strike that

fall stories

Today I found out that BandBoy is getting married.

BandBoy and I met my sophomore year of college. There was a big rockin party in my suite, and I bumped my way down the hall between the bodies into Tito’s room, and there he was, next to some loud awful college band, leaning against the wall drinking a pint of Jaeger. And that night he stayed up until four in the morning talking to me and Kapil in the kitchen, wishing Kapil would leave. And the next day he called and asked me out to Tom’s Diner, the one from Seinfeld.

And this was all new to me in my sophomore year of college – the idea that some boy could see me and think I was cute, and then talk to me and think I was cool, and then call me up and ask me out on a date. Because in high school I was a big dork and the other dorks I sporadically dated were in the band, not a band. And freshman year I had a Long Distance Boyfriend. So sophomore year I was still figuring out how all that being a single girl shit worked.

But this was not the most important thing I learned from BandBoy, who incidentally was in a real New York City sort of band that played in New York City sorts of venues. The most important thing I learned from BandBoy was what it meant to be in a Real Adult Relationship. I learned this from him several years after this initial meeting, after he had graduated and we ran into each other on Broadway and he asked me out to Indian food. He was always good at the asking out thing.

BandBoy and I dated for three years, the longest I’d dated anyone up until that point. He lived in a basement apartment in Brooklyn, and I crashed there for a month when I was looking for my own – the first time I’d really lived with a boyfriend in an I-don’t-even-have-my-own-place way. It didn’t go well. It was too soon for us to be sharing space, and I was resentful at having cut short a trip for him, and he was a daytime workaholic and a nighttime pothead. From this era comes one of my all time favorite stories, the Worst Birthday Ever story. But that’s better told in person.

But despite the problems, or perhaps because of them, I learned things from that relationship that I now realize some thirtysomethings still haven’t figured out. I learned about how you sometimes have to tell people, out loud, what you need from them. Sometimes you have to tell them several times. Because assuming they know what you need and then feeling angry when they don’t give it to you, while sadistically satisfying, does not actually lead to relationship bliss. And I learned that when you think something is up, you are almost always right. And at these times you need to crack whatever is wrong open, right there in the living room, even if the mess spills all over, because it’s not going away. And I learned that sometimes people want to be encouraged to give more, and sometimes even want to be changed some. But I’m still not good at those two.

And in addition to all the learning, BandBoy and I had a shitload of New York fun. We went to smoky bars and unmarked clubs and loft parties in the secretest corners of the outer boroughs, and we would know the DJ and the photographers and the guy who wrote the parties up in New York Magazine the next week. We made chocolate chip pancakes on weekend mornings, and sipped tea with the newspaper at the Fall Café, and squashed next to each other on the crowded subway. We talked about science and politics and what we were reading. I loved him even when it sucked, and I loved him after it was over.

We kept in touch for a long time. Not politely in touch, but really in touch, for years. We talked about presidential candidates and job prospects and new significant others. He visited me in Oregon, and when I came to New York he would invite all our friends over to his house for dinner. He had a deep streak of generosity for his friends.

And then at some point about two years ago BandBoy figured out what he wanted: a good relationship, soon, and eventually a family. And when he had this realization I was so happy for him, because he started paying attention to his girlfriends in thoughtful and meaningful ways. And I thought, Hoorah. He gets it.

But I guess I should have seen it coming, because he’s one of those ultrafocused programmer types, and there’s no periphery. So I stopped hearing from him. And when I did hear from him, the conversations were a mixture of comical and unbearable.

Me: I have a cold.

BB: New Girlfriend has a cold, too.

Me: So you’re going to Boston? There’s a great science museum there.

BB: New Girlfriend doesn’t like museums.

Me: I think I’m going to run a marathon.

BB: I got New Girlfriend a pair of diamond earrings for our five and a half month anniversary.

Me (swallowing both my political views on diamonds and the non sequitur): Um, oh, that’s very thoughtful.

BB: They cost (some crazy amount of money).

So that was it. And I thought, OK. New relationship. Important relationship. It’s the intense part that lasts – what? – six months? a year? And you forgive your friends this self absorbtion, because it’s a fun place to be, and you understand.

But then today I found out that BandBoy is getting married. And I’m happy for him, and (not to be condescending) really proud of him, because he finally got his shit together in a way that allows him to be present for another person. And it’s something he had to work really hard on in his personality and in his life, and I respect that in a huge way.

But I’m so sad. Because he’s not the one who told me, and I guess I’m not going to hear from him again. And I guess the person I miss isn't him anymore, or I'd call him up myself. But his fiancée is a sculptor, and I bet she’s awesome, and I would have liked to know her. And he was such a big part of my life, a friend for ten years and a confidant and a debater and someone whom I loved, and I wanted to dance with him at my wedding, because it used to be a joke of ours, that we went to weddings together. I was excited to go to his.

posted by tortaluga @ 9:58 PM