The Quest (12 page)

              “Beauty isn’t found on the outside of yourself. Not in your hair, your lips, your eyes, oh those things can be beautiful, but beauty comes from deep within you. It’s the glue that seals your heart. The liquid that moistens your soul. It’s your inner spirit. It’s what makes you,
you
!”

              I suddenly remembered the woman I used to be, the kind generous woman who loved unconditionally. Who never found fault in anyone and uplifted everyone she came in contact with. The woman who never complained about anything, just took life as it was given to her with a smile. The woman within me, who was satisfied with the hand that was dealt to her, and played it well always winning. The unbroken woman was still residing inside of me. I knew her well I just refused to allow her to shine anymore. Over time I made excuses for her giving her reasons to stay hidden, allowing her to grieve with me over the broken promises of a man. I didn’t want her to re-appear. It would mean she could be broken again. I couldn’t allow that. Being broken is hard. Even though I felt I was healed now I just couldn’t allow it. How could I allow that to happen all over again?
No Way
!

              “Let it go,” sternly she scolded. “Let it
All
go.”

              “What do you mean
All
?” I screamed at her.

              “Every last bit of it!”

              “I already have! I did. I-I did!” Tears were trying to creep out of my eyes. Shame on them. They were not allowed to cry. “I did! You know I did!”

              “Did you?”

              I stared coldly at her questioning myself now. Did I? My fingers picked tissue after tissue out of the box, till it was empty. Just like the tissue box I emptied my eyes and emptied my heart. She was right. I was still holding on to the what-ifs, the could-have-been, the should-have-been, instead of playing the hand I was dealt. Why was I holding on to him like he was my ace-in-the-hole?

              “So he walked away. So he came back. So he walked away again, and now he’s back again. So.
”
She reminded me of the painful truth. “It was okay that you couldn’t let go of him, he couldn’t let go of you either. But it didn’t mean you were destined to be together, it just meant you had a connection you both couldn’t let go of.”

              Then she asked a far more painful question. One I hadn’t asked of myself. “Was he truly the man you wanted by your side for life?”

              Honestly? Was he? Was he truly the man I could live out the rest of my days calling him my husband? My everything? Would he have been the one that I would have wanted to grow old with? My answer came fast. Like a bullet shot straight through my heart. It surprised me at how quick it spewed from my mouth too. So quick I didn’t have a chance to pull it back
.
“No. No, he’s not.”

              I threw up.

              With tears and snot pouring from my soul I emptied everything in my stomach all over my floor with no time to reach the commode. My body trembled. My head pounded. The truth hurt so badly now. I hung my head low ashamed of my response.

              “So why hang on?” she spoke softly as the last moistened tissue wiped away the spit from my lips.

              I bowed my head again in shame and mumbled humbly not looking at her reflection, afraid to see the hurt in her eyes, “I dunno. I suppose I never found a replacement, only distractions.”

              “But you also never allowed yourself to replace him. You found fault with every guy you met and built that wall high so not one of them could scale it. Not even Ed. As
perfect
as Ed was for you, you wouldn’t allow him to be. You made excuses and blamed it on not being able to have children.”

              “I know. But the little things. It was the little things Ed did for me that were amazing,” I reminded her as if she didn’t know. “They were so different from the little things Radley ever did.” I realized that now.

              She was right. I did all those things and more to keep my heart safe. It scared the hell out of me to love another man. I felt vulnerable, weak, intimidated by love. I felt I’d rather have something meaningless with someone than have something meaningful that would eventually destroy me. Ed scared the hell out of me. He was genuine and real. The type of man my heart longed for and I wouldn’t allow myself to love him back the way he deserved to be loved.

              In the hours of tears, I confessed all my meaningless relationships with the many men who walked through my door since Radley walked out on me. Many of them I never saw again. A few held on in hopes my feelings would change for them; a few I held on to because frankly they were just too good to let go of. But I used them all for one reason or another and I admitted to doing so. I confessed that the woman I had become had destroyed me. She disagreed adding that the woman walking with her knew who she was and she was not destroyed, but all the wiser now.

              Wow. In one swift move of the tongue, she called me wise. My mind did feel clever. My eyes, now dry, amazingly my heart no longer heavy. It felt so good to release all those fears and thoughts. It felt good to cry a river too. Very cleansing to my soul no doubt. It felt good to listen to my own advice. Most importantly it felt good to call myself beautiful. Staring into my bathroom mirror, into mascara ruined eyes, you know the ones, the ones you can’t disguise, I repeated, “Beautiful. Beautiful!” with a wide smile. She reminded me the one thing I had long forgotten. She reminded me how important it was for me to love “me.”

