Sofia

She’s a mystery to me.

Here are some facts about her:

1. She’s fucking SMART. Like, top one percent smart. PhD. Interesting field. Interesting work.
2. She’s fucking HOT. Like, top one percent hot. Toned. Slim. Beautiful. Every. Fucking. Part of her.
3. She’s NICE. Like, top one percent nice. She’s generous. Considerate. Thoughtful.
4. 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.

Anyway:

I have only one response to the question Sofia asked, and I gave it to her: “Always.” I always want Sofia.

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Don’t you?