Bond and I

I have often wondered what it was about Bond that I found so appealing. Was it the fact that he looked like Daniel Craig? Worked for the government on top secret missions? His apartment by the beach with two walk-in closets? Or was he just incredibly handsome and sweet? After dating on and off for almost a year, Bond and I had reached a milestone in our relationship. We were meeting each other’s friends.

For the past year, my dates with Bond have remained a mystery to those close in my life, in fact our life together was more under wraps than any CIA mission. Though we were able to talk about everything in our lives, I somehow found a way to keep Bond disconnected to the life I had in the Village. He was the first man I had dated for this long who had not seen my apartment, my friends, or my bed. I always had this fear of getting too attached to him. I felt like this taboo of our age difference, cultural differences, and the fact that he was so successful would handicap us of anything. In reality, none of that bothered me, I just took into account of how people around me would feel about our May-December romance.

After three weeks of not hearing from Stallion, Bond and I ended up seeing each other again. A friendly drink here, a friendly dinner there, and before I knew it, I was kissing him goodnight in front of my doorsteps. Super Bowl Sunday I found myself running late as I made my way down 3rd street to meet Bond and his friends from back East. As I made my way through the crowded bar, I saw Bond sitting there with three of his buddies looking cool and relaxed, for a second I felt a pang of insecurities. I thought I was going to be ridiculed and looked as a Lolita. After several beers and 2 quarters of a pigskin ball being thrown around, the questions started.

I was surrounded by a New Yorker with an attitude, a Southerner who was amazed by Californians’ take it easy attitudes, and a Georgian who did not like to get the reach around. As I drank down my liquid courage, I came to realize that Bond had thrown me in a situation that most people would drown, yet somehow I had managed to stay a float and was now easing my way into a backstroke. I was hooked. I had managed to fall in love with these hard critics who were ready to chew me up and feed me to the dogs. As we walked out of Yankee Doddle and made our way to Barney’s for margaritas, the New Yorker turned to me and said, “I honestly thought you were going to be this tart, I see what he sees in you. I’m glad he has someone like you in his life.” I was still trying to digest that comment when I saw him. There they were, Stallion and his friends. I couldn’t believe it, he was in my turf. As a rule of thumb when breaking up with someone, it is my belief that certain locations such as towns, restaurants, and bars are given back to the ex and off limits to the broken party. I could feel the rush of anxiety taking over, but instead of caving in, I held myself high and walked into the bar with Bond by my side.

I could feel Stallion’s eyes piercing through me as I walked in; I tried my best to be the better man, so I pretended I didn’t see him. I couldn’t believe it. I came to realize something that night; I do have feelings for Bond. It all started when an old friend whom he traveled to Australia with about six years ago showed up at the same bar. She was the short, unemployed dietitian with mousey hair. I felt like I was standing in the middle of a Bosnian landmine field. Here was this ordinary, thirty-something, unemployed dietitian trying to make the moves on my date. I was checking my phone restlessly wondering when one of my best friends, Arpine was going to show up and save me from getting ignited. There I was, trying to make Bond part of my present when my past was lurking behind me while awkward ‘friend’ was trying to make way in our present.

After what felt like a lifetime, I saw my airbag walk in reminding me that I was the hot twenty-something year old. After a couple of hours I had managed to forget about Stallion, the unemployed dietitian, and was amazed to find that the generational gap between us all was nonexistent. It was a cocktail mix of generations X, Y, Z, and Me. With all the beers and margaritas, I found myself standing in the restroom assessing my situation with Arpine. “I love him. I really do. Why are you dating other men? He is amazing. I mean I want to find something wrong with him, but I really can’t!”

As we made our way back to the bar, Bond put his arm around my waist, lend forward and said, “So what do you think, we give this another shot?” I smiled back for I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Then again, when is it easy? I always left Bond for the guys that seemed right, but they ended up leaving me wounded, disappointed, and confused. I knew there was nothing left to do but dive in because in the end, no matter what, someone was going to get hurt. I just hope the cuts will not be too deep.
Posted by Armenian Chronicles at 10:20 AM 3 comments
THURSDAY, JANUARY 29, 2009