kitchen, and a small door lamp illuminates the familiar figure beyond the beveled leaded glass of the sidelight window. My breath catches in my throat and my chest tightens as I turn the handle and pull back the door.

There he is.

The now-ex stands with white knuckles around a bouquet of flowers and bags under his agape and waiting eyes. His free arm hangs at his side as though failing hope for another embrace drags it down. He hasn't fallen apart by any means, but something meaningful has happened to him.

I ask, "What are you doing here?"

"Here," he hands me the flowers, "These are for you."

"McClimber, what are you doing here?" I ask him again. He looks away, searching for words and courage.

I come outside and close the door behind me. The noises from my family inside cease, and night's twinkling silence takes its place. "Tess," he starts, "I've... I've been thinking... Listen, I don't want to go back to life without you in it."

I'm finally beginning to accept that he is in fact here, asking if I'll let him care for me again.

"I messed up," he continues, "I was scared. I don't want to be scared anymore." My eyes water as a wave of unimagined relief washes over me.

He came back.

This fantasy of mine, colorfully articulated for dramatic effect, is filled with details that change for every new failed relationship, but remains essentially the same nonetheless. The basic premise is always: girl gets left, girl begins to let go, boy comes back like the frickin' prodigal boyfriend.

I've become strong enough, finally, to give things a chance. I fight for a try--a real try--to create and nurture a connection between myself and another person. This is why I've been in so many damn relationships this year. The problem has been I am the only one willing to try. So, inevitably, I am left because the other has given up.

There was a time when I would have criticized this fantasy and called it a childish and disgustingly inappropriate desire, but these days I understand it with more compassion.

When I was a little girl my father left my mother for another woman. He left us. Sure he was there Wednesday nights and every other weekend, but he left. Do I blame my father or hold any of this against him? Hell no. Why would I? I love my life. BUT the fact still remains--one of the first things I learned as a little girl was how a man leaves.

Oh I know I'm getting all dramatic on you, but hear me out.

The thing is I developed this fantasy that one day one of those men who made a false promise would come back and hand over his white flag. I'm waiting for the guy who will stick around and grant me a sense of temporary permanence.

McClimber was my most recent relationship, and it was a flimsy one at best. We started at a sprint and burned out in a similar fashion without beginning to know each other. But there was potential. There were these little things he did that put him a couple notches above the rest--particularly Alejandro.

One night several weeks ago I felt the oncoming rush of senseless feminine emotional insanity. McClimber could tell I was angry, but didn't seem up for a conversation about it. More than anything he was frustrated, and even more frustrated that I couldn't talk to him about it. When he left me in the dark bedroom to go play video games with his roommates for a couple hours, my feelings of cheapness and vulnerability sky-rocketed. Suddenly the tears flowed like the Mississippi as I sobbed to my girlfriend about the indifference McClimber afforded me in the face of metaphoric and literal nakedness. Didn't he understand I was worth the effort he wasn't showing?

As I wiped my face with a roll of toilet paper, I thought this was surely the end. This was the same way Alejandro ended, and these were the same feelings. This was the point where my efforts weren't going to make any damn difference. This was when I had to face that McClimber didn't really give a shit.

Suddenly, in the middle of a loud irrational complaint, the door opened. From the light of the hallway he entered the room, closed the door behind him, and sat on the bed behind me. He wrapped his arms around me.

"I don't know what to do. I wish there was something I could do to make it better."

"You came back," I said in relieved disbelief.

And that was all I needed.

A few weeks later McClimber and I did in fact stop seeing each other, but that night was the first and last time I cried during our relationship. That simple, unexpected reassurance was in fact all I needed.

When we were officially said and done though, the doorbell didn't ring. No one came to the door with flowers and said "I need you." No one asked me to care for him again. No one said, "Hey Tess, I was scared--let's give it another try."

I said, "We're not seeing each other," and McClimber said "Let's take a step back." Then he ran for the door to never return.

That's the reality.

But is the fantasy so bad?

As long as I know it's a fantasy, and not the reality, I can understand something about myself I didn't before: I'm waiting to love someone.

McClimber wasn't the guy--and love was never part of the equation--but I guess it's possible someone will stick around. Someone will be ready. For some reason I am waiting for the man who will let me, simply, love him.

I can wait for that. It doesn't rule my life or consume my thoughts--it's merely a gentle breeze blowing through the back of my mind. So I'll keep on going and enjoying every day. There are always those men a girl can just have "fun" with too.

But when it comes to love, I'll be waiting...

Because life isn't about the ones that go, but about the ones that come back.