I Live In Fantasy Land And I Have Oceanfront Property!

WARNING: This posting contains NO sex, but does have sexual references. Any reader who is related to me and/or would be really, really freaked out at me talking about sex, or who is young, read no further! And for the record, I had to cut this entry short due to time, but please be aware that it contains, I repeat, NO SEX.

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Emmet parked his truck right next to my car. I hopped out and opened my doors. He got out too, following me around to the other side of the car and holding out his arms, smiling and saying, "Weigh me down!" I laughed as I threw a pair of pajama pants and a shirt to wear the next day into a backpack and didn’t need his services. We got back in the truck and he talked more as he made his way expertly through the construction-embattled streets of the city.

"I couldn’t believe you were working in the bar. Do you work too much? I think maybe you work too much. Bars are for relaxing," he teased. "When I came in and I saw you working, I said to Paul Hannow, I said ‘Hannow, who is that girl over there?’ and he said, ‘Oh, that’s Jess, she’s writing a book’, and I said to him, ‘She’s a nice-lookin’ girl’, and he said, ‘You’re right, she is a nice-lookin’ girl’. Then I left and I came back and I was sad I didn’t see you. I’m glad I found you now. Do you like country music?" I had noticed that a mix CD of modern country hits was playing on the stereo.
"Yeah, I like it a lot actually."
"Really? Yeah, me too. Look, I even have a Stetson hat!" He pulled a white cowboy hat from the backseat and handed it to me. "Try it on."

I put it on and it was big. I pulled it down over my left eye like I’d seen cowboys do in the movies and checked my reflection in the visor mirror. "Does is look okay?" I asked, turning to him.
"Not quite. You see, it’s covering your face. You’re really beautiful and I like looking at you. So you gotta put it further up on your head." We were stopped at a red light and he leaned over to adjust it to his liking. "There. That’s better."

I was losing my nervousness but keeping my guard up all the same. The last thing I needed was to fall in love with an adorably sweet Irishman in Boston. I looked straight ahead so I wouldn’t see how cute he was. His demeanor and his kindness and his wonderfully geeky glasses and brilliant smile, they were killing me.

He wore a gold ring on the ring finger of his right hand. "I like that," I said.
"Oh, thanks. It were me dad’s engagement ring."
There was a story swirling in his voice, so I settled in and listened closely.

"When me dad proposed to me mother, she went out the next day and bought it for him. It were a big deal because there wasn’t a lot of money back then. Then they were married and me mom started cooking, and me dad kept getting fatter. So he had to take it off and he put it in a box. Then they moved to another house and the box with the ring got put in another box and it went in the garage. Right before I moved to America I wanted to spend some time with me dad so I said ‘Let’s clean out the garage’. Aye, we were throwing boxes into a dumpster without even looking inside! I went to chuck one over and me dad said, ‘Hold on. Put that one to the side’. I didn’t think nothing of it after that til it were the last box. He reached inside and he pulled out a wallet. I asked ‘What’s in there that ya kept it, money?’ and he said, "No, what’s in this wallet is worth more than money’. Sure enough, there was the ring inside. He had never told me the story. He told me then, then he gave the ring to me and I’ll never take it off."

It was a great story. Too great. I was falling for this damn kid against my will so freaking hard! I fought it and fought it all the way home. The hardest part came when he stopped at a Dunkin Donuts and asked if I wanted anything. I asked him for a bottle of water and stayed in the truck while he went in. While he was gone, the CD changed and another one started. Track 1 was one of my favorite songs of all time, we’re talking Stranded On A Desert Island Top 10 Favorites, "Ain’t No Mountain High Enough", the Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell version, not the Diana Ross duet with herself. When Emmet got back in the car, I was dancing around the passenger seat.

"That’s more like it, now you’re smiling!" he said as he climbed in with two bottles of water.
"Yeah, I love this song!" I chirped.
"It’s a good one," he said and he started singing along. Then I started singing along, heinously really, because my voice still had that I-Was-Crying weak tone, and pretty soon we were pulling into his driveway and singing like idiots.

We mounted the stairs to his place and it was quite dark inside. Rather than turn on lights, Emmet held his hand out behind him for me to grab ahold. I did, and he led me through the apartment to his room on the other side, softly stroking my pinky finger with his thumb as he did. His room was your typical young guy’s room, with the pre-requisite stereo, commemorative beer cans and poster of a hot girl in a bikini. I couldn’t begrudge him, he was only 22. "The bathroom is down the hall to the right. Go ahead and get changed or cleaned up and then you can sleep in here. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight."

"You don’t have to do that, I can sleep on the couch," I said.
"No, no, don’t be silly. You’re a guest, you sleep in here."
"But I–"
"Sssshhhh," he said. "It’s fine. I’ll sleep on the couch. Come here." He pulled me to him and hugged me. He was so tall and thin that I rested my head on his chest and wrapped my arms all the way around him. He kissed the top of my head and stroked my hair. I was in very dangerous territory. "Must....not....develop....feelings....," my brain struggled to warn me. It was a losing battle.

I padded barefoot to the bathroom and got ready for bed. I stared at myself in the mirror in half-disgust and half-excitement. "What if this is it? What if he’s the one? Did all of this happen for a reason just like meeting Jean and Bonnie and Bob? Could this be the night I tell my kids about, the night I met their dad?" I threw on my red snowman flannel pants and a green sweatshirt, I bet I looked very Christmas-y, and got out my toothbrush. My disgusted half said, "What are you freaking thinking, girl? Are you crazy? This is just some guy who’s going to try to use you, just like every other guy you’ve ever met in your whole life! He’s no different! He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing! Don’t you dare start to like him! And may I remind you, Jessica, that you’ve felt this way about every guy you’ve ever dated since the age of 11?! What makes you think that this will be any different?!"

