The Good, The Badd, and the Ugly

Chasing Chaos

I will not call him. I will not call him. I will not call him.

I reminded myself of this for probably the 100th time today. Irrationally, I played with the idea that we could still be friends. Maybe he really didn’t mean the words he said to me 92 days, 8 hours, and 33 minutes ago.

I must be going crazy.



We were fated to have one of those explosively dramatic endings from the beginning. I’ve tried repeatedly to make sense of what it was about him that I found so addictive. Was it the way he showered me with attention, clutching desperately to me like I was his only saving grace? Or the way he always seemed to find trouble, making it for himself when there wasn’t any to be found? I found him cute, mischevious, amusing, and irrisistably innocent. Loving him made no sense at all, yet I loved him. I love him still….

But I’m getting ahead of myself. This is best understood only from the beginning, and maybe not even then.

It starting simply enough. I was unhappy, lonely, and bored. My marriage was simply over. Being stubborn I had fought to repair what was broken for many years, but in the end I just didn’t care anymore.

I was like a trapped animal, pacing repeatedly, trying to find a way out. I spent a significant amount of time in front of my computer, immersed in computer chatrooms, creating friendships with people who didn’t require anything real from me. I had noticed him in chat, generally causing trouble. He would sit quietly, determining the person who he could irritate the most, before pretending to start them on fire, or pouncing on them. Or whatever naughtly prank he could think of. I thought he was adorable.

It went on like that for over a month. I wasn’t looking for him, but he always managed to make me smile when I spotted him in chat. I didn’t really know anything about him until I spotted some of his poetry in the General Discussion area. To say I was concerned would be putting it lightly. Suddenly, this lively, playful boy was splayed before me with his pain-filled words. I recognized instantly the internal anguish that only someone who has survived can know: he was full of hurt. I sent him an email, giving him my Windows Messenger username and reminding him that things do get better.

We would message each other a few times a week, generally not typing more than a sentence or two to each other. I don’t remember exactly what it was that caused me to be so angry, but there were a few days when I was in a very dark mood. He calmly read my words and knew just the right thing to say. That’s when I really noticed him for the first time.

He was young. That was the thing that kept me from him for so long. 19 years old. I was 40. There wasn’t a corrupt thing about him, all sweet and innocent ; a virgin. The same could not be said about me.

He would tell me about his lonliness, that girls didn’t really like his quirkiness and thought he was weird. I would tell him about my failing marriage and desire to move out and create a new life for myself and my 3 children. He would tell me about his difficult relationship with his parents, how he didn’t believe they cared about him. I would read the raw emotion in his poetry and cry for him.

I wanted him. When he admitted his rejection after asking a girl out for a date one night and how she had laughed in his face, I wanted him even more. I was angry for him, and I was sad for him. But mostly, I wanted to wrap him up tight against me and fight for him.

What started out as friendship moved on to real life. And it was the sweetest thing I've ever known.

But no matter how fast I chased him, he always managed to wiggle just out of my clutches. Still he runs, mostly from himself. Maybe from his demons. I, however, am too tired and too old to keep following him down that rabbit hole.

Perhaps someday I will finish this story. For now, it remains a bittersweet memory.