prose manifestations of past loves, part III
the other day, i got an email from someone from The Past. the email mentioned my pending nuptials (a phrase i picked up like a bad habit from greg) and, i quote, "I have to admit that news broke a piece in the back of my heart."

i'm not quite sure what to make of that. either way, i'll tell the story, because it makes for damn good blogging:

justin and i met in july of 1997, at the general convention of the episcopal church held in philadelphia. i was in my first year of college. we had a sort of mutual friend... someone i'd briefly met the year before at episcopal youth event, but had emailed back and forth. he had tasked me with meeting up with justin, and justin with meeting up with me. and no, "to task" is not a proper verb, according to my grammatical snobbery.

well, we met, and something amazing happened. i can't remember if we shook hands, or if we ever stopped shaking hands, or if we ever broke eye contact for the entire week in philly. thenceforth, a major letter-writing campaign took place. real letters, some emails, some instant messaging, but mostly his beautiful cursive girly handwriting on thin, crisp white paper, and long expensive phone calls very late at night. even later for him. he'd also send me cases of Ale-8, a native kentucky beverage that's "like ginger ale, but better."

i was convinced that this was it. as soon as i'd graduate college, i'd move out to kentucky for a few months to give it a shot. if things worked out, i'd stay. that fall, he came to visit me, and, after having months pass by, building this amazing bond from half-a-world-away, we knew we were going to be in for some physical manifestations. "plot complications," as we'd later call them. i was conviced this guy was my soul mate. i spent three weeks straight with him that christmas, and was finished. i was mere putty in his hands. he sang john denver songs to me, had this amazing little drawl, and told me that i was his everything and that he loved to hear me laugh. yes, wet, sloppy putty. we spent a week snowed in at a friend's house, watching south park, playing guitar, dressing up and giving each other gangster names for a fake-poker night... (i was "fifi l'amour", if you must know)

the day before i left, we told each other that we couldn't love each other without making too much of a sacrifice in our lives. and any relationship we'd try would be riddled with compromise. so i left. he kissed me goodbye and whispered leaving on a jet plane in my ears as i waited until the last possible minute to board (and subsequently had to hold all my personal belongings at my feet instead of the overhead compartments). i knew the chances of seeing him again were very slim.

for the next 3 years or so, i compared everything, everyone, every moment to justin and my time with him. he was a measure against which nobody else could mean anything to me. i had saved a box full of his letters, and i'd read them secretly, unbeknownst to boyfriends or friends. until finally, i DID graduate from college. i was out of work. i was single. i confessed to my roommate julia (yes, it did suck) about everything. we had a very teary conversation, and she told me that i was stupid for even thinking about staying in san diego. i believe she even started looking online for airfares for me. but i didn't go. i hadn't talked to justin in years, and i was afraid of finding out that he was just a normal guy. i was afraid of shattering this fantasy of perfection, of discovering that soul mates are a strange ficticious meme.

so i got a job, and tried to forget about kentucky. 3 or 4 months later, erik walked into my life. about 1 or 2 months into our courting/relationship, i realized something great was happening, something life-changing. why? because i noticed i hadn't measured erik with the justin-o-meter. i hadn't compared anything. i hadn't even thought of justin. erik had freed me from the chains of a tired clingy façade of perfection. and this was before we even fell in love.