Significant Other

I had previously posted that I do not have a significant other, and that is the truth... for the most part. I live alone, dine alone, go out alone, everything alone. Nearly. Now I confess: there is an 'other', and he's pretty 'significant' to me.
We met 6 years ago. From the moment I gazed into his sea-green eyes and he returned the look and nodded his hello, we were both hooked. It was like wildfire, spontaneous combustion, that 'click' you feel in the middle of your brain and every one of your neurons firing in time to that perfect celestial symphony that only plays when the stars are aligned just right. That's what its like for me and him. Even now, after 6 years.
We're not together, and we're not going to be together. Various circumstances compel us to not have that kind of life: our backgrounds, our values, our beliefs, our way of life is too different. We live in different parts of the country. He has commitments he cannot break, I've lived a life of solitude I can't let go of. But for the past 6 years, we've been there for each other: in hard times, in good times, to nurture and comfort one another. We accept that that is all there is for us, and all that there will be. For what we need and want from one another, it is perfect.
He's a sad and wistful man, deeply introspective. He lends thought to bigger things, philosophical questions, moral rights and wrongs. We often discuss his ponderings of whether he's doing the right thing with his life. In his opinion, he comes up way short. He's compelled by the circumstances of his life to be more materialistic than he shows himself to me to be. I think, on some level, he resents having to put on that face but he doesn't know how to get around it. I don't give him advice; my place it to listen to him and let him work things out. I'm not his preacher or teacher.
I don't look for him to be my savior or my rescuer: the whole knight-in-shining-armor phenomenon women seem to think men are supposed to be. There is nothing for him to rescue me from. Putting him on that pedestal would most likely break this wondrous relationship we have. I accept him for what he is, and how he fits into the life I made for myself. The only thing I ask is that, when he is with me, he should BE with me: no Blackberry, no phone calls, no distractions. He accepts that, and complies.
Since I met him, there has been no one else for me. I'm content with the phone calls every few months that last for hours, and the occasional emails, and maybe a face-to-face rendezvous whenever his schedule can manage it. He is the one who initiates most of the contact; I usually send emails wishing him a happy birthday, or letting know I'm thinking about him on the anniversary of his mother's death. After all, that's all there can be. I still thrill that this attractive, intelligent man is my friend, a part of my life, wants to talk with me, wants me - whatever part of me there is to be had. That's been a rarity in my life.
There's been strange coincidences that have thrown us together over the years. He had business in Houston one year, and I lived only a few hours away. A suggestion from him, a drive south for me and presto: magical weekend ensues! Another time I went to D.C. for a job interview; guess who happened to be there on assignment that very week? The pleasure of sitting across a table and conversing with him obliterated the frustration that I did not get the job I had traveled across the country for.
There's a reason we haven't let go of each other. I don't know what it is, and I suspect he doesn't either. But every time we are together, it is like there's been no time apart. We fall into that comfortable zone where people who truly know each other are totally themselves together. That's also been a rarity in my life.
Is this love? How should either of us know? We were both too broken in childhood to understand what love is, or recognize it when it comes our way. I think that love has slapped us both in the face with this relationship, and we are both too ignorant to know it. I've told him I love him, but I know instinctively that he will never say those words to me. I accept that.
I'm leaving the country. It will no longer be as simple as picking up the phone, finding out we are in the same neck of the woods by some strange coincidence, sitting across the table from each other in some funky restaurant again. He doesn't even have a passport; indeed he had never seen one until I showed him mine the other night. I don't know if he's curious about China and would want to go there, but when I told him about my new job via email a few weeks back, he immediately jumped on the Internet and learned what he could about the city I'll be living in. Its little things like that that let me know how he feels about me.
For those of you reading this blog who know me particularly well, you know that I do not know a soul in Baltimore. Yet here I am, my last 4 days in the United States in a city full of strangers that I've never been to before.
He's here on assignment. He works long hours, and has social commitments to boot. We can't spend every minute together, and I don't think we would want to. We did spend two wondrous evenings together walking the harbor, dining at eclectic restaurants, talking, talking, talking. Ever the conversation flowed. How I enjoy these moments with him! Surely he must enjoy me too: he's the one that grabs my hand, wraps his arm around my waist, arranges his schedule so that we can have some time together. Yes, there's definitely something between us. We'll have email, and that will have to do, IF there is to still be something between us while I'm on the other side of the globe.
He had brought a bottle of wine for us to share, and a bottle opener - a particularly fancy one. We didn't drink the wine; he suggested I take it with me and drink it on my first night in my new apartment. What an excellent idea! While packing up my stuff, I noticed he left his bottle opener. A quick text message from me, a return phone call from him: he meant for me to have it. He had bought it in Houston for our rendezvous and had kept it all of these years so that he could open the wine whenever we meet. He had no more use for it, so now its mine. That's the kind of deep sentiment this man has. That's how I know how he feels about me.
One last kiss in the elevator, hand in hand we walk to his truck. There is no sadness, nor is there a sense of fatalism. It doesn't even feel like good-bye. It never does, with him. One final hug by his truck, and he gets in. He sends me a smile and a wave, turns the ignition, and then he's gone.
The sky starts to weep, as though mourning my loss.