              I suddenly found the urge to make a bucket list of not all of the things I wanted to do and had yet to accomplish in my life, but of things I missed most, the little things. Have you ever done that? Made a bucket list? I scrounged my apartment for a notepad and pen. When I located them I sat down at my kitchen bar scratching my list hurriedly before my thoughts left me. I didn’t want to forget the things flowing through my mind.

              1. Deep kisses

              2. Butterfly dances

              3. Making out in a theater

              4. Drive in movies

              5. Walks through a park

              6. Watching for shooting stars

              7. Skinny dipping

              8. Holding hands

              Hmm. Looking over my list I realized I’d need a man for all those things. So I drew a line dividing my paper. These little things only pertain to me and the little things that I need to do often to make me smile:

              1. Dance in the rain

              2. Buy comfy new white socks

              3. Fluffy PJ pants

              4. Truffles

              5. Dig my toes in the cool sand

              6. A margarita

              7. Dance in my socks

              8. Pamper myself

              9. Bake in the sun

              10. Watch a chick movie

              11. Clean a hard wood floor

              12. Go running

              13. Go hiking through the woods

              14. Help someone

              15. Smile at a stranger

              16. Smile for no reason at all

              Yes, my list always starts with sexual endeavors. Not entirely my fault. I mean we are human. Humans thrive off of feelings. Most of those feelings are deep rooted with pleasurable tendencies so it’s natural when you think of pleasure to think of sex. It’s a need; a want; a desire. I think humans are just designed that way. Who am I to argue with the laws of nature? I figure since I’m going through a dry spell without love in my life my desires and needs would have settled a little. Not to be as evident or strong, but no. They are just as strong when I’m alone as they are when I’m with someone. I think I’m just wired that way. I would love to have a man in my life, especially to share things like this with, but in the times I don’t I have ways of taking care of the craving myself. No, it’s not my preferred method. I love the feel of a man. Nothing replaces that feeling. I miss it. I long to run my fingers across the muscle-bound chests and hard rock biceps. I adore the skin to skin contact, the sweat beading between us, the kisses on my neck. I miss the attention to the little spots that drive me wild that only he can kiss. And the look in his eyes when he takes control. But when there’s no one available in my life, and I’m rather picky in that aspect for I am not a hookup gal, I tend to gravitate to something that just releases the tensions within me and cures the craving for a while.

              Oh, before I forget, one last thing on my bucket list…

              17. Pray it forward

Chapter Nine

The Art of Never Giving UP

I
have a type. Yes, a type of guy that is that I’m widely attracted to and looking for. What is it you ask? Well, since you asked, he must be taller, muscular, with a baby face and a sweet smile. He must be smart, strong, athletic, nicely groomed, and good smelling. Yes, I love a man who smells intoxicating! He may be into sports, yoga, or just plain artistic. You know, musician or something. But he must like football and hanging around on my big overstuffed couch on occasions. He can’t be vain or superficial, and definitely no flirter unless of course he’s flirting with me, in that case, it is acceptable and very welcomed.

              He would like to dance, maybe not be that good at it, but that’s okay too. I like the slow grooves so as long as he likes to get close on the dance floor, that’ll work. Is he a social drinker? I prefer him to be. I don’t like drinking alone and I love a good margarita or sangria on occasion. He must have a nice laugh, not a horse laugh, or an annoying laugh that doesn’t match his voice tone. Have you heard one of those? Hard not to notice. He must be kind, generous, practice good manners and practice the art of compassion. He mustn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, no momma’s boys, but a manly man. But not one that hunts. I’m drawing the line on this one. Sorry but not dealing with the whole Radley hunting type that loves hanging deer heads all over my house type of guy again.

              Damn! Where did he come from? I was on a good roll thinking of my dream man and he pops into my head. Go away would you? I’m making good progress here and you’re screwing it all up! Now where was I? Oh yeah, I have a type. I like the type of man that will hold my hand without asking, be affectionate in public but not groping, but kiss me regardless of who’s watching. Yup, manners are must haves. No belching in my face, passing gas in my car, or gawking at another girl while I’m in his line of view. And if he flirts with the waitress? He better make sure she knows he means nothing by it. Be respectful, mindful of who he’s with, is all I ask.

