I blogged about the Marine a lot as OEN during our three-month long courtship, which ended when I met Tex aka IT Guy (and the morning after a hurricane, no less). The Marine was sweet, treated me well, handsomely rugged looking, and great in bed. But he was also a pothead, had a blue collar job, and was someone I would never, ever bring home to meet my parents. Never mind that we went on a sexcation to Puerta Vallarta together. I met all his pothead friends and coworkers and he met none of mine.
So I never saw him as anything more than a friend with benefits, and he accepted that. I knew he would take whatever he could he could get, because he was A Nice Guy.
Four months ago I got an email from the Marine saying hey, are you still around? It'd been 12 years since we last saw each other. I replied back right away, thrilled to hear from him and maybe get some much-desired male attention.
We started texting with the occasional phone call. The Marine was already planning to drive up and visit me in January, which I was excited about. A week of sex, board games, take-out, and movie marathons.
Then a few weeks later I got my stage 4 cancer diagnosis. The Marine was exceptionally sweet, supportive, and caring. He said and did all the right boyfriendy type things including Door Dashing me a big teddy bear and can of chicken soup on an especially bad day. Other times he sent me Vietnamese egg rolls and coffee which had been our favorite food oh so many years ago.
He wanted to talk on the phone every day. Unheard of these days, right? He'd call "just for a minute, because I wanted to hear your voice!" and it inevitably turned into a 45 minute phone call, which I pretended didn't irritate me because I am vehemently anti-phone, especially for long periods of time, extra especially when the other person knows that. The Marine would say "I'll talk to you tomorrow" and I found myself dreading the next phone call. I knew it was my fault and not his that I felt this way. Something was wrong with me that I wasn't falling hard for the Marine when he was acting like every boyfriend should, particularly in the face of a terminal cancer diagnosis.
When it was decided I'd be moving back to Dallas for chemo treatment, a mere three hours from the Marine in Houston, I realized Oh shit, this is no longer "a fun week of sex" territory, it's potential boyfriend-girlfriend territory. I needed to navigate this very carefully in case I wasn't feeling it. Would I be interested in him if I were meeting him for the first time now, or are we coasting on old feelings?
Meanwhile the Marine regularly told me "I thought about you all day." He told friends and customers about me. He sent me YouTube videos of songs that reminded him of me. I definitely did not think about him all day, but then again I had stage 4 uterine cancer permanently on the brain so that wasn't a good determining factor about my feelings for the Marine.
I asked my favorite cousins about whether it was okay to keep things going with the Marine when I wasn't sure how I felt about him, but who was I to turn away a great guy when I was facing down terminal cancer and all I wanted more than anything was someone to snuggle and watch Netflix with? Was that really reason enough to string along someone I may only feel fondness for, but rarely thought about during the day? My cousin said "sure, enjoy," but I just didn't know.
Then it was time to actually see the Marine, two weeks after I got to Texas--at my parents' lakehouse, with my entire family there. So much for never meeting the parents. I knew this would be decision time for whether we got serious or Became Just Friends.
He came up with presents, homemade enchiladas, and a huge whitened smile, his marijuana-stained teeth long gone. We hugged like old lovers and fumbled through the awkwardness of years apart. The "welcome back" kiss was familiar, just like a hundred before that. Everything was familiar yet awkward at the same time. We held hands and he put his hand on my leg during TV time, and it was all totally normal--but I didn't feel sparks no matter how hard I tried. How reasonable is it to expect sparks with someone after age 40, I tried to reason with myself. Snuggles over sparks any day, right? Right?
The Marine is a very charming and friendly guy, so he got along great with my parents and brother. We talked on the deck and played dominoes. He and Brother had an hour long jam session on their guitars, after which Brother told me he was an amazing guitarist. Yes, I knew well what those hands could do--and yet I had barely thought about the possibility of sex that night.
Throughout the weekend I asked each of my family members what they thought about the Marine, which I was nervous about because he's "just a Home Depot employee" (my quotation marks or theirs? Turned out I was the only one who seemed to care he didn't have a "real" job, because I'm a snobby bitch). All of them loved the Marine. Damn. There went my Out. Not that I was sure I needed one, but I had no idea how I'd feel by the end of the weekend.
When it came time to go to bed I ushered in the Marine and then realized, Oh fuck, it's time for sex. The Marine asked if he could take a shower and if I wanted to join him. I shook my head then buried my face in my pillow. When he knew me before, I had been a curvy and sexy size 12 with all the confidence that entailed. Now I was an apple-shaped 4X plus-size with no hair thanks to chemo. My confidence was long gone. Besides that, I hadn't had sex in nearly three years. Who knew if I remembered what to do, or even could, especially with my parents fifteen feet away watching TV. I felt like everything was working against me.
When the Marine came out of the bathroom and lay down next to me on the bed, I told him I didn't want to have sex and promptly buried my face in the pillow in shame. I said I didn't feel sexy and it had been a long time for me.
The Marine said none of the reassuring things I had hoped to hear. No "don't be silly, you're still beautiful to me" or "I think you're sexy as hell" or "what are you talking about, I have barely been able to keep my hands to myself all day." No "it's okay, we'll go slow" or "you just tell me what you want." Nothing. It felt like a slap in the face, like he was agreeing with me that I wasn't sexy and he didn't really want to have sex with me anyway. I went to sleep with my bandana on to hide my bald head because I didn't want to feel even unsexier than I did already.
I don't remember if we cuddled on either night or not. We may have started off that way and then ended on opposite sides of the bed, used to sleeping alone. I just know that I woke up feeling as alone as every other morning.
I wanted to talk to the Marine and apologize for the night before, even though I knew it had been the right call, but as soon as we woke up, he said he was going to head out. I was surprised because the original plan was for him to leave for Houston in the late afternoon. He couldn't get out of the house fast enough. He thanked my parents for having him, gave me a half-hug, and backed out of the driveway as fast as could be.
That, I understood. I'd embarrassed him and disappointed him. I think.
But the next day the Marine sent a long series of texts complimenting everything about his stay with us at the lakehouse, all but desperate in tone for me to respond or forgive or forget, I'm not sure which. Maybe all of the above.
So I did the obvious thing: I ghosted him. I was that bitch. I was hurt that he'd bailed first thing the next morning without an apology. It hurt that he hadn't said anything reassuring about my vastly changed appearance or even indicated that he wanted to have sex with this fat, sick, bald version of me (not that I could really fault him, I just wished our past was enough for him to overlook all that).
We texted a few nondescript things after that, but nothing of substance, and now it's been months without anything.
I'm afraid this is the end of the Marine for good.
