The Story of Geoff: Ch. 1

                                                    Chapter 1: Memory

The Story of Geoff: Chapter 1

The Beginning of the End

It's funny how music brings you back. Back to memory. Back to feelings. Feelings you may not even want to recall. Funny may not even be the right word here.

I recall the song played on my phone alarm years ago. A melody really. A symphony. A violin with piano notes sprinkled throughout. It was sad. Sad because it woke me up, sad because of how it sounded, sad because of the season of my life in which it played.

I was living with my boyfriend Geoff, in Matunuck Beach, Rhode Island. We had a cozy off-season beach rental just a few steps away from the oldest Irish pub in the smallest state of the Union. This was our treasured nook. We'd spent seven years since meeting as teenagers in college, pursuing degrees, and entering the work force to get to here. And here was it.

Here was a dead end road at the edge of nowhere, but it was our nowhere. We had friends from all corners of the country come to visit during each of the three off-seasons we stayed in this cottage we called home. We chartered a deep sea fishing boat on Memorial Day Weekends when they visited, had cookouts, played horseshoes and board games, and drank beer. Geoff told hilarious pee-your-pants stories that always made someone spit out their beer or choke on it. Somebody always drank too much and threw-up or woke up with a mystery bruise, or both. Somebody else would inevitably fall asleep in an awkward location like outside in a lawn chair with a cooler cover as a blanket. Memories were made on these weekends. And the following year we'd point fingers and laugh about these memories made the year before.

When the off-season ended, usually the first week of June, Geoff and I moved out of the beach house and into his parents' vacation home in Wakefield, about 5 miles away. His mother was a teacher and his father was retired, so they spent summers with us. They were like my second family, Geoff's mom and dad and sister, who attended URI. For the decade Geoff and I dated, I spent more time with his family than I did with my own.

Guy and Barb had two Schwinn bicycles leftover from the 70's - a green and a yellow - a his and a hers - that Geoff and I would ride through the South County bike trails each of the three summers in RI we spent there. It cost $50 a year getting them tuned up at a local bike shop, and they rode like the wind. My yellow bicycle was one of the hardest things to part with when the relationship ended. I really loved that bicycle. I wish I had known the last time I rode it that it would be the last time, so I could have made a mental note to stand up on the pedals going downhill a few extra seconds, and savor the breeze in my hair, and take the long way home instead of a shortcut. Stuff like that. I don't even remember my last bike ride now.

Geoff and I made it a priority to check out every pub, bistro, brewery, and wine cellar in the state of Rhode Island when we first moved. So at least three or four nights per week, we went out. We drank. We ate. Financial hardship put the final nail in the coffin of our relationship. It only took three years of bliss to do that. It was a vicious cycle that crept us into debt, as I secretly activated new credit cards that came in the mail, and used them to ease the pain of not having money with spending money we didn't have.

But in-between the visits from friends and family, and between bike rides to Narragansett Beach and sea-glass beach walks along Matunuck and bar outings, there was misery. The silence in our evenings spent at home was punctuated with thoughts of would-be chatter of little children, had I had them, having reached the age of 29. But I'd been turned down for every public sector education job I applied for, about 50 jobs, during the entirety of my 20's, and had resigned to babysitting and substitute teaching and cleaning houses. Evenings spent at home pondering my would-be life away, particularly between the months of November-March, felt as dull as the overcast ocean sky. It never changed color during these winter months, just different hues of grey, although there were moments each day that light would peak through around noon, but I was usually too sad to notice.

Going out with Geoff at night was virtual Vicodin for wintertime. Alcohol and good food made all our problems disappear, at least for a couple hours. Everything was alright at the end of the day when the sound of conversation and laughter was all around. All was well within my soul. A burden was lifted. We needed this and I justified it not so much for me but moreso for Geoff. He worked hard - going into an office and staring at a computer screen all day for some boring marketing company.

I sat home and wrote beautiful sad songs on my Yamaha Portable Grand keyboard, often ignoring incoming calls to substitute teach, snoozing and sleeping through my sad violin alarm melody when it played. Geoff and I had separate bedrooms because he liked to be up late on his computer and was sort of a slob. I kept my room neat. I also liked to be sprawled out when I slept. I woke up earlier than him too. I had an 8 a.m. babysitting job on Mondays and Tuesdays in Snug Harbor and sometimes cleaned a house in Saunderstown on Wednesdays. But this was small beans compared to his very important 9-5 desk job that brought in double my salary, and health benefits to us both.