              I want a man who will text me or call me out of the blue just to say, ‘Hi beautiful’ what girl doesn’t like to start her morning off with that? Or an ‘I love you’ text for no reason at all. A man that will bring me chicken soup when I’m sick or make me red chili on a cold wintry day. One that likes me to meet all his friends and shows me off with a smile. Who doesn’t mind that I don’t drink a pissy beer and will make a special trip to the liquor store to buy just what I like to drink. One who will take sips of my girly fruity drinks and on occasion share a dinner plate with me. I’ve never been one to clean up my plate. For once, I would like to not carry home a doggy bag and order a dessert without guilt to share and smooch over. Yeah, that’s what I really want! That guy that loves a piece of chocolate and will share bites of rich desserts in between sweet kisses in a dark, table clothed, covered booth in a corner of a room. One that likes exploring my bare legs under the table. He must be open to new ideas and adventures, spontaneous and frisky, huggable soft, yet muscular. One who can pick me up at a moment’s notice and make me squeal with delight then carry me off to his bedroom and make sweet love to me. Yeah, that’s my kind of guy; The Hero-Rambo-007-Gere deep voice like Connery Tigger type with the smooth moves of Jagger. You know the song. Don’t deny that your sock feet aren’t dancing!

              Just so you know I refuse to admit he doesn’t exist on this planet. He’s out there somewhere I just know it. As I scroll page after page on this dating site, I see that I haven’t found him yet but I am diligent. I must find him. But even when I lower the age I’m looking for or increase the age, or increase the distance they are from me, he’s not here. How is that possible? I don’t think I’m asking for too much. I think a woman has a right to be picky. And notice I did not put a dollar sign on his head. I figured if he’s all those things, money would not be an issue. Besides, I make my own money. I can’t, however, make my own man. So it’s essential that I am picky. I have to be picky. It’s required to move into the next phase of my life. The phase I dread going into alone. The phase that I cried myself to sleep night after night knowing that it was inevitable. The dreadful no children phase.

              “Please, dear Good Lord, don’t make me go it alone,” I mumble aloud still scrolling and clicking, exiting and then scrolling some more. “Please. Just don’t think I can do it,” I mumbled as I scrolled.

              There was once a time in my life I thought I would be just fine alone and I craved my own space and quietness. I still on occasion crave that time, but it doesn’t come around often. Back when I was broken the mere thought of just someone talking to me and interrupting all my thoughts, was unwelcome. I needed those moments to myself to recapture, revisit, then regroup. My life was frozen for a while and it was necessary for it to be for me to want to heal back to a better me. You never know what the outcome will be when your heart has been destroyed. Broken isn’t easy and I sure never want to return there.

              So back to the matter at hand, if I can find a man that meets my type of man, I figure I will have less of a chance to return to such a place. Does he exist? I ask myself that with every click. I dunno. But I can’t chance the fact that he doesn’t or gamble with fate that he would come knocking on my door. Perseverance, I say, perseverance.

              I scribble perseverance on a notepad in front of me adding the
art of never giving up.
I ripped it out and stuck it on my fridge just in case I forget or need a little extra strength in those moments when I feel my lowest of lows. I hate those. Those lonely nights followed by urges of a beastly man breathing down my neck and onto my thighs. Those nights are the worst. And if I have a glass of sangria or three on those nights, it only gets worse for me. The more I find I drink, the more lonely I get and the more desperate I seem, causing me to click ‘like’ on profiles I wouldn’t have otherwise.

              One night I received an email from a gentleman twenty plus years older, not attractive, with no qualities that I preferred. He was really sweet though thanking me profusely for making him a favorite on my list of men. Oh my! I know I didn’t click on him! It had to have been an accident. But I didn’t want to hurt the poor guy’s feelings so after the third lengthy email he sent me, I responded with “Thank you.”

              Yikes! What else could I have said? ‘Nothing’ would not have worked. This guy would have kept on till I hurt his feelings and I just couldn’t do that. That’s just mean. I know some guys have ulterior motives on these sites, but some guys were on there just like me, looking for someone to love them. And everyone is worthy of having someone to love. I truly believe there is a special someone out there for everyone. No one has to be alone unless they choose to right? I chose to once, I don’t choose to now. No, I’m at a point in my life where years are passing me by and I need the works of a good hearted man. I need the touch of his fingertips on my soft skin, his kisses on the bow of my neck, his breath on my breast. And if so pleases, I need to feel him next to me all the days of my life. But only if he’s my type.

              Nothing like knowing you’re a hallmark card, on the edge of desperation, just wanting to be read by someone.

              Yes, I see myself married one day, lots of children and grandchildren at my feet. I want to retire running a bed and breakfast in the hills of Tennessee. I want to spend Christmas spoiling them and telling them stories around a roaring fire, make a huge meal that will have everyone over eat. I will wrap my love in kisses and spoil him all the days of his life. Give him twelve days of Christmas just so he knows how much he is appreciated. Spend the spring sleeping on a mattress on a porch under a tin roof when it rains; spend the fourth of July lying on a blanket watching the sky light up. Surprise him with his favorite cake with all the candles lit, and when he makes his wish, I will spend the evening making his wish come true followed by a morning of repeating my love for him.

