The New M.E. Generation











{January 9, 2017}   The Swipe 16 – Sink or swim

The Saturday that I was supposed to go on Bob’s boat finally arrived. After all the times he has been on my side of the world, it was time for me to go to his. Besides, I also wanted to see what it looked like, as it is another important detail to consider when being with someone in any capacity.

He was kind enough to come my way for me to follow him home. I’m glad it happened that way because it was far from where I live and, knowing how I am, I would have most probably gotten lost. And I’m not a happy camper when that happens.

I also wondered how traffic is like during the weekdays, and how he deals with driving to work back and forth all the time. I was surprised the commute hasn’t taken a toll on him.

He lives in a controlled-access neighborhood and his house was the first one you found upon entering the property. The residence is also right next to the pool area.

Bob gave me a tour of his home; the garage was all decked out with two motorcycles all nicely covered and taken care of. (And, no, I didn’t say anything like, ‘can we go for a ride?’, nor did he ask me if I would like to.)

Inside his residence there’s the typical you would find: 3 bedrooms, kitchen, baths, backyard, etc. There wasn’t anything at first glance that raised a red flag with me.

The walkthrough was done rather quickly, as we still had to go buy some food and beverages, get the boat, and then head to the marina.

While at the supermarket he asked me what I felt like eating, to which I said that ‘pretty much anything he went for would be fine with me.’ I know he wanted to please me, but I was raised in that you ate what was served to you, whether at home or not. And I know you don’t want to get complicated while on a boat either.

We settled for one of those value meals so in case there were leftovers, you could still take advantage of them at home later on.

We then went to get his boat at a trailer park not far from his house, which I found to be super convenient. Because he drives a truck, he’s able to tow his boat with ease.

I stayed inside the vehicle while he connected the trailer to the truck. He had told me he does this by himself all the time, but I kept looking back from my seat in case he needed my help. I thought that making myself useful was the least I could do to thank him for his invitation.

We then went to the marina where we had to make a line to put the boat on the water. Once the process started, I made myself useful again by helping him secure it with the ropes on the dock while he parked the car, putting things inside, and later pushing the boat off the dock when ready to go.

Before taking me to a channel he usually goes to, he took me around offshore. It had been a long time since I last saw reefs, the change of colors in the water, making it feel all new to me.

Upon arriving to our destination, I once again got into action by offering my help on anything he might need. The location was shallow and full of boats. It honestly looked like a trailer park or neighborhood on any given day.

As the day progressed, we hanged out on the water and had lunch. Every so often Bob would ask me if I was having fun. I gave him the honest answer, like I did before, that ‘it has been so long since I was last on a boat, that it felt like it has never happened.’ And that, yes, I was enjoying the day.

Honestly, I was. There was no reason for me to feel discontent, as he had done all he could to make this moment enjoyable.

What was circling in my mind was that if these invitations to go boating continue in the future, would I be able to have as much fun as he does?

Maybe not, but good enough for me to want to do it again. I mean, he is the one who is doing all the work to get to the water. And I was analyzing the boating situation as a new one, not based on my past experience.

I won’t deny memories of the other boat crossed my mind of how much I got to dislike it and the one behind the wheel for being so intertwined. I literally went with the flow on anything with both, to the point that Sunny Days were no more for me.

On the other hand, why am I getting so ahead of myself? I should know already how it all goes. It has happened to me before that guys have dropped off the radar without no explanation one day to the next. So why not in this case?

Let’s face it: the fact that we live in separate counties is good enough reason, for whatever is happening between us, to go straight to the bottom of the ocean and end.

His house is here. His boat is here. His children and grandkids live here. His whole life is here.

I may be renting, don’t have kids or any other attachment that holds me where I am (except my job), but I’ve created my own life the same way as he has.

If one of the two had to make the drastic change to make this work would had to be me because I’m the less complicated one, which looks very far away in the horizon.

So what am I supposed to do now?

How about jumping ship and swimming to shore while I still can?

 

 

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I started the new year as quiet as possible, meaning, not thinking about the events that occurred previously, to instead focus how I was to move forward without this friendship.

I had made the decision of not calling or texting him any more; with social media, I stopped following him, but didn’t delete him. I know I should have done both since the goal was not to see or read any posts of him with that bitchy woman.

I think the trashiest post from her came when a huge snowstorm hit the area and she wrote, ‘staying home with my hubby doing playful things with him on bed’. Really? Why don’t you invite your female entourage to witness the act so you get more likes? Please, are you that desperate to get recognition from others?

Worst part was that she kept referring to him as ‘her husband’ and he at times to her as ‘my woman’ when they weren’t even married. Between both of them, they kept thanking the One above for getting back together, for making their love flourish again, blah blah blah. (Excuse me, I need to vomit.)

Spoiler alert: according to Catholicism, if you’re living with an ‘unpure’ woman outside the sacred sacrament of marriage, she’s a concubine (a.k.a., a whore). So spare me all these posts in which you’re wrongly using the Lord’s name in vain to not follow his rules, but yours.

It became annoying the repetitive posts through which they were ‘displaying’ this ‘wonderful’ relationship that had re-flourished, as if nothing from the past ever happened. If there were a ‘poster child’ for “dime de qué presumes y te diré de qué careces” (tell me what you’re bragging about and I’ll tell you what you’re lacking), this would be it.

