A Lesson Learned.

This is, without question, the hardest thing for me to write about. Because it makes me sound so awful. Justifiably.

I was all of just turned 20, living in Albuquerque, and went out one night to a local club to go dancing. I'm not one to hook up at clubs, but I met a guy there, I believe his name was Jason. I don't remember exactly, because he became very much a minor character in this story, but of course I didn't know that at the time. Eventually I left the club with him and his cousin. Jason was from out of town, just here to visit his cousin, Ray. Ray was a bit quieter, and mentioned he was was stationed here with the air force, with a wife back home in another state. The three of us went for breakfast or something, had a great time, laughing, and I left my number with Jason. I didn't expect to hear from him because he didn't live in the area.

Two days later my phone rang and it was Ray. He said he wasn't looking for a date, obviously, but that since he was new to town also, he didn't really know anybody and did I want to catch a movie or something, since we'd had so much fun the other night?

He didn't set off any sleeze alarms when I'd hung out with him, and we HAD had a great time, so I didn't think long before saying sure.

And so began a friendship. I marveled at how by the end of that first night we hung out, after walking around town, that we already felt like old friends.

My grandmother said she wasn't sure of the wisdom of being best friends with a married man far from home. I didn't listen.

I was above that sort of temptation, I thought. Women who became involved with other women's husbands are so sleezy that they're practically a different species from the rest of us, I thought. I was immune, I thought.

Humility, realizing that it would never enter my thick skull, choose instead a punch to the gut. I don't remember a moment of knowing that I now loved him, but I very much remember a moment when I discovered that I already loved him. The realization was so daunting that it was disorienting.

Which is not to excuse, or say that I didn't know what I was doing. When he sat too close, I didn't stiffen or back away. When he leaned in to kiss me, I kissed back. And when he picked me up like I weighed nothing, and walked down the hallway, I whispered nothing but encouragement.

Go ahead, be shocked. I was shocked, even at the time.
Don't bother telling me how wrong it was, I spent a long time punishing myself far more effectively than you could ever hope to.

It would be easy to see Ray as a horrible person here, but I don't. For one, who on earth am I to judge what we both did, and I genuinely believe that Ray no more sought this out than I did.
We tend to label "Cheaters" as such, that there is something fundamentally different about them, that they can be spotted, that they always were cheaters and of course always will be.

Ray called me one day to tell me that he couldn't see me anymore. He said that if he did, he might not go home to his wife at the end of his deployment, and he HAD to go home.
And I knew he was right.
I knew I'd lost from the beginning.

And if his wife ever knew about us, that's what I'd want her to know. I'd lost from the beginning. I'd never have had him legitimately, and the guilt would rob me even of the memories.




I saw Ray once last time, we ran into each other in a resturant. He was with a friend, so there was nothing I could really say except a casual goodbye. Afterwards I went into the bathroom and threw up, my body begging some sort of release from the internal windstorm of emotions. I sat there for awhile on the bathroom floor, shaking and crying.

I have no way of knowing, but I believe with all my heart that Ray returned home at the end of his deployment to his wife, a wiser and more loving husband. I always knew he loved her, in a way that was entirely separate from his love for me. I've often wondered if she would feel the same if she knew. In some strange way, I've always wanted to know her.

I left Albuquerque a few days later, headed to Minnesota, a more human being. I'm not more tolerate of cheating, but I feel more compassion, because I now know that there are no winners in the game. I've learned that it's a slipperly slope, particularly where absense and love (not just lust) are concerned.

I have run the story over in my mind, to attempt to pinpoint the exact moment I went wrong. Was I wrong to be his friend? I suppose there is some logic in saying it was wrong to act on the feelings we had, but if kisses express love, can the paint really be blamed for the picture it paints? It was just an expression of the love, and neither of us asked for that.
Some days I think we made the best of the situation that we could. Which worries me because of how easy on myself that line of thinking is.

So I suppose what I've really learned from it all was to be more forgiving of myself. And by forgiving myself I gain back the self-respect to pursue a better relationship, the knowledge of how to better preserve it, the confidence of knowing exactly how much I can lose and still feel whole, and the simple joy of remembering a drive through the desert listening to old country songs with a man I loved, untainted by self loathing.