              In the summer, lay by the pool soaking up some rays and rubbing oil all over him. In the winter, I’d spend the nights wrapped up tight within his arms to keep warm. The bed would never be cold; our love would never grow old; the passion would never die. When the day came to lay my love to rest, within hours I will be right by his side; the heavens will welcome us saying what a good job we had done to prepare our children to live such wonderful lives and what an example we were for them to love unconditionally.

              Yeah, something like that.

              It’s been weeks since I’ve heard from Sofie. I really miss her and worry like crazy. I’ve tried calling a few times but I just get her machine. It’s odd, though. She always returns my call or texts when she’s not available. Nothing but silence lately. Just silence. The nothing scares me but I try not to think about it. I just have to keep praying for her and praying that she’s okay. Surely she is. I mean, if she wasn’t, would I know? Surely I’d hear from someone. All her family knows me; surely someone would think to tell me.

              My thoughts ran wild quickly and out of control with worry. I did my best to ward them off but ended up picking up the phone in a panic and dialing Sofie again. Again no answer and the answering machine kicked on after the first ring. I didn’t know what that meant. Did it mean she was on the phone or had her phone battery died? I waited a few seconds and sent a text. Of course no reply, so I dialed the number again, this time, leaving a begging message for her to please check in with me. “Please tell me you’re okay,” I added before I hung up.

              Thoughts of Sofie put my happy mood to rest. I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had come over me. Scenarios popped into my mind like a running freight train, one after another then the memory of her bruised and battered face appeared before me with eyes bloodshot and swollen. Her eyes told a story her lips didn’t have to repeat. I already knew. But I also knew there was nothing I could do.

              Sofie was good at many things but she was stubborn as the day was long. She was hardcore determined to do what she wanted to do. There was not a lot of changing her mind on anything. Even something so important as fighting for her life, fighting for her children, or fighting for what was right. I knew she loved Chris so there was no telling her different. Even the bruises couldn’t convince her otherwise. I had finally moved past the sleepless nights worrying about her. Suddenly I was feeling them return. My heart was overcome with grief and chills ran through me like a river flowing. They were shattering my nerves and I couldn’t stop them.

              How do you get your mind off your best friend’s demise? I wondered that. Then I popped open my computer realizing I hadn’t checked my email or my dating sites in a few days. Time to do the dance and see who’s responded to my new written profile. Hopefully, there will be something there that would pull me out of the mood I was in. Before opening the emails I slipped off to the kitchen and scooped myself some vanilla ice cream. I needed something sweet to sweeten me up. Now I am ready to meet my type of guy, where are you?

***

O
ut of all those emails, only three did I correspond with. One was a salesman, the second was a very buff built guy whose mannerism I really enjoyed, and one was a photographer, like me, and very interesting. He was handsome and tall, well built and toned. He had an infectious smile, but in every picture, his facial hair changed. I didn’t mind. I kinda like a beard on a man, if it’s soft, well groomed, and didn’t smell of sour milk.

              So we agreed to meet first at the coffee house to discuss a very needful project that I was working on. I had never asked for outside help before, but since I reviewed his work, and his work was good, I figured what could it hurt. He had a great eye for photography. And like I said before, we had been chatting for three or more weeks and he seemed harmless. Did I mention very handsome? I loved his hazel eyes. But he looked older than the age he had listed. I wondered if he had a hard life. I wondered what would have caused those beautiful laugh wrinkles around his eyes too. He must be really outdoorsy. I love that type! They are adventurous and so much fun to be around!

              I began to get nervous as the hour approached to meet. What if he thought I was too proper? Too old? I knew I exceeded his age limit. But he did make the first move by sending the first email, and it was lengthy, full of depth. The Dude had substance. Substance was nice. I needed a dude with depth and substance in my life.

              “Hi, I’m Sadie, you must be Denver?” I could pick him out of a crowd. His pictures did not do him justice. He was right, too, a full head of hair and pearly whites.

              “Yes. So we finally meet, Samantha.” He called me Samantha, I didn’t mind. It sounded cute coming from him. He was staring too, not that I minded that either but he wouldn’t take his eyes off mine. A very nice firm handshake which I liked very much. I know I put too much stock in handshakes these days. But you have to, you know? It sums up a character really quick and my handshake motto has never failed me.

              “Yea, finally,” I said with a smile.

              “Would you like to grab something and sit outside? Nice cool morning and more privacy?” he asked.

              The coffee shop was filling up fast with all the suited up work-a-bees heading to their day jobs. I was in a very casual wrap skirt with cute stacked bling flops. I opted to wear a wife beater. Why? Actually, I think they look the best on me. Really shows off my curves. And I needed this guy’s help so anything I could do to persuade him was necessary outside of the unnecessary stuff. He didn’t seem like that type of guy anyway and I was glad.