The One Who Got Away

If you can believe the songs, everyone has a one who got away. I didn't think I had one, content in my relationship and unattached to any past lovers.

But now I'm finding that I miss the way we danced together; the way he always told me I was gorgeous without prompting, even when I felt my worst; the way we would laugh together at chick flicks and wonder what the magical future held. We moved in together for a while--it was my idea. We were living miles and miles apart and he did all the apartment hunting, made the arrangements, and found us the perfect place.

The weekend I moved in, we spent Friday night choreographing 80s songs together. The one who got away from me was not a lover, but my gay best friend.

Things fell apart about a month later. I couldn't find a job and my money was running out. Down to my last $200, I charged a plane ride back East and broke the news to my friend. Things got tense. He thought I was being flaky, or wasn't trying enough. I felt incredibly guilty about leaving him to hazard an unknown roommate, but I saw no other choice, and I felt that he wasn't being very understanding.

We talked it over the night before I left, cleared the air, but we never really kept in touch after that point. Something broke. I miss him. He's a true light, funny and smart and caring and even a little wise, and one of the few men who could really take me dancing.