My real responsibilities came at night. I felt my duty was to make Geoff feel comfortable and happy when he came home from work, as I grew up watching my stay-at-home mom prepare dinners and keep a tidy home. She played church songs on piano and sang loud hymns to the Lord. She invited over guests and planned wild birthday parties for my father, sister, and I. She always put herself last. Our home was always lively, though after bedtime I'd hear her cry. I didn't know what my parents argued about but as I grew older I suspected it was due in part to her own self-inflicted last place taken in the family line.

Geoff would question my spending whenever I ran errands. I tried to minimize my grocery shopping and keep the fridge bare, apart from some beer and eggs and cheese and bread. If I spent too much money on food, there would be a verbal altercation. It wouldn't last long however, as Geoff could never stay angry for long. He would grow bored easily though, especially in the long silent evening hours of winter, and so when I didn't have a dinner to prepare, I would take him out and use a credit card. He was always up for that.

That was my biblical duty, I decided. Proverbs 14:1 says "The wise woman builds her house..." and I suppose since I could not force marriage and children on Geoff and build our home to accommodate Geoff's needs, and tidiness didn't impress him, I could resort to taking Geoff out to a place where the hustle and bustle and chatter of others would make us feel alive. The atmosphere of a new restaurant is intoxicating. We didn't drink heavily. Often we found a coupon online and printed it out. We'd anticipate the new sights and sounds and flavors on the drive, and just get out. It was great. Out of the empty cottage we'd go. We didn't have cable. This was our stimulation. Our drug. Our therapy. I'm telling you, I justified this tedious spending habit to a T. This was my way of showing Geoff love. Being a good woman, partner, and friend. I could deal with the debt and collection calls later. I didn't care about all that. I cared about Geoff. I loved seeing him smile. I loved hearing his stories and jokes. What did he read on The Onion today? I loved how he made me laugh. I loved how he twisted his thoughts into words and how he craved me physically after an evening of conversation. How we spooned and shared a bed on these nights as well.

But suddenly one day three years later I wasn't happy anymore. We'd been together a decade. He'd recently proposed. It was the craziest thing. I'd never considered my own feelings maybe until one day I noticed. I noticed they were gone. I gave the ring back. And seven years later, I still grieve this man who is still alive. Whom I still love. And this is where I take you back, reader, to the beginning of the story. The story of Geoff. And how it came to unfold that I let him go. For Richard Bach gave us the famous quote, "If you love something set it free; if it comes back it's yours, if it doesn't, it never was."

The Beginning

"Let's try to sneak into Roomers tonight! I have just the right outfit to wear and what you're wearing is perrrrfect, HA!" My friend Rachel snickered and slapped my ass as she finished wiping down her last table and pocketing a large tip, surely made by flirting with her customers, a group of four muscular hockey players who were competing in this weekend's Can/Am tournament, one of many in the seemingly endless winters Lake Placid, NY has to offer.

"I'll meet you at your place when I'm done and we'll see, I don't know."

"Don't be such a pussy!" Rachel made some cat noises and clawed her right fingers down my bosom, making me feel slightly uncomfortable. She counted out enough tip money to make the sous chef cry and then skipped out the door and across the street to her second story apartment to prepare for a night out dancing.

Rachel was only fifteen at the time, but was a figure skater with a scholarship to attend a boarding school in Lake Placid. Her four brothers also attended the National Sports Academy with scholarships to play hockey. She was the middle child and somewhat of a tomboy when it came to athleticism, but strikingly sexual. Her body was extremely curvy and she knew how to move it both on the skating rink and on the dance floor. Whenever I was with her, men flocked like baby birds.

On this particular night however, I got held up on my way over to Rachel's apartment. I got stopped by the pizza delivery guy. He wanted to introduce me to his friend.

"Erin, hold up. This is Geoff. My friend who goes to St. Lawrence with you."

I walked over to the pizza delivery guy and a few other workers gathered outside the restaurant and we all talked for a few minutes. Geoff shook my hand. We exchanged information about our college schedules and first impressions of SLU.

"Geoff this is the hot phone girl I've been telling you about."

"Brett you told him I was a hot phone girl?"

"Well you answer the phones, and you're hot."