"Easy," I answered myself. "I live in Fantasy Land and I have oceanfront property!" I spit out my toothpaste and went back to Emmet’s room.

He had made the bed, which was unmade when I had first gone in, and turned one corner down for me. Right when I noticed that, I knew it was over. I had fallen and I had fallen hard and fast as usual.

He went to the bathroom to get ready for bed and I took a seat on the couch. Next to the front door there was a key holder with hooks, Painted on it were the words, "Cead Mile Failte". I don't speak Gaelic, and to me it looked like "See-ad My El Fail Tee". When Emmet came back I asked him to read it for me. "Oh, honey, it says 'Kay Ad Mee Le Fall Chuh'", he said.
"What does it mean?"
"A hundred thousand welcomes." He squeezed my hand and looked into my eyes as he said it.
"Well, thanks!" I said.

I got up and went into the bedroom. He followed me to show me his handiwork in making the bed, he was quite proud. "Well, good night," he said, as he hugged me again. We were still for a long time.

I pulled my face out of his t-shirt and rested my chin on his chest. "Thank you so much. I don’t know how I got so lucky to make a friend like you."
"Oh, are you kidding? I was just thinking the same thing," he said.
He cupped my face in his hands and tilted my head to look at him. I looked away. I was still on my guard a little bit and was trying not to get hurt. "What are you thinking?" he asked me.

What could I say? What could I possibly say that wouldn’t sound freakish? I could have been honest and said, "Well, Emmet, I was just wondering if you and I will fall in love and someday get married. I was also thinking about what color I would like our kitchen to be painted and what we should name the kids. Do you like the name Emily for a girl?"

This is how my mind works. This is why I’ve never had a successful relationship. This is why I will die alone. And if you think it’s annoying and trite just reading it, try living with it.
I didn’t say anything freakish, I just looked into his eyes, sighed and said, "Too many things." He leaned down to kiss my cheek. "Well, goodnight," I said and let go of his elbows, which I had been holding onto. My hands slid down his forearms to his hands and he laced his fingers around mine.

"Um, do you think I could maybe just lay down beside you for a little bit, until you fall asleep?" he asked.

A big, huge red flag started waving wildly in my head. I may have oceanfront digs in Fantasy Land, but they’re not on Whore Island. As twisted as my brain is and as quickly as I fall for someone, it doesn’t mean I want to sleep with them right away. If anything it makes me want to wait longer. "Emmet, I can’t.... you know. We can’t.... I...," I stammered.
"Ssssssh, I know. I’m not asking you for sex. Don’t worry, babe." He stroked my cheek. "That’s not the reason you’re here."
"Okay."

We crawled into bed and I laid my head on his shoulder. We held hands and he reiterated that he wasn’t trying to coerce me to sleep with him. "Sex isn’t even the best part of being with someone, y’know? Think about the greatest time you ever spent with a lad."

I didn’t have to think hard at all. It was my first date with Sean, the one that stuck in my head long after things had gone sour, the night that we had shared our first kiss and then stayed up until dawn talking about our favorite books. The night he read passages of Vonnegut out loud to me and introduced me to the world of David Isay. The night I told him about the cancerous cells that had been found during some routine tests, the ones I was preparing to have removed, and he showed me the scar tissue around his tear duct from his rare optical cancer surgery. There
was no sex that night, or the night after, or the night after that.

I told Emmet about it and he said, "See, sex isn’t that important." I agreed, and we cuddled close together despite the stuffiness of the room, our fingers still laced together.

Needless to say, Emmet didn’t sleep on the couch that night.

As we were falling asleep, I thought about Brian. I felt guilty lying there snuggling with Emmet, but he had basically just told me that he was "seeing" ("fucking") other people so I was trying not to think about that. It hurt to hear it.

I didn’t sleep well that night. It was hot and Emmet’s bed was uncomfortable. He only had one pillow and I kept ending up without it. I also woke up at one point having dreamed about Michelle, the woman from the bar that day. I dreamt I saw her wearing a long black dress and sitting on some railroad tracks. As I approached her, she started laughing softly and crying softly at the same time. She was holding a basket of dead flowers. Her hands and wrists were dusty, covered in dirt from the soft dust around the tracks. "Honey?" I asked. "Are you okay? What are you doing here?" As I got closer, she laughed and cried harder, dropping her basket of flowers and showing me her wrists. Through the thick brown dust I could see deep cuts and gritty blood dripping down her arms. I gasped and then I woke up.

The next day I wanted to call her but it seemed an awkward conversation to have with someone you barely know. "Um, hi, Michelle? Yeah, hi, it’s the girl from the bar yesterday. Well, glad to hear you’re doing well, I know I only talked to you for 15 minutes but I just dreamt that you killed yourself last night so I was checking to make sure it was just a dream. Later!"

Right before we fell asleep, Emmet told me I was "the total package - smart, brave, ambitious, and beautiful". I don't think I will ever tire of hearing that, even if it's a lie coming from an Irishman. I love beautiful lies.

*sigh*.... Fantasy Land. Oceanfront property. That's me.