Cleaning out the Cobwebs

Something unnatural happens to me this time every year. Doesn't matter where I am, who I'm with or how much memory-cleaning I've already done. I am driven to go through photographs, tossing a few more each year, and raise a toast (always, Dewar's and water) to this one secret person. He wasn't in my life for long, and not too many people know of him, but he was a great love and taught me some incredibly painful lessons in my life.

Specifically, it's a ritual. I could be living in a box and I'd still find a way to drink to him. Just one drink. Just one raising of the glass. And always, without fail, on December 31.

I lived with him, or should I say, vice versa, for four years. He was an ugly little troll, but outstandingly fun to be around, and playful and positive every minute of the day. I adored him from the minute I met him. He came in to the bar I worked at during the day many, many years ago and challenged me to a game of darts. He was a jockey, and was covered in mud and smelled like a horse stall, but he had a twinkle in his eye and a crooked little smile.  He won the game (played three out of four, straight cricket) and in the weeks after that, showed up every day for two months.

He was the worst thing that could have happened to me, and yet the best thing for a little while. He was animated and lively, with a British accent that would have knocked any American gal's heart for a loop – and he definitely had gals! Tall ones, short ones, fat ones and lean ones...didn't matter to him, he just loved them all. But, I was the special gal, the one he spent Christmas with, the one he spent New Year's with, and the one who couldn't see the love in his eyes. 

He was too playful and I was too serious. I wanted more than he could give. He was happy to get by, and I wanted to succeed. When he was through riding his horses at noon, he went to the bar. When I was through working at 5 p.m., I went home to find him drunk. He would joke and kid and make funny faces and I would cajole and scowl and worry about the future.

But what passion we had! And how I loved him!

There are people in your life for a reason. When we finally called it quits – he to another gal who could see that playfulness as an asset and not a liability and I to a career and the seriousness of raising my child – it rendered me almost suicidal. 

But, the whole affair taught me the value of a smile, the need for playful love and the stupidity of not caring for people the way they are, not the way you want them to be. When I lost him, I gained the knowledge that I would never again lose romance, never again settle for less than a million smiles and the love in a kiss that is true. I've learned to look in the eyes for love.

So, on Dec. 31, I'll raise my glass again to you, my ugly little troll. How many years has it been, I wonder, that I have poured myself a Dewar's and water and tossed my eyes up to the moon and wished you well, wherever you may be. 

And, the chances are very good that you're doing the exact same thing.