Geoff's pasty Irish face turned beet red. It was funny. I blushed too. Geoff was pleasantly awkward and had a strangely deep voice. He chose his words carefully when he spoke. Everybody in the huddle stopped to listen when he did. It was cold out and our jackets were all touching, about five of us bundled together, a short and strangely intimate wintery evening conversation.

"Maybe I'll catch you at school when next semester starts."

"Leaving so soon?" Brett asked.

"Rachel wants to try to sneak into Roomers." I whined.

"That girl's only 16!"

"She's 15, don't tell Mr. Mike, or she'll not be able to waitress anymore -"

"Holy shit! -"

"Yeah, she has a fake ID, she's gonna use color pencils on mine, I dunno -"

"Well good luck, are you working tomorrow?"

"Next weekend."

"Okay let's do something, let's plan a trip to Montreal sometime, Geoff's game for that, right Gayward?"

"Umm, yeah, sure, Montreal, sweet."

"Bye guys, nice meeting you Geoff." I ran across the street, my legs shivering, as I had a short skirt on and it was probably twenty degrees out.

I wondered if Geoff noticed how nice my calves were. I always had nice calves. I'm sure he noticed. He got to see much more than my calves a few months later anyhow.

Sick Spaghetti

Two weekends after meeting Geoff, Brett organized a group trip to Canada, where 18- and 19-year-olds could drink and be irresponsible. Not that we weren't already doing that on weekends in Lake Placid and during our semesters spent at college, but now we could do it somewhere else and feel even cooler about it I suppose.

Geoff borrowed his father's Ford Expedition and Brett drove his Toyota 4runner and altogether 7 of us drove to St. Catherine Street in downtown Montreal and rented two adjoining hotel rooms. I had money saved from answering phones at the pizza place, Rachel had money saved from waiting tables there, and of course Brett delivered pizzas, and as it turned out Geoff worked at the bowling alley next door. It was like we were all meant to be friends. Geoff and I were still on winter break from college and this would be a time to really get to know one another before getting back to school.

As soon as we arrived at the Marriott, Rachel disappeared into a crowd of sexy men (and perhaps women) with whom to co-mingle in the hotel lounge. She returned the next day when we checked out and Brett delivered her safely back to boarding school.

The day and evening spent on St. Catherine Street was a blur of clubs and lights and drinks. One of our friends, Liam, disappeared into a strip club and didn't answer his cell phone well into the next day, hours past checkout. Geoff and I had to leave without him, to get Geoff's dad's car back on time, but Brett and the others stayed and recovered Liam from a waffle joint where he was treating two bouncers to brunch as an apology for his lewd behavior the night before. Apparently he'd touched a stripper inappropriately during a lap dance, but was forgiven when calling his doctor for a verbal doctor note explaining his condition, one in which he had some sort of inability to control hand movements when aroused. Liam also had ADHD and Tourette's Syndrome, and left me perplexed beyond explanation after our first year's worth of conversations, but I came to appreciate him as you might an eighth wonder of the world. He was a hoot and was always included on outings with Brett's circle of friends. Believe it or not, Liam went on to law school and now has his own firm in Lake Placid.

But during this Montreal overnight trip, Geoff and I were strangers. We mingled in the group, and probably liked one another but were shy about it for the most part. It was upon checking out, that Brett took it upon himself to invite everyone besides Geoff and I to carpool with him, leaving Geoff and I to drive back together. That great big SUV and just the two of us.

Now I don't remember my phone number some days or even my age all the time, but I remember that car ride well. I remember the first impression Geoff left on me when we had that first alone time together. That vibe, if you will. How easy he was to talk to. How comfortable I felt with him. I could have sat and taken a road trip across the countries of Canada and the U.S. combined in one big circle only stopping for food and use of the bathroom. His energy was so content, so balanced. He had good taste in music and wanted to make sure I liked what he was listening to as well. Once in a while he turned the music down or off, and just let a stillness set between us.

He was a boy raised with manners and was full of stories yet dispersed them with silences and pauses, as to not talk my ear off, though I craved at times he would. All this in a drive of under two hours.

When we reached Plattsburgh, Geoff suggested stopping at the mall to stretch our legs and get a bite to eat. I excitedly obliged, saying I wanted Chinese in the Food Court, and hopefully they'd have free samples, though I'd be buying a meal anyhow.

