Oh goodness, it's still so goddamn hard to talk about him. To talk about us. But, time heals all, or whatever, so I might as well suck it up and get it out. Plus, this might help you understand why I am such a nut.
So, here goes:
For a long time, I was in love with a barricade boy (an actor in Les Mis on the West End for those of y'all who don't speak stagey). He changed my world. He woke me up. He swept me off my feet. It was one of those things that just happened--he came into my life on a whim, unexpectedly and sudden. It was magical.
He was, for me, the ultimate. What I had always dreamt of. Oh goodness me. He was tall, dark and handsome, English, stagey and so incredibly talented. I couldn't believe my luck when we formed a friendship and I couldn't sleep at night when we became more, because I felt so, so, lucky.
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| I did. And it was life changing. |
What he and I did have was exceedingly special--when it wasn't a hot mess, that is. He was truly the first man in my life to "get" me. He challenged me, he saw and understood the "real me". I was 100% myself with him from day one and we just fit. It was so very Marius and Cossette. I mean, we were just instantly together. Instantly there was an "us". I almost think it was love at first sight. We couldn't stand to be apart once we had met.
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| Pretty much what we said when I left for Heathrow after our first date |
We understood each other. We joked like old friends, laughed for hours, and talked of running away together--anywhere, so long as we were together. I am not sure if I fell in love with him, London, Les Mis, or all three at once, but, suddenly, he was my barricade boy. I was his, he was mine--completely. My swing, Brujon and occasional Feuilly. My Lovely Lady. Later, my gangster with a bad New York accent running political schemes.
And then, suddenly, he was nothing. He was no longer mine in Jesus Christ Superstar, nor in workshops for upcoming tours in Spain--nothing-- we didn't belong to one another any longer. (there was a whole big nasty end, but, we don't need to get into it) (suffice to say, it was the lowest point of my life, the hardest pain I'd ever felt. I wondered if I just "fell" into the subway tracks at the Oxford St station if it would make the pain stop. I remember not being able to breathe and was so jacked up on caffeine because I couldn't sleep that I almost passed out talking to a priest at Westminster Abbey. Really. That happened)
We went from talking almost every single day, to nothing for over a month. It hurt more than I thought it could. He was just going on with his life, and I was here, unable to figure what I did wrong, unable to sort why my dreams were dashed, unable to trust myself or to even get out of bed some days.
I told myself this was karma, that I didn't really deserve to be happy--to have someone like him in my life. I wasn't worthy of love. I'd scroll through our emails and our texts and cry. He was my perfection, my happiness, my confidant. And he was gone.
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| Queen's Theatre Les Miserables 2011-2012 cast. He's there, but only I know where. |
Eventually, he reached out to me, and as angry and heartbroken as I was, I couldn't show it. I just told him he was a wanker and we went along with our friendship. It was so weird to not have him call me "baby". As time went on, we become more comfortable again--I remember him teasing me about my Halloween costume and wishing me a "Happy Thanks Giving!x". I still wasn't his, and he wasn't mine. But, we were something.
I started dating, I couldn't wait forever for him to come to his senses, but, I knew if he ever asked for me back, I'd be there in a second. A milisecond even.
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| PREACH, Eponine, preach. |
That day never came.
When I arrived in England for a few weeks holiday after Christmas, he welcomed me via text, but informed me he was in a relationship. My heart sank. I had a feeling--and I was seeing someone (the man who couldn't commit, fyi who broke up with me right before Valentine's Day), but still, to have our relationship forcibly over like that was hard. I remember not being able to eat my lunch. We made plans to catch up, but being the wanker he is, he cancelled many a time. Until I went all guilt trip on him and we agreed to meet when he got off work one night.
As my friend and I headed to where he was to meet him, I began to shake and cry. She had to slap me and calm me down. I didn't know what would happen when I saw him. Would I cry? Would I vomit? Could I pull off calm, cool and collected? Was I really as great an actress as I think I am?
Well, wouldn't ya know it, I walked in, saw him, and felt NOTHING?! No, really, nothing. (I mostly blame the fact that at the time, I was crazy for the guy I was dating at the time)
We hugged, we talked, it was lovely. It was more than lovely, it was almost perfect. We had the best night catching up with the old Les Mis lot, chatting with his flatmate, busting into Tommy Steele songs, and eventually hand jiving at 2am (pretty standard for this group). I haven't laughed so hard since I don't remember when. We then all headed to Balan's for breakfast at 3am. We cheers-ed to Molly and her graduate school acceptance, we laughed over his inability to drink vodka and inappropriate drink names that he ordered for his friends.
He harassed me about not seeing his show yet; noticed my nose ring within seconds and poked me in the face most of the night saying "I can't believe you've done and gotten your nose pierced!", we laughed over Les Mis stalkers, and sparkle shoes for Priscilla.
We hugged many times--he is the best hugger. It was just like it's always been. Our hugs were the same, our jokes the same. He was the same funny, strong willed goofball I fell in love with. He said things to me that made me cry--things that I will hold in my heart forever.
I saw him in his how the next night and laughed and cried. I am always so proud of him and I loved seeing him and his amazing dance prowess (even if his voice was not highlighted at all), we held hands and walked back to my hotel talking about old times, and when I'm coming back to see him in Priscilla--which will happen, I am sure.
We laughed over Sondheim DVD's and my love of The Great Race--mostly Jack Lemmon.
There was talk of Skype dates and we shook on it. A promise to text when I got on the plane the next morning, another hug and we said our goodbyes. I went to my room and cried--a standard London practice for me, but this time, it was happy tears. Happy to have had a night with my best friend.
Even after heartbreak, I keep returning to him, unable to give up what we had and what I hoped we could have. We've texted a few times since I've been back in the States--including this goddamn gem which stopped me in my tracks. I return to the hope that we can remain friends; that the one person in my life to ever understand me, to ever fully complete and complement me--that he and I are not lost forever. As friends (which is how we started. Amazing friends)
I don't doubt that he did love me, and I don't doubt that we are perfect for each other, but, our love wasn't and isn't perfect, and that's why we can't work. I hope we have found a way we can be involved in each others lives and maintain the friendship I have so desperately missed. (seriously, he's the only person who's more of a stage geek than me) (and he even called me "beautiful" and "svelte" when I saw him last, which of course was a huge ego boost because he's not quite as ripped and in shape as he once was, so, basically, I won that round, New Girlfriend)
Will I ever fully be over him? I hope so. I know everyone tells me when the Right Guy comes along, you forget everything else, you are floored and forever changed--well, the problem is, I thought that's what he was. I can't imagine someone better suited for me, someone I was better suited for. Alas, he and I cannot be, so I hold to the hope that there is another Brujon out there for me. Another Tony. Another Topper. Another man I will love so dearly, who will bring out the best in me and make me feel like only he ever did--only better.
Because if I don't believe that, what else is there?
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