Last Sunday, my friend Leo ran away from his lover of three months.
His escape plan was finalized days beforehand: a call to his former boss and landlord in Portland, Maine, secured his job and old studio; and he scheduled a dinner-date with a friend in Kittery where the breakup would occur in the driveway while other friends waited in the garage to receive him with open arms when he sent his lover back home--without dinner--on the long drive to New Jersey from New Hampshire, where they had been visiting.
Like me, Leo's romantic and even though he is gay, we both share an affinity for powerful, confident men who know what they want and go after it with pleasure, drive, and wild abandon. When he met Sergio on the internet he dived into love. Eight whirlwind dates between New Jersey and Maine confirmed love at first site and a happily-ever-after. His friends told him not do it; they're more conservative than I am. I insisted he listen to his heart: "Go if you must, be happy when you can, and love when it bites you in ass," I said. I wanted the fairy-tale myself. Hell, I'd had the fairy tale many times before: I once eloped to Biloxi, met a lover in Amsterdam where I fell madly in love, spent many nights in a Miami Beach hotel sipping expensive French wine and making love to a diplomat who promised to fly me all over the world but never did... I'd do love all over again--in an instant, even though I once suffered terrible heartbreak and knew the cost of adventurous love could be be steep, from risking the familiar for the unknown to claiming love that goes nowhere. In Leo's case, he paid with his old life. Left behind his job, home, friends in Maine and packed his china, clothes, and the little furniture he had once shared with a partner of 20 years, whom he had been estranged for the last ten, to move with Sergio to his co-op in New Jersey.
Over drinks on Sunday (the same afternoon he got back to Maine), I assuaged Leo's broken heart with the bigger picture, the "life's only for the brave, even when they trip, fall, and break their legs" picture." "God's not going to ask whether you failed or succeeded, Leo, just whether you took the plunge," I said. While we talked, his ex-lover beeped his texts. "Miss you, babe." "Your home is here with me, lovey." "Come back, pleeez."
"What went wrong?" I asked
"Everything! I cooked, cleaned, mowed the lawn of his summer house in Maine, entertained the family. Then there was his nasty sniping. Nothing was good enough." Leo pinched his face, pointed his finger, and mimicked his lover's high-pitched and violent whining. "He exploded with rage every night and wanted to hug it out the next morning. I was the abused wife three months into this."
"You know, no one tells you the fairy tale sometimes last only five minutes, and it's a fairy tale nonetheless. Promise me you still believe.
"Don't worry, I reactivated my online dating profile as soon as I got back."
"What about your things? How will you get them back?"
"Not interested," Leo said with a grin, "I'm going to buy new towels and underwear tomorrow. Start fresh."
"Memoir, " of ," available at: http://www.amazon.com
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