Saturday, August 2, 2008

Opening The Vault: Part Three

There’s nothing like getting hit by a truck to make you appreciate life’s fragility. On the night that happened to me in London, I was craving the comfort of my parents back home – and some comfort of the local variety from my on-again/off-again fling and floormate Fabian.

I now open the vault and take you back once again to Halloween night 1993.

Sunday October 31, 1993
Commonwealth Hall, London

Dear Diary,

I told Fabian about the accident and he immediately gave me a hug.

My room was a mess and I didn’t feel like dealing with it, so I suggested we go to his room. We did and I sat down on his bed. As I began to describe what happened, my voice quivered and I broke down in tears again. Fabian came over and put his arm around my shoulder.

“It was really scary, Fabian,” I said between sobs.

I began to shiver, both from anxiety over the accident and the sudden chill in Fabian’s room. I pulled his comforter over me and lying back, asked—

“Will you just hold me please?” Without hesitation, he replied—

“Of course,” getting up briefly to turn off the main light so that there was only the low glimmer of his bedside lamp.

Once he was beside me, he put his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him. I placed my hand over his and slowly, felt myself calm down. Fabian caressed my face and kissed my cheek, urging me not to think about my brush with death. He also told me about being hit by a car himself at the age of 5.

I turned to face him as he spoke and rested my head on his chest. He stroked my hair and we laid in silence for awhile. Sometimes, nothing surpasses the security and warmth to be had from this kind of quiet closeness.

…Of course, there is only so long that two youthful, excitable bodies can be in close proximity to one another before the hormones start getting charged up.

Soon, our cheeks were brushing and we were looking right into each other's eyes. Finally, we kissed, a long, lingering kiss.


“You know,” I said, planting kisses on his neck for added emphasis, “I don’t think
(kiss) you and I are destined to have a platonic relationship.”

Before Fabian, I never experienced such physical excitement. Given the circumstances (i.e., he has a girlfriend), I often feel guilty about our intimacy, even though my virginity remains firmly intact.


Fabian's guilt was obviously resurfacing, because in the middle of fooling around, he suddenly sat up.

“I know I’ve said this before,” he said, “but I really think we should just be friends.”

I burst out laughing. Fabian had made this recurring suggestion as recently as a week ago.

“I think we should play it by ear,” I said.

It was late (after 2am), so I left his room. I had gotten what I needed from Fabian and felt much better for it--apart from lingering soreness in my knees because of the accident. Ouch.

* * *

I still remember the many nights I would creep out of Fabian’s room at some ungodly hour, hoping none of our floormates would see me. I could never have imagined that the real romance between us would blossom months and months later, after I was back in New York.

Up next…a sweet Dave Matthews tribute band and the downside of warp-speed romance.

2 comments:

nicoleantoinette said...

I am adoring your blog!

Melissa said...

Thanks, Nicole! Back at you as well. Loved the recent post on your blog about LA's superficial nature in comparison to NYC. Having dated a Californian for over a year, I know exactly what you mean about Tinseltown's style- over-substance ethos!