What the Hell is This?

I’ve spent at least part of the last three weekends in tears. The first because of Jonathan’s death, the second because I couldn’t reach Sam at all (his phone stopped working — he was late with his payment) and this weekend because he disappeared from work Friday night without an explanation, breaking our after-hours date.  And his phone still wasn’t working. (He did get the problem taken care of on Saturday.)

All three times, the same sensation prevailed, as if someone had sawed out my heart with a blunt steak knife. A yawning, aching cavern opened up in my chest that was scarcely to be borne. I lay awake all night with tears streaming hotly from the outer corners of my eyes and soaking my hair. Once in a while I convulsed with sobs. It was heartbreak, pure and simple. But only the heartbreak over Jon was necessary.

**

Innumerable obstacles have already been scattered in front of this barely embarked-upon relationship like twisted car parts on a highway. Maybe Ganesha (the Hindu Lord of Obstacles) or whoever’s in charge here knows that adversity makes the heart grow fonder. Really, if I had any doubts before, they vanished in the face of the prospect of losing Sam.

**

When I haven’t been with him for a few days, I crave the scent of his skin and the taste of his mouth much the way I crave chocolate, or Thai curry. But unlike with the latter two items, I can never get enough. I’m addicted to his pheromones like they were crack. His touch liquefies me. I watch him from across the room at work now as he purposefully goes about his business and keeps the place running smoothly; I grin mischievously and try to catch his eye. He leans casually against a calling station with his headset on, chatting easily with a prospective donor, and I steal furtive glances at him and think he’s the sexiest thing going. How did I miss that before? I love to look at him now. I love to see how he listens and interacts so attentively with trainees and established callers who are struggling or making mistakes. I love his way.

Sam is the shit.

I think you would call my condition besotted.

**

But I’m also afraid. Afraid of what will happen when word gets out — and it will. Already one of his buddies, another supervisor, knows, as do (of course) his temporary roommate-guests from college who are crashing on his couch at the moment.

It’s not that I’m embarrassed or ashamed, of myself or of Sam. I’d be happy to be able to claim him publicly. He’s someone to be proud of.

But this nascent and very unlikely relationship seems, to me, to be like a black orchid growing under a glass cover in a cool, dark place. It’s a rare, beautiful, delicate thing — the most beautiful thing in my life, possibly ever — that could wither and be destroyed by exposure to direct sunlight and heat and the careless interference of other people.

Already I’ve felt a distinct awkwardness in the presence of his supervisor pal, Rob, who has always been, at least for me, impossible to read. For the first few months of my employment Rob was almost aloof, and I still have no idea what he thinks of me. He tends to talk about drinking and drugging, other employees, and other fairly superficial, kegger-friendly topics almost exclusively — at least when I’m around. I’m not quite sure how to relate to him. I went over to Sam’s place last week to hang out with him and Rob and the couchsurfing couple, but was somewhat at a loss. I made an effort to make them laugh, and drank a Pabst Blue Ribbon with them, but in that collegiate environment I felt kind of like Methuselah until Sam started stroking my back. It was immeasurably comforting to have him display his affection for me in front of them, and I thought, the hell with what they, or anyone, think. Sam and I curled up together on his mattress while we all watched “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” on his huge flatscreen monitor, and Sam dozed off.

Interestingly enough, this chronic insomniac fades peacefully off into dreamland whenever I hold him. I take this as another sign of the rightness of us — the rest of the world be damned.

Hey now, hey now
When the world comes in
They come, they come
To build a wall between us
You know that they won’t win

**

As I mentioned, Sam’s phone was out for a full week.

When it first happened, I panicked. He was supposed to call me Friday night and didn’t, and I couldn’t get through to him for a day and a half. The subscriber you have reached is not taking calls at this time. Weepily, I went through every possible worst case scenario, including the unthinkable. I called my life coach friend in near-hysterics Saturday. (What I haven’t told you about Sam is how hardscrabble and traumatic his upbringing was, and how many times he’s been in life-threatening danger — he’s been attacked, shot, and stabbed multiple times. There’s a reason he seems so old for his age.)

