At 8:40 pm central time my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID as I normally do. It said, private caller. My first instinct was to just let it go to voice mail. More than likely it was a telemarketer or wrong number. The number I have was issued to me just over 2 years ago when I moved into this house. I've received numerous calls for someone else. My thoughts are that they had this number and continue to give it out as a means of avoiding bill collectors or the like. It's quite annoying, but so many people that I KNOW have this number and I don't want to be forced to beg the phone company to change it because some dolts refuse to be responsible. I even get calls for them from ComEd giving notice of disconnection. I hope they do get their electricity and utilities shut off. That's what they get for being turds and not updating or giving proper information.
Back to MY call. I figured I'd just go on and answer and tell the caller to take me off their call list. Kill that birdy with the proverbial stone. I answered with a dry, monotone "hello." Why should I be pleasant to a person who's disrupting my evening of online shenanigans?
To my delight and amazement it was a voice from the past. His sweet, boyish, playful voice was resonating through my head. He is, by no means a boy, mind you. This is a man who literally changed my life and helped me recognize a very strong woman that always hid from the world. "I was just in Chicago for 41 minutes on a lay over from Maui. Do you know who this is?"
"Of course I do! It's JB"
" I called the cell phone number I had from long ago and a boy answered. I had to do some digging to find you, Riss... you never reply to my online messages anymore. What's wrong?"
"Oh, you know me. I leave that messenger logged on and forget about it. I'm always being booted off and it automatically logs me back in."
I was thrilled that he made an effort to find my number. I was excited that he thought of me enough to skip the online contact to ring me up. He was driving home after picking up his precious pups from the pet nanny. We talked for quite a long time about everything under the sun ... including why he's not married and why is it seemingly impossible for us to be together.
He travels all the time. When we speak it's hard for me to believe that he conducts major, multi-million dollar business deals. How can the man who has the most delightful giggle get powerful men to turn their money over to him? I don't care, really. This may be hard to believe, but his money has never had influence with me. He's literally assaulted with people asking for money, women (shamelessly) throwing themselves at his beckon call because he has money.
He tells me that I've brainwashed myself into believing that he needs a trophy wife. I'm always telling him that rich men like him want arm candy by their side ... even if they are heartless gold-diggers. It's just the nature of the beast. He insists I'm wrong. I insist he prove me wrong.
He tells me he wants to help me and asks for my son's sizes. He knows I receive no financial assistance from my ex husband (who is somewhere in TX forgetting he has a child, I think). "Email me the specifics and don't tell man-cub a package will arrive in his care."
"You really don't have to do that," I tell him. He responds by saying he knows I find it impossible to accept help, but he wasn't letting me say no.
It's not that my son and I are starving or without clothing and shelter. I manage to do what has to be done. My son is growing like a weed and it's hard to keep him in clothing. Now help is on the way and I wasn't looking for it.
While online to send the sizes to JB, he popped online. Our conversations are always so varied. One second we're talking about the weather (he's in South Carolina), and the next we're recounting every nuance of our profound; yet odd relationship past. Then, he starts sending me photos of his dogs, the ground breaking for his pool. In the midst of it all he tells me his mother had passed away in September. I scolded him for not telling me sooner. It broke my heart and I started to weep. He knew I'd lost my mother when I was young. We talked more about that and he told me about his mother's last days.
As soon as those tears were wiped away he told me how much he cares for me. He always feels pushed away when we talk. So, he distances himself. It's true. I've always pushed him away. I don't know what my fear is. Is it hard for me to believe that someone like him could actually want a gal like me? Am I that scorned and scarred that I can't even let someone in enough to let them be a constant in my life? Do I fear that he'll abandon me the minute I let down my guard? I think I do. It's a struggle to think someone could stick around after the relationship past I've had.
I literally shoved him out of my life several years ago. He always kept tabs and sent me messages to make sure I was fairing well, but I refused to really let him in.
We talked for a bit today online. He makes me laugh. He finds a way to remove a brick from this fortress I've built around myself each time we talk. Who knows, maybe by the next decade it'll be down low enough for him to step over ... or perhaps he might choose to be catapulted over the wall. In due time, maybe, just maybe I'll lower the draw bridge and let him in.
UPDATE: The draw bridge is firmly locked and baracaded from entrance.