I was in the process of getting all of this guy out of my existence when in late January I get a message from no other but this guy’s former high school girlfriend. Yep, the same one he briefly asked me about the day after the infamous kiss.

“Hey, Emma, don’t know if you remember me. Sorry for contacting you out of nowhere like this. But, have you heard anything from this guy? I haven’t in a few weeks…” said she.

A few weeks? What? OMG! It all suddenly hit me. She is probably the one this guy referred to as the female from the past that ‘don’t know how she found me in social media, but did’, the one who probably he was texting to that last night we were together.

When I told her that I hadn’t communicated with him since Xmas Eve, as well as to the why of my distancing, and she started telling me her version of the events, I was given a dose of reality that was hard to swallow. For example:

-She knew all along about my existence and was happy that this guy and I were traveling together, etc. She would have been delighted (and approve of) if we had become a couple (“Better you than that bitch”, said she).

-She was the one this guy was with when he traveled by road in his car back and forth between where he was living and his mom’s house (at the same times I visited). His story while traveling that ‘I couldn’t answer your call because I hit an area with no signal’ or ‘I checked in at a motel to rest overnight and fell asleep when you called’ were lies.

-When this guy was hitting on me and trying to ‘have some fun’, he managed to take it up a notch with her. Had he done with me, he would have ‘gotten some’ with 2 women in less than 48 hours.

-She was involved with the moving before he left to the Pacific (which he never told me; he only did of his ‘bro’), plus was the one who helped him with the storage space, tickets, etc., with a credit card of hers. That story that he used his own money was also a lie.

-This guy has gone as far as telling her that not only did he wanted to get back with her, but marry as well, when he was telling me that ‘you and I would make a good team’. So what was he trying to do, play us two (and maybe have the bitch on the side) at the same time, without either part finding out? How far was he willing to take this untelling of the truth?

And the list goes on. The more we exchanged emails that day, the more everything started to fall into place, but not exactly making sense. It was that feeling of ‘why me?’, of ‘why did you do this to me?’, of ‘what have I done to you to deserve this?’

This guy was supposed to be my friend, the main male figure in my life that never did me wrong, the one who always lead my way in anything guy related.

So what am I going to do now? Out with the old, in with the new. “Girl, you’re now my new BFF.”

 

 



It had been a long and enjoyable weekend and still had the second city to get to for the day.

My friend got out of the water, rinsed off, changed clothes and else, while I sat on the car waiting for him when I checked my phone. It was around 3pm.

And, there it was, a missed call from an unidentified caller. Looking at the number, I took a guess it could be no one else but ‘the beach guy’.

I called back, got his voicemail, and left a message.

Great, now this is going to be like the ‘back and forth’ emails that we send to each other at random times.

I had mixed feelings when I heard his voice. On one end I was glad that, after all these years, we would finally get to speak to each other. On the other, I was having a gut feeling life was to repeat itself.

My friend got inside the car and, when I was about to start it, the phone rang again and it was he. The moment of truth had arrived and I was nervous.

We exchanged the usual greetings and small talk before getting down to business.

“I’m 2 hours away from you,” said he. “I could drive down today and stay at a hotel to sleep.”

“The thing is I’m headed to another place now with my friend to have dinner there and then drive all the way back, so I don’t know what time I’ll be back. You should have called me ahead of time. Can you make it tomorrow?” asked I.

“No, I have a lot to do tomorrow, starting with my kids. It’s difficult for me to plan ahead. Also, is that guy your boyfriend?”

I knew this question would come up. “No, he’s not my boyfriend!” said I in an upsetting tone. “I’ve known him since I was 13 and graduated from our school as well.” (Dude, if I invited you to come see me it’s because I have an interest in you.)

I thought to myself, why am I giving this extensive explanation to him? Worst of all, I should have stepped outside my car and taken the call away from my friend. The way I responded to the question was totally wrong.

The conversation got into more of ‘who should done what and when’, or who was responsible for this failed attempt to see each other.

So, I agreed with ‘the beach guy’ that I would call him when I was traveling back from my dinner.

I took the wheel again and tried to concentrate on my driving, but my friend knew I was upset. I didn’t want to talk about it because I was sure his opinion about the other guy just got more negative.

At a certain point I did vent out because I was frustrated yet again at my bad luck with men.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told him about meeting. I feel like a fool for getting my hopes too high like you said,” said I.

“Better now than later,” answered he.

“I know, but nothing happened. I don’t know what to make of it.”

“Don’t think about it. Enjoy your vacation.”

Yes, I should. I’ll figure it out (or not) after my trip ends.



After much back and forth on what to do, it was agreed to do an early dinner and, depending how the night went, continue on to something else.

When my day at work finished, I literally ran home to get ready. First thing in order was to wash my hair and give it a blow dry. After that was time for make-up. Then the first panic attack hit me. What am I wearing?

I stopped the make-up and opened my closet to figure out what to wear. I knew a dress was the way to go, and started looking over one by one, but nothing was doing it for me.

Then I got the second panic attack. He called me. ‘Oh, no; hopefully he’s not calling to tell me he’s on his way.’

“Hey, I’m running behind schedule. I’ll pick you up at 9pm,” said he.

That is good for me in the getting ready part, bad in that I’m already hungry and need to put something in my stomach. Otherwise, food is not going to sit well with me. And don’t even think about drinks; it will make matters worse.

Aargh! This date is bound to be a disaster!



et cetera