It is always disconcerting when I see pictures of him with our mutual friends. Or worse, when I enter a party and see him sitting there on the couch like it’s no big deal. I always momentarily freak out, before I compose myself and act like an adult.
I feel bad about dating him, which is probably why I want to erase it. I wasn’t ready to date. I was still so sad about having broken up with my ex. I would have dated anyone. So of course I choose someone with whom it didn’t work.
I remember sitting with our drinks, overlooking the water. And he was so enthralled with my wit and intelligence and humor. And I was pleased at the attention. But I didn’t feel any emotions toward him, just pleasure with myself.
I remember sitting waiting for the movie to start. And he was so disappointed with my inability to be witty or intelligent or humorous. He kept wanting to know what was wrong. And I was so furious at the attention. But I wasn’t even mad at him, just furious at myself.
I remember being in his house and realizing his mother was also there and being horrified. But he didn’t seem to care. What a different breed of Arab, to be so nonchalant about his mother knowing he brings women home. And she made us sandwiches, so kindly, although I made sure she never actually saw me. I couldn’t be nonchalant about his mother knowing I go home with men.
I felt so volatile with him. But none of my emotional turmoil stemmed from him. I never felt any real attachment or feels about him. He was just another one of the many men I’ve dated…