I Hear the Doorbell Ring

I hear the doorbell ring. That's how it usually starts.

Every now and then, I think about Ricardo coming back to me. I've imagined this conversation a million times in my head. I'm at a hotel room in Buenos Aires, as I am today. Maybe because that's where we met so many times, so many years ago. I'm looking out the window trying to gather the strength to see him face-to-face again, for the first time in 12 years.

This is MY fantasy. I'm in total control.

I hear the door bell ring. I ask him to come in, still looking out the window. I'm thinking about all the years, all the suffering, all the unanswered questions, all the pain. I think about humiliating him, telling him how much he's changed. Time hasn't been kind to him. I guess that's what happens when you don't live a life true to who you really are. I think about laughing at him, at his pleas for forgiveness.

As I try to think of all the hurtful things I'm going to tell him, tears start rolling down my face. I take a deep breath. I try to think about how puffy and red my eyes get when I cry. I try to concentrate on how good vengeance feels, or so they say.

However, even then, I forgive him the minute he says it was all a mistake. I embrace him and we both cry. He swears that he always thought of me while he was with her, that a day did not go by without him thinking of me, that in every sad, bitter moment he lived with her, he always thought about how happy he was with me.

Yes, even then, he wins. Even in total control of the situation, I give in. Because I love him, and I always will.

I don't doubt that it will be like that, when the encounter happens. Just like the last time I saw him. There were so many things I wanted to tell him. So many insults came to my mind. That he was a coward. That he had no heart. But what did I do? I told him I shouldn't have said such vile things in an email I‘d sent him. There I was, apologizing to him when I should have slapped him across the face.

I always find a way to justify his actions. Peer pressure, pressure from his mother, pressure from Veronica. I could never make him accountable for anything. He couldn't even take responsibility for his own actions!

"It's destiny!", he claimed. "Sometimes we have plans, and destiny comes and changes everything."

Oh, how I hated destiny! I changed my own destiny to be with him. To do anything he asked of me. I realize destiny exists, but it's a guideline. It's up to us to turn it in our favor. Just like the sails on a boat. You don't just allow the wind to take you wherever it pleases. You adjust the sails and create your own path.

But create his own path he did. A path that took him farther and father away from me. Despite his promises of coming back to me "someday" when his kids are grown or when his wife gets tired and leaves him. Then, and only then, he'd come back to me. I'd get the scraps of whatever is left of him.

Or maybe that's who he was all along and our affair was a bump on the road; a convenient coincidence, as I once overheard his friends saying. He could live a great lifestyle with nothing to worry about.

It wasn't luxurious, by any means, but comfortable, and I was willing to satisfy each little whim of his—in and out of bed.

What amazed me was that, before him, I was never sure of anything or anyone. I was never confident like that. I was never good enough. But I was sure of him—I was sure of us. I never doubted for a second that what we had was real, perfect, and ever-lasting. Maybe that was my downfall. Maybe that's why I didn't see all the red flags that were so obvious. Looking back, it all made sense. But, as Americans say, it's like Monday morning quarterbacking.

I now see all. Everything makes sense. How couldn't I see it at the time? Again, it was because I was so sure of him. That's why I can't be sure of anything or anyone nowadays. I've lost faith, not only in those around me, but I also second guess myself all the time. I'm not sure of my feelings, if I'm even able to feel at all. Everything's so fleeting, so ephemeral. Nothing stays, nothing sticks, and if I have a feeling, I will run in the the opposite direction or sabotage the relationship so I can tell myself: "See, I told you it wasn't worth it!"

There's still a sliver of hope. There's the love of family and the few friends I have left. That's all. Everyone else has the potential to hurt, the potential to deceive. That's why I can't, I won't trust anyone. And I won't trust myself either. I won't entrust my heart to anyone else.

You see, the downside of suppressing your feelings is that by suppressing the bad ones, you also suppress the good ones. It's as if you've hidden your sorrows in a giant vault, but you've also hidden your best moments and your most noble feelings. Then you close it and there's no way to open it again. Once you close it, you don't have the combination to reopen it. Superficial, pleasant feelings are OK, but deep-rooted feelings are out of bounds. Since you're not able to experience those deep feelings, you refrain from even entertaining the idea, for fear of being hurt again; of not being able to feel again.

And so you go through with your life, full of meaningless relationships, trying hard to conceal the fact that you cannot connect to anyone.

On the outside, I appear warm, and to a certain extent, I am to some people. But that appearance of warmth that other people get are the leftovers of who I used to be. I do it to give an appearance of normalcy and consistency.

How can someone have such an effect on another? Why couldn't I have the opposite effect on him? Why couldn't I make him be what I saw in him? Was it just an illusion? I saw glimpses of that man many times when we were together. When no one was watching. When if was just the two of us. When he held me tighter than anyone ever did while we danced alone in our room. When he sang softly in my ear and kissed me passionately until I lost all self control. When he looked at me while making love and I knew all I needed to know just by looking in his eyes. When he relinquished all self control and I made him quiver like a leaf by kissing every inch of his body. When we both went where no one else had taken us before.

I still believe he thinks of me. Every time he hears a song, watches a movie, or sees someone on the street who looks like me. This cannot be happening just to me. We were too much alike in so many ways. We laughed at the same things, we enjoyed the same things. We never had a significant difference of opinion. Never a fight. Never even an argument.

That's why it's so hard to believe that it's come down to this. How could he have betrayed me so deeply?? He must have known for a while. Why didn't he tell me? Did he think I wouldn't find out? Maybe in his head, he could keep both of us, as he suggested the last time we met. The best of both worlds, I guess. He could make his mother's dream come true by giving her grandchildren, and he could still live a life with someone who loved him, like me. Please note I didn't say "someone he loved." Although he claims he loved me, betrayal has a cruel way of taking love out of the equation. How could you love someone, yet betray them?

All these musings are so necessary for my well-being, yet seem so useless, for all intents and purposes. Because as much as I'd like to think I'll have that opportunity to see him again, whether it is to demand some answers or to forgive him, I don't think it'll ever happen. He won't have the courage to come see me today. He's lacked the courage before.

But a sound distracts me from all these thoughts.

I hear the doorbell ring.