I guess I should have admitted before in one of these posts that yes, I do still think about Alex...often! And, not in the how many ways can I kill him thoughts? Or, maybe he's gotten fat and lost all of his hair thoughts...No, these are the thoughts of a woman who has been best friends with a man for years, still loves him and whose heart skips a beat when she thinks she sees him (or even his car...wow, kind of 15 year old drama queen pathetic...). Anyhow, I do...and, unfortunately it seems he knows this and will pop up just when I think he's finally moved on.
Before you get all Oprah on me and question why I answer the phone as I obviously know it's him...caller ID, ringtone of Keith Urban's "Stupid Boy"... I answer because I still get the butterflies...I still had an entire colony of monarchs fluttering around my belly the day I moved out. He was/is/should have been the one. I'm content with my life, still not turning down the prospect of a good booty call, but really, not looking for anything else because my version of Mr. Big is still out there, haunting, taunting, some sort of ing...with his presence.
About 3 months after THE move, I found myself in the lobby of the x-ray area with what was pretty obviously, a broken finger. The injury, a football injury at that, was pretty cool in that I got it being the absolute best mom quarterback in the history of the game. However, now I was in pain (after ignoring it for a couple of days), and growing more and more irritable waiting for the tech to call me in. I looked out the door, hoping that would magically make things happen faster and saw Alex's knee! Don't ask how I knew it was him just from seeing a knee, attached to a person sitting in a wheelchair, I just did! Was this really where I was going to see him for the first time since I kissed him goodbye as I went to work the day before the move? Seriously? Yes, I guess that was to be the case as he was wheeled into his x-ray room and I definitely recognized the rest of him...broad shoulders, dark hair ...all of it. Stomach jumped, and I couldn't believe in a city of over 1 million with plenty of hospitals, that we'd be in the same waiting room at the same time. But, as I said, he knows when to pop up. I was called back almost immediately after, trying to keep my shaking finger still for the camera. I thought I'd luck out and not actually have him see me as I heard the call for his transport. No such luck!
I walk out of the room, holding my finger straight up (yes, the middle...pretty appropriate) and ran smack into the wheelchair bound Alex. After a few very awkward pleasantries, we both looked at each other with apologetic eyes and I walked away. Several times in the few months after that he'd text, call or we'd occasionally have lunch. And, while each time was a little less heart stopping, the butterflies never left.
Months had gone by since I had last heard from him and then today, the phone lights up and Keith Urban's voice filled my office. I won't lie and say I even hesitated before saying hello...45 minutes of chatting, laughing and teasing recriminations later and we hang up. Nothing in his life has changed...he still thinks we are in this situation because I moved out (not because he had a hard time with the whole 1 girlfriend concept), the 8th dwarf is still very much a part of his life, and probably the most disheartening, I still get the flutters. I know my family and friends want to think that is just the settling of the incredibly boring salad I had for lunch, but it's not. And, I've come to grips with that. He was that person for me...in Friends' speak, he is my lobster. While I may come across a crab, an otter, or any other fun playful sea creature...these butterflies belong to him.
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