Feeling: confused as all hell
Listening to: Do Re Mi
Reading/Watching: --

Saturday night, I was at a goofy little birthday party (it had a Sex & the City theme, so we were all dolled up in dresses and cute shoes), when I received a phone call from an old friend, Sam.

He was hesitant to talk at first, but then told me his girlfriend just dumped him over e-mail. I'd known him since freshman year at St. Moo, and now that he'd graduated with his master degree, she decided to pull the plug. I tried to be supportive and offered to call later or drive over the next day, but he broke down and asked if I could come by that night. So in the name of eight years of friendship, hours of goofing around in the music lobby, years of support and practicing and dreaming and hours of late-night phone calls, I agreed.

I stuck around the party for another hour or so, then excused myself early, grabbed some shorts and a T-shirt from home, and drove to his university out of town. I'd been in such a hurry, I was still wearing my red dress and heels. He met me in the parking lot, hugged me, and we walked to his dorm room, where I ran to the bathroom and hurriedly changed into my t-shirt and shorts. The dress was pretty, but not exactly lounge wear.

He'd calmed down by that time, but we spent a few hours talking and laughing and reminiscing in his dorm room, until I was about to fall over from fatigue. We laid down in the dark and kept talking, just side-by-side, about his girlfriend and my divorce and the big mess we were both in, and suddenly he was trying to kiss me.

I pulled back. "Look, Sam this isn't what I'm here for. I'm getting buried in this divorce, and the last thing you need is to get confused and rebound with someone, especially someone in this fucked-up situation. You're just lonely. You don't want me. You want her. Don't start this."

He agreed. "Yeah, yeah, of course, you're right, sorry..."

We drifted off to sleep, still side by side, comfortable and companionable. I woke up a few hours later, because he was spooning me, holding me tightly in his arms.

With one hand up under my shirt.

I was in shock for a second, thinking maybe it was a mistake, until I felt his hips move behind me and his hands started stroking.

Scrambling away, still half-dazed with sleep, I stammered something like "What are you doing?"

He tried to pull me back. "Shh, shh, it's okay..."

I grabbed my bag, my dress, and realized I'd forgotten to bring proper shoes. "I'll call you later," he said, and I didn't answer. I slipped back on my heels and took off down the hall, getting lost twice in the dorm before I found the parking lot and dove into my car.

I was shaking for the first twenty minutes of the ride home. I called Bork, who (luckily) was not pissed at me for calling so early. He calmed me down, and after talking to him for about fifteen minutes I could drive straight.

Sam tried to call that night, both my cell and my house phone. He sent me a long message on Facebook, apologizing and making excuses. I have not answered.

So apparently almost-divorced is sort of the equivalent of a merry widow. Whatever happened to being the Undateable Teen Nun, for fuck's sake?

In a way, I kind of miss it. At least back then I knew what to expect.

But talking with Bork about it kind of broke the ice between us... which I'm grateful for. We've tried to talk since I moved into my own place, but it's been a little stilted, because of the circumstances. I'm almost happy this happened, if it means we can talk normally again.

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