Does the heart ever really close?
I needed to see him just one last time to know for sure.
I wasn’t sure what to expect. I could barely believe that I was going to see him again. I had changed. I’m sure he had changed. I mean, we hadn’t seen each other in forever.
Maybe it’d be awkward. Maybe the conversation wouldn’t flow. Maybe it’d be a mistake.
Should I really be going to see him again?
I met him in Argentina two years ago. It was two weeks in to my year around the world. So, naturally, I was at the most popular dance club in the small city of Cordoba. My friends and I bounced to the strobe lights and beat drops, throwing back ‘Fernet y Colas’ and gawking at the beautiful Argentinians on stage.
That’s when he found me.
He extended his hand as an invitation, and twirled me as soon as I accepted. Hip-hop blared from the speakers behind us, but instead of the LA bump-n-grind I was used to, he held my hands between us, stepped to the beat and took the lead.
As we danced Salsa to Rihanna, I got a good look at his kind eyes — the kind of eyes that have what I like to call ‘happiness scars.’ Healthy tan. Dark hair. Charming teeth. Chiseled abs. He was entirely too attractive for me — way out of my league. Yet, he seemed just as infatuated with me as I was with him.
I woke up the next morning, still slightly drunk, sifting for memories of the night before — I had blacked out.
Did I dream that we agreed to meet up again?
My text messages confirmed the reality — he was picking me up to go hiking in the mountains…in 30 minutes.
I washed the club’s cigarette smell from my hair in a quick shower, threw down a glass of water, and rushed out of my apartment — hair still wet.
He was waiting for me in his car, but seemed more pleased to see me than I thought he’d be…15 minutes in a parked car couldn’t have been fun. Nevertheless, he smiled, kissed my cheek, and told me we were going to a little cultural town on the lake instead of the mountains since it was already late afternoon.
Why was I so trusting of this foreign stranger I only just met a few hours ago?
I didn’t have wifi or cell service, no one knew where I was going, and I didn’t speak a lick of Spanish. Yet, I felt very comfortable…we had that “I feel like I’ve known you forever” vibe.
We wandered the streets, sipped on maté, laughed at crazy gift shop knick-knacks, and held hands by the lake.
Conversation flowed seamlessly from stories about our families to hobbies, and all about our travel adventures…which brought up my world travel plans.
Which, brought up my departure.
When I casually told him I’d be leaving in two weeks, he surprisingly said,
“Ok, I want to spend as much time with you as I can before you leave.”
I guess I expected him to not want to see me again since this wasn’t going to lead to anything more — it couldn’t…I was leaving in two weeks.
But, to my delight, we hung out again that week, enjoying each other’s company as if there was no expiration date.
And then again.
And then again, texting each other, every hour of every day in between.
But then, I had to leave.
Both of us refusing to let go of this unexpected connection, we decided to see each other again in my next city. Although it’d take 10 hours on a bus one-way, he was going to come visit me in Buenos Aires.
A few weeks later, his bus arrived. I walked towards him as he grew in view, and couldn’t help a smile. We hugged, kissed, ate choripan at the corner spot, talked about goals and dreams, laughed til we couldn’t breathe…it was as if we had never parted. I was lost in his presence; consumed by his being.
But then, I had to leave again.
I wrapped my arms around him, he held me tight — one hand holding my head, the other one holding my heart.
My bus was going to leave in 30 minutes. This time, it would take me to Bolivia, 28 hours away — not a likely return trip for month 3 of my year. I kissed him through tears.
I never felt this strongly about a person before. Had I grown to love him? But doesn’t love take time? Then why was I so sad about leaving him?
And then, I left with a promise to see him again soon.
“I miss you’s” littered every text conversation in the month that followed. I missed him almost every day until it hurt. When the push and pull of distance and desire became too painful, I started to push him away.
He called me out on it, but I was traveling around the world and really wanted to be fully present for all of the once in a lifetime experiences. And he understood.
