Dreaming Flat Tires | Misadventures in the Dark

Friday, August 1, 2008

Dreaming Flat Tires

Posted By on Fri, Aug 1, 2008 at 3:05 PM

I've found myself aware of expecting the worst — dreaming flat tires, so to speak. My guard is up before the dance begins. I wade in the disbelief he'll call at the hour he promises. Sometimes, I doubt he'll call at all. I question his intentions. I sabotage good things into bad. I fully realized this when I stepped outside of myself to review the following conversation with a  friend.


Angie: Who is coming to see your band Thursday night?
Self: and he says he's coming but I'll believe it when I see it.
Angie: Why would you assume he wouldn't show up?

I assume it and truly believe it. Why? Because it will hurt less when I'm right. See, even now, when I'm right rather than if I'm right.


He did show up. He even took off work to be there.


I set him up to fail despite him calling when he said he'd call. I punished him for others' mistakes. I never considered the notion of him proving me wrong. I didn't consider an alternate ending. I invested 100% into his failure to keep his word. As a self-proclaimed optimist, I'm now questioning myself.


Take the situation with my "cute neighbor." I predicted a negative ending before the story even began. I dwelled on "The end" before there was even a "Once upon a time." I assumed he would be self-involved, shallow, wild, phony, and manipulative based on his appearance alone. I'm an asshole for this and I know it. I assumed (there's that word again) he had a rotating door of women, all striving to be the next "Mrs. Cute Neighbor."
He proved me wrong. He's genuinely charming, attentive, kind, intelligent, and thoughtful. And not only to me but in general. We find ourselves engrossed in conversations often lasting five hours at a time. To quote him, "Time flies with us, huh?" Indeed. He compliments the little things. For instance, the other night, as he reached out for my hand, he said, "I like your hands. You have nice hands." Or he tells me I'm beautiful when I feel I look my worst. The "cute neighbor," Steven, has become someone I enjoy sharing my time. I think he might concur.


Nan, my co-worker and friend, still finds the term "cute neighbor" inadequate as a nickname. She refers to him as the "hot neighbor." She generally throws in a few additional four-lettered, colorful adjectives, as well. Another friend mentioned, "He took the mold for perfect and broke it." I feel lucky to know he is every bit as "hot" on the inside. Cliché as it is (clichés are clichés for a reason), he truly is even better looking because of who he is as a person. In other words, his outward beauty is magnified because of his inner beauty.


My mother saw a picture of Steven and was quick to add, "He is cute. Looks cute, acts stupid?" I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

My roommate, Rheanna, is quick to listen and slow to offer opinion. She said, "I've never seen you as comfortable as you are with Steven. He appears to be just as strong as you." I still offer a zillion reasons why it could never work and yet I revel in the delight of (infrequently) being wrong.

Sometimes the glass has to be half-full or you'll always go thirsty.

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