Sunday, Jun. 21, 2009 @ 9:00 am
Strange things, lately. Three ex-boyfriends send me messages within a week of each other. First Dave, and then Chris, and now Aaron.
I last wrote about Aaron, aka Cowboy, here, nearly exactly seven years ago. We were supposed to go to his family's ranch up in the Shuswap. I sat waiting with my bag packed, waiting for him to call. He never called. I wrote then, "There will be a valid excuse. There always is."
Well, seven years later, I hear the excuse. I only half believe it, but it's an excuse nevertheless. He claims to have been hit by a car, in hospital for 11 months, followed by deep depression.
I told him how mad I was at him for disappearing. I told him that I thought that he'd left me for a heli skiing babe.
"Do you want to know the truth?"
"Sure," I say, "bring it on."
"I was head over heels."
I sit there staring at the screen, reading this over and over. One half of my heart thumps, remembering him, what we had, how much I adored him. The other half, my cynical side, scoffs, thinking that he's a noncommittal jerk who's experiencing some regrets at age 32.
It's too bad, really. We could have had an interesting life together. With him, I could have accomplished some life goals a lot sooner. He is country. He has horses and property and cows and cats. He shoes horses. He is a paramedic. He's so much different from anyone I ever met, from anyone who was ever interested in me.
It's too bad that he didn't show up three years ago.