I have a problem with consistency. This is why I haven’t posted in more than a year. It’s crazy to think about how fast time has passed and how much stuff I managed to shove into that year. I have lived in Puerto Rico, Washington, Oklahoma (actually, I think I was kind of homeless during this period), Idaho and Oregon. I have had five different jobs. And I fell into the craziest relationship I have been in thus far in my life.
Today is his 23rd birthday and I suppose to honor the occasion it would be appropriate to dedicate this (whatever it may be) to him. I met El Papazón (as he liked to be called) one Saturday night in Old San Juan. Upset because all the bars were closing at midnight due to an election the next day, I was knocking them back fast and looking for someone to entertain me for the rest of the night.
I turned to the guy sitting next to me, gazing at him flirtatiously. He wasn’t attractive but I only wanted someone to hang out with for the night. The next bus wasn’t leaving until 6:00am, so I had a lot of time to kill. We started talking. When the bars closed we went to the casino, where the drinks were complimentary and strong. I gambled for the first time and won.
By the end of the night, we had come to a friends-with-benefits arrangement. Before I knew it, we were in a full-blown relationship. We drank and smoked and drank and smoked and planned our future together. Every night was a party.
But we were never a good match. We constantly struggled to change each other. We had very little in common. But how much do two people have to have in common to sustain a relationship? I asked myself that question every day for the couple of months we were together.
I still don’t know the answer. I can’t say specifically why our relationship failed. I’m glad it’s over, but I miss it. Happy Birthday, Papazón.