Men

He told her life is best lived in boxes and she responded with a curious stare.

“Boxes?” She questioned, “And what my dear do you mean by that?”

“My success,” He explained “I attribute to my boxes. A box for love and passion, a larger box for work, another for hobbies and so on. If you want what I have, you must create boxes.”

And she looked at him, a handsome man, but aged by the stress and responsibility hidden in the lining of certain boxes and she wondered if she too could actually compartmentalize her life.

-

“Women who are 35 are crazy” he explained.

She laughed, never quite able to predict what he would bring to the table. Her look was enough to beckon an elaboration.

“They wake up one day and look at themselves in the mirror and ask what the hell have they been doing since college. They wanted to keep up with the boys, and at the end of the day they failed, and now their eggs are drying up and the successful men want the woman they were 10 years ago. You take them on a date and they want a ring, not an appetizer”

He looked at her and continued, “Men like myself want women like you.”

Her stomach clenched, and she remembered something her father once said. A man and a woman can only be friends for so long before one wants more.

He was that one.

-

“Something about you pulls me in. I can’t place it. Maybe it is the sadness in your eyes. They are so beautiful, but so sad.”

She uncomfortably laughed and said she was the happiest girl in the world. And began to list reasons as to why, creating a case for her contentment, but she trailed off..

He looked at her with a serious stare and said “No, that is not true, there is something behind those eyes, hidden in that heart.”

And she felt vulnerable. She missed being misunderstood.

-

She lost her mind, and her heart.

“What do you want me to say??? Give up everything, come with me to Israel? Forget your dreams, make sacrifices.”

Yes, she thought, I want you to say precisely that, or maybe just that you love me. That I didn’t follow you around the world to discover I can’t keep you for myself. That you were meant for another.

But she discovered precisely that. A delayed flight back from Panama, a restless sleep on an airport floor, and a silent drive home. She then understood why there are thousands of novels written about broken hearts.

-

“Come with me to Paris!” He said with an unattractive dose of enthusiasm.

“Oh, don’t be silly” she responded.

“I’m serious. Or Vegas, London, New York, the moon…Just come with me somewhere”

She sipped her dirty martini and grimaced at the bite of the vodka. She turned to him with kind but sad eyes and replied, “I don’t think I can ever fall in love with you . I don’t feel the connection you do. I see you as a friend, but we can never be more. I’m sorry”

“Love?” He questioned. “ I’m not asking you to jump beneath the sheets, just to take a chance on me. I will make you a queen.”

But she did not want to be a queen.

She never spoke to him again, preferring her pauper she left in Panama.