And That Was That

The day after New Year's Day, I decided it was over between me and Latin Muslim. He stood me up on Christmas, and then again on New Year's.

After one last no-phone-call too many, I got the message.

He didn't love me. Or maybe he did, but he loved cocaine and his ghetto lifestyle more. Or maybe his hatred of himself overpowered his love for me. But whatever the case, I gave up. I decided not to call him anymore.

I discovered to my surprise that I was tougher than I thought. I thought my feelings were so delicate and fragile that if I let someone into my life and they walked out on me, stomping on my heart and trampling on my delicacy, I'd fall apart.

But I didn't. I knew I'd get through it.

Three weeks later, he finally called me.

Collect.

From jail.

Full of remorse and apology.

He told me that he tossed me aside because he knew he was no good for me and because he was afraid of "falling." That he really did love me and that I wasn't a "f*ck flick" – his words, not mine. I was a "nice, honest, loving, understanding, caring woman" and he would always love me and never forget me.

I told him that I forgave him, but he would never get another chance.

"I'm a f*ckup," he confessed. "One day, you're going to have a man that's going to be good to you, and you're going to have a family, kids, and I'll be very happy for you." He said that he couldn't handle trying to live his life "my way, society's way." He said he got frustrated, it hurt, and he couldn't cope. When he got out of jail in a few months, his mother was going to send him to Puerto Rico.

He also mentioned that he ran out on me because he didn't want to get me involved in drugs and crime and stuff. I told him he didn't have to worry about that.

"Why is that?" he asked.

"Because I know what I want, I know what's right from wrong, and 89% of the time, I try to do what's right."

Before he hung up, he asked if we were friends.

"Yes," I said.

"Best friends?"

"No."

"I can't be your best friend?"

"No."

"But you can be mine?"

"Yes."

That was the last time we talked.

I discovered that collect calls from jail were prohibitively expensive, even more expensive than regular collect calls. The next time he dialed my number, I didn't accept the charges.

And that was the end of that.

(Virginity Diaries Part 11 of 11: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 Lessons Learned 1 2 3)