Much to my dismay, he wasn't a big fan of Chinese. I think he got Burger King or Pizza, I can't remember. I purchased a plate of chicken lo mein with two sets of chop sticks and encouraged Geoff to try using chopsticks with me. I showed him how to hold one like a pencil and pinch the other. He adamantly refused. I insisted he give me one good reason why he so refused to try lo mein (I even said he could avoid the chicken meat if he thought it might be cat or dog meat), and he finally told me this:

"Lo mein just doesn't look right. It looks like spaghetti that got sick. I just can't do it. I'm sorry."

I processed what he said, and started to laugh. I had some lo mein in my mouth, and it started coming out of my mouth. I could barely swallow all of a sudden. Then I thought of what he said some more, and decided I could not eat anymore of this sick spaghetti either. To this day, I cannot eat lo mein. Geoff ruined lo mein for me, forever.

That was the first time Geoff made me laugh. It was such an uncontrollable laugh, and his words left such a marked impression on me. This is when I believe I fell in love with Geoff. The sick spaghetti comment. A decade later, after I'd left Geoff and began mourning the loss of him, I wrote a poem one day, and a line came out of that poem that gave me some clarity about love. And that line was this: "A man who makes you laugh - hold onto that one like a shadow at high noon."

On the day I left Geoff I didn't know the reason I left, but in the days and weeks and months and years that passed after leaving, clarity came. It was like taking steps backward from a mountain until finally you see the whole thing for what it is.

One of the reasons I initially thought I left, is that I thought that fundamentally, a partnership needs a stronger foundation than good sex and laughter at the end of the day. A good partnership needed financial stability, a strong parallel faith in God, and a coming together on politics.

No, I've had to step back even farther. And I see a bigger picture now. A healthy partnership comes with a significant other who makes you smile, makes you cry, and makes you laugh. A lifetime partner makes you feel alive. He makes you want to wake up in the morning. He makes you want to take on a new adventure each day. He simply makes you feel. That is what love is. I know that now. I see it. I had to walk far, far away to learn that.

Our First Time

For the life of me I can't remember when Geoff and I were officially a couple or when our first kiss happened or when we first held hands. But as most couples have a hard time forgetting their first most intimate moments, I will never forget ours.

It happened in his dorm room at St. Lawrence University, Whitman Hall, second floor, close to the balcony. He had a single room, nothing fancy, but it was all we needed to get the job done.

I'll spare the details meant only for he and I, and just say that we exchanged those three special words that come with any promotion of relationship. I said them first, and asked him not to reciprocate, since I was just sharing how I felt. I loved him.

But he couldn't resist, it seemed, to say them back. And after saying them he went to the opposite end of his room, only 15 feet away maybe, and turned off the light, so only his computer monitor shed a dim glow in the center of the room, and our dark bodies - his standing at one end and mine lying atop the bed at the other, waited for each other like weak magnets, controlled only by our very weak momentary willpower, as he pulled off his t-shirt, baring his soft and boyish skin.

I wanted to touch it. His chest and stomach. Shoulders and back. He had no hair there at all. I found that extremely sexy. I'd brought a night slip to his room and planned this out, and had changed into it somehow as sort of a surprise for him. I was ready to give myself to him and take him into me. He would be my first, though he didn't know it. I had let him think he was my second, since I was shy and a little embarrassed at my virginity, being a sophomore in college and all. He was a freshman and had let me know in not so many words, that he was not a virgin. But I believed I was the first girl he loved, and that's all that mattered. I loved this boy, this Geoff. I believed I would marry him someday, probably soon after we graduated college, if not the day after! We would have children soon after that, buy a house, land jobs, and live happily ever after. This was the man of my dreams, and he was about to make love to me.

When it was all over, I replayed our lovemaking over and over again in my mind throughout the night and throughout the next day, sometimes inadvertently squealing aloud to myself. I was just in a tizzy. My stomach was in knots. I was beyond infatuated. I was intoxicated with this Geoff and with how his body had moved with mine. How he'd looked into my eyes while we moved together, how he'd been somewhat shy and sensitive to how I felt while we moved and shifted and took our time feeling one another out. I'd never known sex could be so beautiful and non-awkward and slippery and feel-good. It surpassed any experience I went on to have at college, any high or buzz or anything. This one takes the cake. My first, with Geoff.

We went on to explore this newfound passion for each others' bodies for a decade and it never grew dull, though no experience ever quite lived up to that first one. We did grow a little self conscious as we put on weight over the years, but I never stopped loving his skin or how he felt inside of me. He had a gentle rhythm and we rocked just right together. Even after a decade, we were still exploring new ways to please one another, though I was a timid lover and Geoff's appetite for sex grew as his appetite for food did and I felt diminished in my capacity to please him as the years went on.

