The Men and the Boys: Asad, part 3

The human heart can be a terrible thing. Here was this incredible, sweet boy who wanted me, treated me wonderfully, and thought he had me. My heart, on the other hand, had decided she wasn’t in it. Sure there was the occasional flutter, but no more than that.

Poor Asad. How was he to know I belonged to someone else? I was still with Sandy, even though he wasn’t mine, wasn’t even close to being mine. You don’t have to be with someone to belong to them, and in retrospect, you don’t necessarily belong to someone just because you are with them.

I’d decided to let Sandy go, but my heart was still his. Asad had given me himself completely, but I could not take him, accept him, or have him as mine. At the ripe old age of 17, I was slowly starting to realize that just because someone really, really liked me, didn’t mean that I could really, really like him back.

Unfortunately that realization came over time, and at the expense of someone who cared about me very much. Why did it play out that way? I’ll have to pull out my Lack of Experience card yet again. I’d never dumped anyone, never sat down to have “the talk,” or issued ultimatums that wound up in singledom.

And, I’d never broken up with someone, least of all for treating me so superbly well. That alone made me second guess myself over and over again. I mean really, how often does that happen?

So while Asad continued being his gentlemanly self, while he was still holding my hand, taking me places and introducing me to friends, I did what I do best, especially back in those days: I froze. Brick by brick I put up my emotional wall and threw away the key, until he couldn’t help but notice. And finally, after all the analysis on my part, and the prodding to confide why I’d changed on his, I decided it was time to get things out in the open.

After weeks of my frigidity, we were on the phone when I told him, “I’d like to have a little talk.”

They say that men are stupid about relationships, but some catch on pretty quick. Asad was one of them. “Is it about us?”

I was silent on the other end for a long, long time. Nerves. My heart beating through my chest, etc. “Yes.”

His turn for silence. Then, “Will I be seeing you sometime soon?”

Ah, the question. More silence and, after an eternity, I whispered, “No…”

Without missing a beat he said, “Goodbye,” and hung up.

I never missed Asad as a boyfriend, no matter how wonderful he had been. That’s the true mark of being the emotional anorexic of the relationship, I suppose. But for a very long time, I did regret treating him so badly. Sometimes, I still do.

After mulling it over for months, after discussing it to death with friends, I discovered that there was a word for everything I’d just done: Rebound. Apparently, when one’s heart is broken, hurting, run amuck etc. by a previous love or relationship, it is the custom to quickly move onto someone else and make them feel as shitty as you do.

That wasn’t my goal, truly, and I beat myself up over it plenty. He was so nice, he was so good, he was so this and that and here and there, I’d really had no excuse. Can I chalk it up to being young and stupid?

I heard from Asad once after that, or at least I thought I did. Eight months after that disastrous conversation the phone rang, and I picked it up to silence on the other end. I knew someone else was there, and I knew it was him. After another minute of nothing I quietly said, “Asad,” to which the caller contemplated for another 20 seconds or so, and then hung up.

How did I know it was him? Out of all the random prank calls one could ever receive, what possibly drove me to the conclusion that it was Asad on the other line? Because. That day was his birthday.

I saw him a few years later too, when I was in my first year of university and on a weekend shopping trip with roommates. We were in a department store checking out the teen section when there he was, with his own group of friends, walking through the crowds as if he owned the place. He looked good, very good, and was garnering the usual stares from girls in every which direction. Then, as fate would have it, he turned and looked my way.

I looked back. We held that gaze just long enough for recognition to hit and then, he turned and walked away. I didn’t blame him for that, not at all, though it took my hands a good half hour to stop shaking.

Relationships come and relationships go, but none truly leave you if you learn from them. That could just be my opinion, though. So, what did I learn from my time with Asad?

Rebounds don’t exist if you don’t let them. Your time in mourning is never healed by entering something new. Don’t get involved with one person if you are in love with another. Your first gut instinct is usually always right.

Don’t be afraid. Talk. Getting things out in the open is often best for the both of you, even hurtful things need to be said. If anything, talking can avoid disturbingly loaded confrontations at the mall.

I suppose it would serve Asad little consolation to know that he helped me learn all these lessons, in that way, but I learned them nonetheless. Wherever he is these days, I hope he’s happy.