7:36 a.m. - 2007-07-12
opportunity revisited
I eventually end up at the same point in all my ruminations about him: Why couldn’t I have met him when he was twenty-two? Which is always followed by the same counterpoint: If you had met, you would have intimidated each other to alienation.
At the time, he was possibly blond, moderately blue eyed and definitely in charge. His knowledge regarding some things is still greater than mine. He will always be a year younger than I.
At the time, I was sensitive about my various ignorances, nervous about the status of my relationship, and loathed the thought of a younger guy thinking me an idiot. People still say I'm sexy. I will always have red hair (until I'm very old and it goes white...).
At that time, we would have wanted to impress each other. At least, I hope he would have wanted to impress me. I’m pretty sure, given my tendencies, I would have wanted to impress him. I think we would have blown it, being too hung up on our own insecurities to notice the other's. He would have thought I was a moody slitch. I would have thought he was an arrogant prig. We both would have wondered about our friends’ taste in friends.
Maybe not, though. I might have been able to be humble and self-effacing in admitting ignorance. He might have been charming and reassuring and self-depreciating in his explanations. We might have hit it off beautifully. It would have been a glorious summer fling. Then it would have been over.
Either way, I'd be sitting here with my memories of him. Memories are preferable to what I have right now--longing and recrimination. No matter who I accuse out loud, in the end, I can only blame myself.