The Bird

College didn't end with wedding bells and baby diapers. We did however inherit a bird. Not the animal kind. It was a human bird. Let me explain.

We decided to settle down in Saranac Lake, where Geoff's parents lived and where each of us worked. I was a substitute teacher and Geoff wrote for the Adirondack Daily Enterprise. So we did what any normal couple fresh out of college would do. We rented a house and lived together, and sublet an extra room to a stranger.

Now let me say, this stranger was not creepy but he was strange. He was such a strange bird, that we actually called him the bird. He was perched atop the house. As close as one could be to living on the rafters and tile, this bird resided.

His real name was Jason, and that is what we called him to his face. We only called him bird behind his back, as to not be mean. He lived on the third floor of our A-frame abode with a bird's eye view of Bloomingdale Avenue's railroad tracks in downtown Saranac Lake.

Our first impression of the bird was that he looked extremely malnourished, or perhaps he was naturally just a small boned person. His head was particularly tiny, and we sometimes joked that he had a bird-brain.

Jason worked at a factory one hour away, and was up before the crack of dawn. Hours later when Geoff and I awoke, we'd commend the early bird for catching his worm.

"The bird has flown," Geoff remarked one morning.

"I'm surprised he gets up that early when he stays up so late playing guitar," I commented back.

"Yeah wasn't that Free Bird he was playing last night?" Geoff joked.

"Haha. He's free as a bird. He ought to find some other birds to play with too. Start a bird band."

"Birds of a feather flock together."

"Oh yeah, I've heard that before. I think a little bird told me that."

Geoff and I laughed.

The bird brought us lots of laughter.

Geoff brought me lots of laughter. The bird could have brought me lots of strife. He was a stranger living in our home and tried to hang out with us sometimes and it got awkward. But Geoff always made the bird feel comfortable and had a way of excusing us from the social scene when he felt I needed my space.

Geoff had a way of spinning things - situations - to make them laughable. He made life colorful. He colored my 20's with bird jokes and good music, interesting films and comedians, YouTube videos and Onion articles, music festivals and outdoor adventures.

He also invited his friends into our lives. Not just the bird. The bird was not actually our friend. But we had other friends I would not have had without Geoff. One of those friends being Liam. Liam and Meredith and Gigno and Titus, just to name a few. There was also Brett and Melissa, who we matched up after meeting Melissa in Rhode Island. They now live out West together. Meredith lives out West, too. In fact, everybody has moved on with their lives it seems. Everyone except for me. I live with my parents and blog and take medications that supposedly treat mental illness.

Geoff is a writer too, and has moved on relationship-wise. I can't picture myself ever seriously settling down with another person. Even though six years has passed since our break-up at this time of writing (2017).

Love doesn't pay the bills. Not having money pulled the last Jenga block out of our relationship. It became the source of stress for so many other issues that would have been non-issues otherwise. We'd not have been arguing about how messy his room was, for example, if we'd had the money to own our own home, with a master bedroom with furniture to put all his clothes in drawers and closets. We'd not have been arguing about late night boredom if we'd had money to afford cable at the beach-house. We'd not have been arguing over how fat we were getting if we weren't so depressed. Poverty is depressing. Debt drained the luster out of our everyday life. Hence, the drinking.

When we argued it was only when we were sober. I'd go after him only verbally, but with the accuracy of a peregrine falcon diving after it's prey. I'd use such intentional effort to strike with accuracy, a target which was somewhat already dead. Geoff never wanted to argue. He would sit motionless and silent, save for apologizing for whatever he did or did not do wrong, until my rant was over.

Geoff never reciprocated a provocative word to me in all our decade together. He did frown upon spending money on groceries. Beer and eventually lemon vodka became a daily necessity for Geoff. Comic books and Magic the Gathering cards became a weekly expense. Geoff liked to spend money but our fridge was always bare.

But Geoff had a way of soothing me, making me feel like everything would be okay, even when I sensed it wasn't. He offered foot rubs almost daily. Alcohol calmed me, too.

But my resentments built up over the years. Day by day, little by little, comments would escape my lips until it became a daily ritual to emasculate him verbally.

Until one day I arrived at the point of forgetting who it was that I fell in love with in the beginning. I found myself at a somewhat literal dead-end road of feelings. And so I ran away.