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So, what was I waiting for? And he was so kind, you know? Taking me out on all these dates and being willing to wait until I said the word.
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During my freshman year my boyfriend came to visit me with my mother and one of my aunts. It was a really sweet gesture. Orhe took the trip to ask if we could have sex. High school me had been willing to put up with it because she thought she had to, assumed it was part of the boyfriend package.
But things were different this time. I was in college now, out on my own, away from my boyfriend and those well-meaning so-and-sos.
In the time I was away from home I had to learn how to take care of myself, and a big component of that is self care. A reward for getting through the week. Writing fanfic? Practice for a budding writing major.
So when he asked about us having sex I did more than say no this time. I stopped talking to him. In college, there was no relationship pressure tied to me, so I was able to explore who I was as a person.
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And you know what? So, did I really want a boyfriend when I was in high school? I think the more important question is: Why was it so important to convince me that I needed one?
STYLE POLITICS CULTURE IDENTITY SUMMIT. I thought things were better with him around.
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Then college happened. Henry and Craig had lived in the same city for nearly 20 years. They both worked as lawyers in the same government office. I took a taxi from the airport to the hospital and an elevator to the fourth floor.
She was smaller than I remembered, with a little brave bird face.
She hugged me and told me to go in. It was only men in the room, lots of them, NCAA basketball on the TV. They hushed for a moment, then cheered: Kentucky had scored against Duke. He had wires connected to his chest and that little plastic oxygen tube with the nose prongs, a brand-new Wildcats cap on his head. He squeezed my hand and thanked me for coming. I asked how he was doing, and he said he was feeling great, humbled by all the visitors, all the love.
Henry never married. He had a serious relationship in his early 30s, and when that ended I never heard about anyone else.
He always painted a bleak portrait of his social life: All of his friends got married and had kids and had less and less time for him. He shook his head and had to wait for his voice to come back.
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He got me here in the middle of the night. Where was Craig now?
I wanted to ask. I wanted to get the first encounter with him over with. Was he still angry after all these years?
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I went around to the other side of the bed and gave him a hug. He was shaking.
His three boys circled around him. They had their arms all wrapped around each other, and their eyes were red.
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Their beloved Uncle Henry was dying. Visitors came in and out all day.
But she always gave it back to me after a few minutes, saying how happy he was that I was here. We ordered takeout from a Chinese restaurant nearby. A musician friend played Bob Dylan and Neil Young on his guitar. Posts were coming in on the Facebook page Craig had created-many from female high school and college friends confessing their unrequited crushes in great detail.
Craig and I read them out loud to Henry, and he shook his head.
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We all started filing out. The doctor came in. After he left, Henry started to feel anxious and needed more oxygen.
I looked at Craig with alarm. Henry was asleep and snoring within minutes.
I woke up early the next morning and wondered how early was too early to go back to the hospital. Within minutes my phone dinged.
Henry: Come as early as you can. It was just the two of them in the room. Craig had folded the chair back up.
It was quiet. We sat together, the three of us, the TV off and our phones away, and we talked. We talked about North Carolina, and Mason, who had died inwith Henry and Craig stationed like this beside his hospital bed.
Mason with his evil grin and cackle laugh-he came back then and sat in the room with us. I could nearly hear him shuffling the cards. Craig went down to the lobby for coffee. I offered, but he insisted I stay. What if my best friend had started dating Henry as soon as I left town? Would I have forgiven her?
Would I sleep in her hospital room night after night? When Craig left the room, Henry started to say something, but I squeezed his hand and pointed to the monitor.
His blood oxygen was too low.
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He sucked in some air from the mask around his neck, and his numbers went back up. By the afternoon the puffiness that had started on the right side of his chest was spreading to his neck and face.
He found me. Oh, I loved him. I loved him with my heart and soul. I did not marry him and we did not grow old together, and he did not grow old at all, but we loved each other well.
THE NEXT MORNING I was at the hospital by six. Both Henry and Craig were asleep, Henry with the oxygen mask strapped to his face and his cell phone in his hand, Craig on his stomach beneath a sheet on the foldout chair.
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I sat in my usual seat until a nurse came in, took his vitals, and Henry woke and saw me.