After returning from my short visit in Charleston, it’s safe to say that I suffered from a slight bout of depression. But that was to be expected, of course. Besides, I had lived in Charleston for 5 years, knew my way around the town without the assistance of a pocket map, and couldn’t walk down King Street, even in the after-effects of a tropical storm, and not see familiar faces smiling back at me. The same things that prompted me to leave were the same thing that I found myself waxing sentimental about. However, when it was time to go, I was prepared and willing. I missed N*. I couldn’t wait to crack open a bottle of wine and tell him everything about my weekend face to face.

N and I had been dating exclusively for about a month and a half and our relationship seemed to be moving along just fine There was no honeymoon period — things just casually fell into place. We talked pretty much everyday, and I would stay at his apartment a couple nights a week. Though I loved spending time with him, I was careful about giving him his space so he could go fly-fishing, work on his car, go squirrel-hunting, or whatever the hell former eagle scouts chose to do with their time. Like I’ve stated before, though N is successful, kind, and responsible, he’s very much a boy in regard to his hobbies. And as it turns out, he’s very much a boy, period — intimately, romantically, and emotionally.

Shortly after we began dating, N found out that his employer was going to send him to England for 3 months to work with a client during the fall. He was stoked about the prospect, as he had spent a good amount of time overseas before, and I was excited for him. I figured 3 months apart was nothing to worry about if we were committed, and besides, I had never been to England, so him going would be the perfect reason to renew my passport and practice calling cigarettes “fags”.

When I finally got back in town, certain things about N started coming to light – he was becoming harder and harder to get ahold of. He was distant. He wasn’t as affectionate as he used to be.

Now most people would probably be led to believe that he was seeing another girl, but I really don’t think that was the case. Unlike S*, N just didn’t seem like the type to do anything behind my back. And though I’ve been a horrible judge of these situations in the past, I stand by my belief that N was only seeing me and was completely faithful. But something was definitely up.

Last Friday night, I confronted N after a couple of drinks (it was the only way I could work up the nerve.) He had finally returned my call and joined myself and two friends up at the Locust Bar in center city Philadelphia. We stepped outside to have a smoke and I flat out asked what was going on.

It turns out that 3 month trip to England had now turned into a 8 month trip, with him scheduled to leave in less than 2 months. When he told me this, it knocked the breath out of my chest for a moment, but then I gathered my thoughts and said “So what?”

He looked down and simply stated that long distance relationships have never worked for him in the past. Great, I thought, here comes the water works.

“That may be so, but I’m not your past.”

“I know. But I can’t think any other way.”

“What would happen to us if you weren’t going away for 8 months?”

“I’d want us to be together.”

“Then why can’t we have both?”

“I’ve just never had luck with this type of situation.”

“Well, then you’ve already decided how things are going to end. So that’s it.”

And as quickly as that, we were over. I stubbed out my cigarette, wiped away a tear, and headed back to the door of the bar, looking back once to say, “I just wish you had more faith in us.”

I talked to N briefly the next night. He still couldn’t see past the impending trip and I couldn’t spend time with him and pretend everything was okay. I asked him not to call me for awhile, but every time the phone rings my heart jumps a little, and then deflates when I check the screen and realize it’s not him.

There are so many things about the dissolve of our short relationship that make my eyes constantly well up and my heart ache in a clichéd sort of manner. Yes, I really liked him, yes, I saw potential for a long, loving relationship, but it goes beyond that. Firstly, I hate that he showed little emotion. He explained his reasoning for this by referring to himself as a “typical, reserved Anglo-Saxon”, but I wish for the life of me that N didn’t hold his hand so close to his chest. And during our post-break-up conversation, I found out he’s had his heart broken before. Yeah, well, somebody call the WAHmbulance. Christ, who hasn’t had their heart broken? But if that’s what’s going to cause someone to approach relationships with a reserved and cynical eye, then how could anyone be expected to move on?

We all make the huge mistake of letting our past dictate our future, and what does the get us? Nothing! Nada! Zip! It makes us even more miserable than we were before. At some point in life, you have to decide that you’re willing to take a risk and have blind faith that things can and will work out for the best. N is just not at that point. Fortunately, I am.

I just remembered he still has my Mr. Show DVDs. Shit.

*Protecting the innocent — ahh, who am I kidding. No one’s innocent!