Curses and Blessings

My break-up with Chris marked the beginning of bad times; men sold themselves to me as shiny, new products that cleaned carpet and perfected the home, but a few months later, I’d realize I’d been had. Snake oil salesmen—and then there was Craig.

Craig. There’s only one way to describe the man I chased mercilessly for over a year. I found this while reading a Flashman book—which, if you haven’t heard about the series, is about a gallant-looking scamp who manages to accidentally be involved in every major historical moment of the 1800s:

"I still say that if it hadn't been for that damned gag, I'd have been back on the boat before midnight, rogering her speechless. And she knew it, too, and must have arranged for my abductors to muzzle me first go off, so that I'd never get a word in edgeways to sweet-heart her. You see, however much they loathe you, whatever you've done, the old spark never quite dies--why, for all her hate, she'd blubbered at the mere recollection of our youthful passion . . . No, she knew damned well that once she listened to my blandishments she'd be rolling over with her paws in the air, so like old Queen Bess with the much-maligned Essex chap, she daren't take the risk. Pity, but there it was."

Yes, Craig broke me open like a delicate egg a dozen times, and I made fine excuses for him each time, scooping the gold back into the shell. He lied so long and well that I believed it was my fault that we never made a go of it. I kept wondering what I could do differently to ensnare him, never once noticing that I was on the web rolled up and sucked dry. If you can’t believe he was a curse, know that I beat my fists and pulled my hair every day trying to forget him. I’d go a month without seeing or calling him and then run into him one night on an outing—he’d look at me, knowing. I’d look at him with an inward sigh, knowing also.

But the last time I saw him, I could not look at him in the same way. I’d just begun dating Robby, a sweet, handsome guy that I figured I would chew through in a few weeks. I always felt guilty dating guys like him and usually put them out of their misery early. As I sat with Craig in my studio apartment, remembering the men I’d left eating my dust because he called, suddenly, I realized something had changed. He kissed me. I was cold as a goldfish in its bowl. “What’s the matter with you?” “I don’t know,” I said faintly. Something had changed, and we both knew it. He left early that night, and I have not seen him since. And I have not desired it.

I suppose the only way to counteract a curse is by a blessing, which Robby certainly was. He kept asking questions, and I kept surprising myself by saying yes. I know I do not deserve this. I keep looking over my shoulder for the karma police. But always, Robby is there to keep night at bay. He is no ordinary blessing, but the kind you get one chance at during a lifetime.