Utah: Part One

I fell in love in Utah.

Well, that's not true.  I met a boy, who lingered in my life for a while, of whom I was very fond, who broke my heart a little. Or, more accurately, grossly disappointed me.  That's not love.

The first time I met Opera Guy--as he now shall forever be called--he was dressed as Batman.  Not a Batman costume, mind you, but as a little kid would dress as Batman, in Batman underwear, t-shirt, hat, and cape.  Nothing else.  To be fair, it was a "villains and heroes" themed party.  At said party, he talked to me for a bit, was clearly too drunk to function, and hooked up with my friend...romantic, right?

The second time I met him I was coming over to my friend Ryan's house to watch the old Hobbit cartoon.  There he was on the couch.  Apparently they were roommates.  That's the thing about going away somewhere to work for the summer, what with company housing and all, you never know who'll be living with who. We watched the cartoon, and several other shows, but I can't remember them because Opera Guy and I were talking the whole time.  He made me laugh.

And then I heard him sing.  The performers would do lunchtime performances for the community at the local high school and Opera Guy did a song about a jilted lover that was so impassioned it was almost uncomfortable.  It was like gravel and cellos....or more like the earth had opened up and I was falling down into a pit of sound.

Always in my life, I have held by a principle that everyone needs to have three qualities in order to qualify for dating me.  These are:

1. Smart
2. Funny
3. Talented

Opera Guy now had two of the three.  I discovered he met number one while eating junk food on that same couch where he had fulfilled number 2.  He was a math minor in undergrad...or something like that.  Memories are hazy, I just remember he was exceedingly good at math.  This type of intellectualism intrigues me the most, because I don't have it.  I have words and pictures, but numbers elude me.

Talking about past schooling I shyly mentioned that I had graduated magna and had been valedictorian.  He seemed shocked.

"What, you didn't think I was smart?" I asked, although that is a pretty dumb sentence.
"Not THAT smart."
"Why not, because I sound like I'm from the country?" Let's face it, I'm from small town in Kansas, and I can't really hide it.  Anytime I'm drunk or sleepy a distinct twang creeps into my voice.
"No...."
"Oh my gosh, is it because I do wigs and make-up?!"
"Maybe a little...."
"That is TERRIBLE!  I'm not a cosmetologist or a hairdresser, I'm getting a MASTERS degree, the same as you!"

Terribly offended as I was, he now met all three qualities, and the hidden quality that girls don't like to admit, of being an asshole.

We started hanging out all the time.  We would binge watch TV shows in the afternoons, we  went bowling at night, poked around the mall together on days off, and took egregiously long trips to Wal-Mart--always walking slowly, making comments, and playing with whatever struck our fancy--,followed by leisurely drives around town, listening to Journey and watching the sun slip behind the mountains.

He never made a move.

One night in the car I just blurted out: "Do you have a girlfriend or something?"
"Kind of." He replied.
"Oh." Was all I could manage, looking out of the car window, but the sun was already gone.

Well, there it was.  The thing I had been missing.  He wasn't  awkward and shy, he was trying not to cheat.

It is necessary to mention that his sister died that summer.  Before he came out to Utah he had slept with his best girl friend (friend that is a girl), who had a fiancee.  After his sister was killed in a car accident she flew out to the funeral to be by his side and professed her love.  So they were in love, but he was spending all his time with me.  I was worried this confession would have the effect of making me want him all the more, as everyone has the tendency to want that which is unattainable, but luckily, I was suddenly repulsed.

"Well, I'm glad you told me all this, so I know NEVER to date you."
"But we'll still be friends, right?"
"Oh yeah, why not?" I said, like an afterthought.

So I started treating him like one of my guy friends.  When he'd text me late at night I'd just get bored and stop, or tell him to "bother his girlfriend."  We hung out, but I'd tease him relentlessly.  Even my boss remarked on our shrewd banter.  In the meantime I had a few summer flings, and even took a trip to Vegas.

Then the last party of the summer came.  It was at his place, as most of the parties were.  I was drinking Jack Daniels, which always leads to trouble, and he was totally sober, so he was in charge of driving me home.

"Come see my room, it's finally all clean!" He suggested, even though we both knew that was a bad idea.
"Yeah, because you packed all your stuff!"  I joked, although I felt a weight in my heart.  We had become close, and the thought of him driving away made me want to pour another drink sans mixer.

Once inside he ripped the hat (that my dear friend Marcia had made for me) off my head.  A funny game of trying to get it back ensued, and we ended up on the bed.  We never kissed, but we came so close.  Our noses touching, his breath on my face, his hands wandering the length of me....It was better that way, I suppose.  Like a long drumroll, but the band never starts, or a sharp inhale that's never released, or  maybe a crescendo that's suddenly cut off.  Soon I began to tire, it was nearly four in the morning.  We'd spent all night talking while thinking about kissing but trying not to, and it was exhausting.

"You can't stay here." He grumbled, in that voice like the bass-line of a song.  Soft, and steady.
"Oh, just let me sleep."
"No, if you stay here I can't be a gentleman anymore."

I woke up for our last day of shows in my own bed, like I'd never slept at all, because I barely had.  I texted Opera Guy to bring me coffee, but he merely dropped off the ten dollars he owed me instead.  (We had gone to see the last Harry Potter movie together, and I had bought the tickets….at the end of the night as he dropped me off I kissed him on the cheek, and he had laughed with genuine delight…I think it was almost a giggle.).

  His last show was Don Giovanni, which is particularly long and slow for the make-up crew and ensemble.  Sometimes we played cards--Opera Guy taught me how to play hearts that summer--but I don't know if we did that day.  I was in the tiny, sweltering make-up room washing my brushes when his large form filled the doorway.

"I'm leaving."  He said, the same as he says everything, flat and emotionless.  It's like his voice was too tired to bring the sharp peaks and deep valleys of his singing voice into his everyday speech, so it rested on a monotone.
"Oh, okay, bye.  Have a safe trip!"  I said, not really looking up from my work.
"Come here."
"Al-right."  I said, stretching it into two words. I might even have said it annoyed-ly, but it was an act.  I didn't want to hug him goodbye, that was true, but only because I didn't want to say goodbye at all.

I pressed my cheek into his chest, unable to look at him.  I probably said something like "Take care," or whatever bullshit we say when someone is leaving and there aren't enough words, and then he left.

I calmly went into the bathroom and fought back tears. Oh bathrooms, the safe haven of every respectable girl who's upset.  I looked in the mirror, surprised at this sudden onset of emotion.  I really didn't think I cared for Opera Guy that much, just a passing summer fancy, but his leaving hit me like a hammer to the head; I felt all out of sorts and strangely pained.

Somehow maybe I knew, even then, that it wasn't the end, but merely the first chapter.