Page 85 of Love Me Like It's Real
TWENTY-SIX
FELIX
My Valentine’s “date” with Hayworthsoοοdidn’t go the way I thought it would, although I don’t know what I expected from the guy who hates love. If anyone had told me I’d spend it bashing piñatas and downing tequila I wouldn’t have believed them.
And yet, despite that, it was fun. It was liberating. It was cathartic. In fact, I never knew how much I needed to break some shit and release some of this…sadness and anger and frustration that’s been boiling inside until I met him and his unconventional ways.
The truth of the matter is I never let anything out. Not when Mark turned into a dick, not when I divorced, and definitely not when he tried to take the girls from me. It didn’t help that I had no real friends in California, but even beyond that. I’ve always focused on the girls and providing them a stable and safe environment. That’s all that mattered to me and that’s all that matters to me now. But I’ve needed to look after myself too.
And that’s probably one of the reasons I like Hayworth so much. Probably why I’m falling for him. Because with him I’m allowed to think of myself. To be myself. To be just a man. Not a dad, not a trans guy, not a responsible adult. Just an adult…withsomeissues.
So, all in all, it was a great Valentine’s evening with Hayworth. Much better than sitting home alone wondering what’s wrong with me or going out for dinner and being subjected to all the lovey-dovey crap I want for myself but can’t get. Definitely better than going out with Hayworth to a fancy restaurant and putting on a show because it’s not much of a show for me. Not anymore.
So of course when he invites me to his Anti-Valentine Break-Up Bonfire I accept. It beats trying to work while the girls ask me a million questions about Hayworth and what he’s like and where I have to pretend I’m interested but not too interested so they don’t get too attached, and lie to myself that I’m not at all interested in him other than to get my fill.
Gosh. How have I managed to complicate things so much?
Trust me to get hit by insta-lust and insta-love all in the same breath. But I guess with being an aspiring author, and consuming way too much romance it was bound to happen, if only for the irony.
I turn up at the Smash Bus a little past eight but the place is already filled with cars, music and a barrel fire that despite its size feels toasty on my hands and toes, battling the biting cold trying to pierce through.
“You came!” he says as soon as he sees me, and my heart, the fucking traitor, skips a beat.
He’s wearing a thin coat, no scarf, no hat and I feel overdressed and slightly wimpy. But what can I do? I’m used to the scorching heat.
“I don’t know why you’re always so surprised,” I reply.
“What can I say? I’m used to people running the other way after a few days of knowing me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I tell him and put my hands into my pockets waiting for him to make the move if he wants to kiss or hug me.
He does neither and I swallow my disappointment like the champ I am.
“Did you bring what I said?” He looks at the box at my feet and I nod. “Do you mind if I go through it? I need to make sure it’s all safe.”
I shake my head and he leafs through my small cardboard box full of memories but he won’t find anything unseemly in there. I followed his instructions to the letter. Only paper and photographs.
“Great,” he says and stands back up holding one of my pictures. “Are you really gonna burn that? You’re so adorable in it.”
I look at him instead of the photo and nod. “I hate it. It’s my what I call ‘awkward phase’ post-transition.”
“Well, I think you look great in it, but if you hate it, consider it burned.” He drops the photo back into the box and helps me carry it toward the barrel and puts it down at the edge of the safe sanded perimeter around it.
I stare into the golden embers as he turns down the music and welcomes everyone to the Break-up Bonfire. He introduces Wells and a couple other people who will be going through people’s things to ensure their break-up stuff doesn’t contain any dangerous or illegal materials and asks everyone to keep a safe distance from the fire at all times until they’re chosen. Then he turns the music back up and he and all the other club members responsible do their checks.
I watch him flash his light at box after box with a seriousness I haven’t seen in him before. It’s a complete contradiction to the man who came up with all these events to help people move on from heartbreak. Then again am I not a contradiction myself? I’m a thirty-one-year-old dad who’s been through hell and yet I’m hooking up with a man and pretending I don’t feel things I promised myself not to.
I take a deep breath and look up. The stars are so clear and bright. And quiet, just like I wish my head and heart could be, so I don’t overthink things and become a victim of my own imagination and desires.
A few people whose boxes have been checked step up to the fire and start burning things, letters, photographs, marriage licenses, all the remnants of their past they wish they could forget. I’m enchanted watching them experience a beautiful catharsis with each piece of paper they turn to ashes.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m stepping up too, guided by the brightness of the fire and chuck everything into the fire in big chunks. I don’t need to mourn the loss of every one of those photos or memories. It was enough they sent me down memory lane collecting them or printing them out from my social media. I just want rid of them. I want a taste of that clarity I’ve seen in everyone else’s eyes. I want to move on. To finally accept the past and move past it.
The hotter the fire burns, the lighter I feel, as if a weight has lifted from my shoulders. As if I’ve burned the fear that’s settled in my chest since my husband’s betrayal, so when I walk away and find Hayworth in my path I take him in my arms, smile and kiss him.
I won’t be a prisoner of my past and my responsibilities anymore. I’m allowed to live. I’m allowed to love. If it ends in heartache, well…that’s part of life, isn’t it? Pain is living and living is pain just as much as love is. And what could hurt more than the man you thought was your everything stopping loving you overnight?
I can survive whatever this thing between Hayworth and me is. And most importantly, I can enjoy it.
