She’s a mystery to me.
Here are some facts about her:
- She’s fucking SMART. Like, top one percent smart. PhD. Interesting field. Interesting work.
- She’s fucking HOT. Like, top one percent hot. Toned. Slim. Beautiful. Every. Fucking. Part of her.
- She’s NICE. Like, top one percent nice. She’s generous. Considerate. Thoughtful.
- She’s INTERESTING. Like, top one percent interesting. I could talk with her about just about anything for a long time, no problem.
Some months ago, because reasons, we decided not to be in touch. Every so often since then (birthdays, mostly, but also national crises/rejoicings) we’ve said hi.
We said hi recently.
Sofia, for the most part, doesn’t read my blog. When she does, it’s painful for her, because she envies the women about whom I write who aren’t her. I wish she didn’t. I wish I had a way to prevent her from feeling this. But I don’t. It’s simply inevitable. So I just always hope she stays away from the blog. And she mostly does. But every so often she does. And then, typically, we lose touch for a bit.
A week or so ago, she wrote me. (It’s on her to initiate contact. My job is not to initiate contact.) “Hey – been thinking about you a lot. How is everything?”
An exchange ensued.
Well, after saying hi, after catching up, I told her that I’d been manically stretching, manically working out.
Sofia – whose body is just. fucking. sick. said, “That’s a lot of stretching! And looking at hot women!”
I told her, truthfully, “I fucking need it. My body really never recovered from my surgery. I’ve got the workout down. But the stretching thing, it’s taking (I’m getting) a longer process. Yeah. Looking at hot women.”
She asked, “In person or Zoom?”
“Zoom,” I replied.
Some more chat. About other things. Then… “Our chat inspired me to stretch again. I was avoiding it because I’ve gotten so stiff and it’s difficult/painful, but I need to start somewhere (and set a schedule for it!) Any tips?”
So, um, I was being good.
“Hire hot guys to stretch with? (Like you need to pay….)”
“Well,” she wrote. “Wanna stretch me?”
And like that, Sofia and I were, once again, off to the races.
A parenthetical: Sofia often has longed for me to write about her, for her to see herself portrayed here, as I portray the other women in my life, all but one of whom I have less of a connection with than I do with her. It pains me, enormously, that this pains her.
As I wrote to another woman the other night, and, as I’ve told Sofia 37,253 times – I don’t choose what I write, about whom I write. My words emerge from me. And, the words that emerge are a poor guide to my feelings, to my longings. That’s not to say they’re not true; just that they’re incomplete.
I have only one response to the question Sofia asked, and I gave it to her: “Always.” I always want Sofia.