The saga of the pan

It was back in late October when I made that meal. He had been longing for something home cooked, particularly once he found out I could do a decent mexican meal. It was a great night...long ago and far away.

And some of my kitchenware remained full of leftovers in his fridge. When I saw him a few weeks later, I forgot to grabbed them before he took me home. Little did I realize that was to be the last time I saw him...that Sunday when we had strolled Pearl Harbor together.

We've kept in fairly regular contact since December when he committed himself to his girlfriend. Part of me thought she was part of his difficulty in returning my stuff to me. Not so much his need to explain to her anything. Returning an ex's, if that was indeed what I was perceived to be, stuff is an innocent enough act. Hell, it should have solidified the the new relationship all the more...removing all remnants of the other woman. No I suspect he truly was busy, between working an evening shift and spending weekends with her it became difficult for our paths to cross. But he refused to mail them. He scoffed at my offer to buy new stuff, assuring me he would deliver. In person.

So the kitchenware remained in his possession. Like an Edgar Allen Poe tale, the pendulum swinging slowly back and forth, the heart beating behind cupboard doors. The raven shrieking "Nevermore!" A constant reminder that at some point he would have to see me again. Face me. Return my stuff. Even after I'd offered him an out. He maybe more of a masochist than I. Or perhaps just as terrified of letting go completely.

A few days after his emotionally wrought text, after I found out about his break with his girlfriend (unfortunately through the wonders of social networking instead of from his own lips), he suddenly offered to bring the stuff by. Logistics were figured out. He'd have to bring them to me at work. Smart move. It's safe. Public. And really the only option we had without burdening the other's schedule. It felt like we were arranging visitation rights for our children. All over a bit of kitchenware.

Last weekend we had chatted again...mostly through the impersonal method of texting. He had suddenly opened up...feeling old at 25 due to heartache. The divorce, the recent break-up. His frustrations at not knowing what he wanted and afraid of not being enough, being too confused and hurt to really open himself up to anyone else. Damaged goods. Wanting to hide how wounded he was. Having a fresh start so to speak. But terrified of starting from scratch yet again. And in our shared venting...we were on the same page. And neither of us did anything about it. Except talk and vent. The conversation ended around 2am. That was the night my nightmare struck me...prompting my current bout of insomnia. And I awoke to the a text on my phone...and the conversation resumed.

So enter our mindsets upon our fated meeting a week later. He called before he left to make sure it was still okay for him to stop by my work. Aye. He'd be there in half an hour. So I sat in the little park behind the cathedral watching HPD ticket the cars whose meters had run out. The block were I work is always littered with HPD. Most of their vehicles are parked along this stretch of green while they patrol downtown on foot. The navy uniforms, bright badge, low slung holster. Modern day gunslingers. The order of which the gentleman about to met me was a part of.

The familiar jeep rounded the corner as my phone rang. He was calling to tell me what my eyes already knew. I felt sick to my stomach with nerves. Why? I really do not know. It had been three months since I had actually seen him. I felt like an awkward teenager all over again.

He parked, got out of the car and immediately commented on his poor parking job...slightly embarrassed because driving is after all a big part of his job. He had disarmed me and calmed my nerves at just the sight of his smile. All awkwardness vanished.

And he hugged me.

Pulled in tight. Close. Familiar smells. His quiet whispered words. It's good to see you again.

He handed over the kitchenware...their cloistered saga ended. And we stood alongside his jeep. Small talk. As if long lost friends. Picking up right were we left off. Both suffering from insomnia. Both working small gigs for the pro-bowl. Both busy. How my shows were going. How his hunt for a decent part-time college was going. And both overly concerned for how the other was doing. Deep creases furrowed his brow as he asked again if I was okay. Honestly, it comes and goes. And I really had missed him.

Visitation was over. He had to leave to get ready for his shift. Another hug. I had forgotten how much that form of physical contact meant. How good it felt to be momentarily drawn close to another person.

There are not enough hugs going around these days...