A Man is Not His Song
Saturday, May 4, 2024
A Man is Not His Song from Pleasure by Feist
So, I had a bit of a spring affair. Well, a winter-through-summer affair. It was cold when we met and hot outside the last time we saw each other.
His name was Luke. I liked him a lot. He was charming. A little dull but his grin more than made up for it. He had that kind of impossible, Disney prince animated handsomeness all over him. Perfect blonde haircut, perfect eyes, perfect body, perfect scent, perfect face. And he knew how to use them all to his privilege and advantage.
I’d gained a lot of weight and Luke was a bear-chaser. He chased me well. I had never been fetishized like that, never fawned over for my weight. It was intoxicating to physically connect to someone who made me feel attractive and wanted. I was on another plane when we got together, and I was always sad when it was time to go. He reminded me that I could still be desirable even though I was bigger. I needed the reminder, desperately.
We went to the swimming pool together a few times. Me, embarrassed to take off my shirt in the shade and he, proudly bearing his chest in the sun. Our conversations were awkward and didn’t do much more than skim a surface of some kind. He was in the in the “it” crowd, I could tell. I don’t think he spent much time in contemplation. He didn’t have to.
He was seeing someone and I inferred it wasn’t going well. Their relationship was a long-distance one; Luke would visit Columbus from Pennsylvania on the weekends, and would sometimes build in time for me while he was in town.
Luke knew I was married and my husband knew about Luke. My husband even went with me to get drinks one night and meet him - this “Luke” that I kept talking about. This “Luke” because of whom I’d had to change the sheets. This “Luke” who’d I’d cried in my husband’s lap over because I knew that my time with him was limited.
Love and loss come from the same place, Meshell Ndegeocello said during a concert I went to. She’s right. There was always a sort of heartbreak or ache whenever Luke and I went back to reality after we’d just seen each other. I have no idea if he felt the same, or if I was nothing but meat to him. I suppose ultimately I didn’t care. Or maybe that’s really all I cared about.
He stopped coming to Columbus after he and his boyfriend broke up. We stayed in touch for a little while via sexting and texting, but then he just kind of went away for good. He moved on, and I did the same, sad and yearning.
Before he left, I made him a thoughtfully curated mix CD, because of course I did.
I wrote up and designed liner notes and explained the constraints I’d employed in creating it - love songs were prohibited; the CD was to have a hidden track; and other rules I’d made up. You know, as you do.
I made a webpage to accompany the digital liner notes booklet. It included downloadable “b-sides” I’d picked but didn’t make the final playlist (Camel Walk by Southern Culture on the Skids, Ways to Be Wicked by Lone Justice, and Shark by Throwing Muses).
I fumbled over words and sheepishly handed him the CD one day saying, “Um, I made this for you.”
“How 2006 of you!” He teased when I gave the CD to him, and then he grinned that perfect grin and my knees went to jelly and I couldn’t think of a witty comeback until like three days later.
“It’s very sweet of you,” he followed up.
One of the songs it was called, “Pleasure” by Feist from the album of the same name. I titled the CD “We Know Enough to Admit…” by lifting a line from that song. You know, as you do.
We know enough to admit…
It’s my pleasure and your pleasure
It’s my pleasure and your pleasure that’s the same
That’s what we’re here for!
I don’t know if he ever listened to it; he never said one way or the other.
“You loved him, didn’t you?” Michael asked me once.
“I think so. I couldn’t help it.”
“I know. But I’m glad you always came home to me.”
“Me too.”