But still, the texts kept coming. The “I miss you’s” dwindled, but the jokes kept being funny. The “I can’t wait to see you again’s” disappeared, but the life updates kept happening.
Month by month, my travels took me further and further away, to the other side of the world. And the idea of ever seeing him again gradually became a distant fantasy. I figured distance and time would gradually dilute our connection to nothing more than a memory.
Finally, my planned year was over and I could visit him…if I wanted. But I wasn’t done traveling yet.
Still considering the possibility, when a Facebook friendsiversary reminder popped up, I sent it to him with a casual message…just to see where he was at in life (after all, a lot can happen in a year),
“Hey look, we’ve been friends for a year!”
To which he responded,
“We’ll never be friends.”
Ouch.
“We’ll always be lovers.”
And I lost it.
I looked into plane tickets and created idealistic half-plans to visit Cordoba.
But after another year of once-in-a-while update texts and failed attempts to meet up somewhere in the world, it needed to end. I decided that I wouldn’t go back to Argentina and that I’d never see him again — and that was okay.
I planted myself in the U.S., traded my suitcase of life belongings for an apartment, and tried to forget about him.
Until…
“I’m coming to America for work.”
I looked at the message in disbelief. My heart shot up to my throat and my head started buzzing.
Was it possible that I’d see him again?
But wait…he didn’t say anything about seeing me or visiting…
Reluctant to be blunt, I still had to ask.
He replied,
“Yes, of course I want to see you.”
And then it occurred to me that maybe…
“Aren’t you dating someone?”
Half expecting a “yes,” but hoping for a “no,” I stared at the white rounded box on my phone…
“Actually, yes I am.”
My heart shattered into a million pieces.
My original decision to not see him again was made final.
“Well, I’m sad that I won’t get to see you, but I want to be respectful of your relationship and your girlfriend.”
He assured me that he wanted to be respectful and that’s why he told me that he had a girlfriend instead of lying about it. He always was one of the most respectful men I had ever met.
But did I want to see him if it wouldn’t be to continue a love story? Would I still enjoy his company sans romance?…
“Okay, I’ll come visit.”
This visit would be different, though.
A 5-hour flight later, and it was actually happening…I was about to see him after two years.
Excited. Nervous. Happy. Unsure.
I walked up to the car waiting across the street and tapped on the window, motioning for him to get out for a proper greeting.
We hugged, bridging the divide that time and space had created. I couldn’t believe he was really here, and I was here, and we were here.
I pulled away and paused to look at him. Time had weathered him, aged him a bit. Patches of white peppered his 5 o’clock shadow and sides of his hair. But, he had the same smile. The same kindness in his eyes. Everything was familiar, just as it was two years ago. But it was not the same.
We explored a little cultural town in California. It was funny to be on the other side of things — this was his first time in the U.S.
He asked abruptly,
“Does it feel like it’s been two years?”
I looked at him.
“No, I feel like I just saw you last week.”
He nodded.
“Yeah, me too.”
The walls echoed memories of two lovers’ past. But we had to respect the product of time and space.
Our connection was still there, but it was different.
We got food and talked about everything and nothing, simply content with each other’s company.
15 hours flew by like 15 minutes.
And once again, time was relentless in its reminder of life’s fleeting moments.
We stood in front of each other, in a different country at a different time, under different circumstances, but with the same understanding.
I hesitated…
“So… I guess this is goodbye forever?”
He sighed…
“Yeah, I guess this is goodbye forever.”
For one last time, we hugged each other tight. This time, with no promises to see each other again. Complete acceptance of the moment in time we shared, acknowledgement of our connection, and the follow-through of a promise made in a different time and place.
Promise fulfilled, I could now accept that I had loved him. And that love was mine to keep. Now, I could appreciate it, let it be, and move on.
The first time I hugged him goodbye, I cried. I was sad because I wanted to hold on to him and couldn’t wait to see him again. The last time I hugged him goodbye, I cried. But not tears of sadness — rather, tears of love, of acceptance, and of finally letting go.