When I finally heard from a third party that Sam was alive and well, I immediately concluded that, since he had remained incomunicado, he Just Wasn’t That Into Me. I continued to marinate in this familiar stew, inconsolable and heartbroken, until he called me from work Sunday. He had been in the office all weekend — the one place I didn’t try.

He came directly over that evening after work to console me. (He consoled me twice, in fact.) I gifted him with a mix CD I’d made that weekend to communicate to him that I “get” him as well as to distract myself from my intolerable anxiety. (My intuitive choices turned out to be right on the money.)

But that wasn’t the end of the adversity. Sam’s medical issues prevented him to coming to work Thursday, and I started fretting then, too, not knowing where he was or why. On Friday I walked right up to him as soon as I saw him to find out what was going on, caring nothing about attracting notice (which we didn’t anyway). He looked weary and bleary and unfocused from his condition, and I ached in my bones wishing I could embrace him publicly. I told him I had to shadow another trainer giving a workshop to new hires that evening, but we made plans to leave together after work.

When I emerged from the workshop he was gone, with nary a note or message left for me.

Cue another round of weepiness. I managed to extrapolate that Rob and his other friends had bombarded Sam, in his compromised state, with negative comments about me, and made him want to call off the whole endeavor. I walked home crying, feeling raw and ripped open.

It was a long and miserable night. I drank, and then cried, myself to sleep.

Sam called me from work the next day. Of course, in his hazy-brained state, he had forgotten all about the workshop. He thought I had left without him.

That afternoon he took a time-out from work to go down to his cell phone company and straighten the whole damn thing out.

**

When I came to meet Sam outside the building Saturday after work, Rob was with him, and our restraint in Rob’s presence made me physically ache again. I wanted nothing more than to throw my arms around Sam and hold him, hard, but instead I held back and listened to the usual Rob-talk. He and Sam had apparently been at some crazy party the night before where neighbors called the police.

After we dropped Rob off across town in the car Sam had borrowed from his guests, I proceeded to explain to Sam about the orchid. And I told him he’d already made me happier than I’ve ever been in my life. A tear rolled down my cheek as I spoke.

Sam reached for my hand and held it all the way home.

As soon as the door to my apartment shut behind us, we fell upon each other like starving animals, tumbling onto the bed for several consecutive sessions of passion (I must say, you have to admire a 21-year-old’s stamina). By the third time, I was laughing and comparing us to rabbits. Really, I could go at it all day, at least with Sam. We lay tangled up with each other for a while afterward, alternately talking and relaxing.

(Don’t hate me, straight-gal readers, but Sam loves to cuddle more than any man I’ve known in the Biblical sense. He also loves to do several other things pleasing to women more than any man I’ve known in the Biblical sense.)

When at last we peeled ourselves apart, we re-dressed and went out to one of my favorite Thai restaurants for dinner (which was perfect) and afterward went for a drive (which was also perfect). In short, we did three of my favorite things in one evening, although we did them in the reverse order than might typically be done. (As the old saying goes, life is short, eat dessert first!) He had to leave me after that, unfortunately, as his couch-crasher called, needing the car back. But it was a happy and sustaining five hours.

**

So went our week of seemingly endless obstacles.

You can see how they worked to stoke the fire, and to obliterate any and all of my former reservations. There’s nothing like the threat of loss to make you appreciate something or someone even more than you already do.

I’m more madly in love with Sam now than I ever imagined I would or could be.

You can tell me it’s too soon, and that I’m giving away the farm, but I’m here to tell you that Sam can have the farm, and its surrounding district, and its town, and its county. I’m not holding anything back. Why should I? Life is short, and mine is already half over, even if his has just begun. Talk to our old friends Harold and Maude.

**

Today we were totally “busted” leaving the premises together by the company’s resident acid dealer, a Phish-loving baby boomer who goes by the name of Sparky. “Are you two a thing?” Sparky asked with a big, goofy grin.

Sam played it deadpan. “Oh, for ages now,” he said, with a tone of deliberate exaggeration. He was trying to sow doubt in Sparky’s mind. I’m not sure it worked. Sparky looked like he’d just found out a gold nugget of gossip, which of course he had.

Guess we’ll have to have a sit-down with the director this week. Guess there’ll be a whole lot more light and heat and people around our orchid from now on.

But I think maybe it can handle the attention.