Hey Honey Where You Been?

It was a Wednesday night at the Press Club in Sacramento. The music was horrific, the drinks weren't strong enough and no one entertained my curiosity. My roommate insisted on dancing with her obnoxious drunk friends, so I disappeared into the loner room, a quiet place full of empty tables and a window facing the bustling intersection on 21st Street.

I sat down. Then a bandit of cheesmo testosterone bearing beef-cakes came to flatter me and offer to buy me a drink, oblivious of my need for solitude. I didn't find it in me to be rude or ask them to leave me alone, so I smiled and smoothly planned my escape.

Then...

A shadow of a man walked from the corner of the room to the center table. A young Bob Dylan vibe, a crazy curly-haired rebel that won my heart without even trying. "hey honey where you been," he asked me. I smiled, leaned in and whispered in his ear, "thanks for saving me."

We lasted about 2.5 years. In the beginning I told myself that love was suppose to be rapturous, tormenting and self-sacrificing. I fought for that relationship and I would have given my limbs to prove my love, but there is only so much fuel in the gasket for that kind of love. And when it ran out, I just needed to lie down and be loved, without task or fight.

I learned that even though I loved that man with ever ache in my bones and beat of my heart, sooner or later it was going to wear me down, perhaps be the death of me, so I cried, packed my bags and left.