If journeys end in lovers meeting, then journeys begin in lovers parting.
I just began a new journey.
When last we left off, I’d determined to exit my poetry and Scotch cocoon. My Burns Night resolution in full effect, I’d spent several weeks dating incessantly. Son of the Black Panther, Cocky Lawyer Dad, German Personal Trainer…Then, just as I was about to retreat back into my world of Rabbie and Ledaig, the ghost of boyfriends past followed me into the present. Again.
Like Casper the Friendly Ghost but with a strong jaw line, wide shoulders and sex appeal, Jack had fit the bill of PSM (Potential Scotch Man) when last we met. Unfortunately at that time, I was fresh off my break-up with Half Baked, my live-in boyfriend of three years, named so for his affection for the Ben & Jerry’s ice cream flavor, not weed. When I bumped into Jack at Shoolbred’s sipping Lagavulin in front of the fireplace, I was surprised to see this love specter in one of my favorite watering holes and thrilled to learn that he fit the PSM bill now more than ever.
Quite a romantic courtship ensued. Nights at the opera and Scotch, dinner at Picholine and Scotch, slow dancing at home to Nina Simone and Scotch. And then it happened one night a few weeks ago. Another theme that has haunted my love life past popped up in the present with a “boo!” Jack, voice nervous, began with “I’m falling in love." The chaotic jumble of words that followed ended with “I’m scared. I’m not ready.”
Here it was, once again, the “I’m scared” lament. This is a possible relationship, not Scream. Is the prospect of love, the real thing, that frightening? Is it terrifying enough to send a man running from a woman as if from Jason at Camp Crystal Lake?
I wasn’t afraid of love, but I did my own brand of running. In the spirit of Eat, Pray, Love, I decided to take a trip.
