dogfight

terry and i had a big, drunken fight last night. it's been a long time; as long as i can remember. i'm sure you won't be surprised: the drama started at (grand) central station.

the initial plan was for terry, tom, and i to go to the bar; kel would meet us later. terry ended up going to happy hour with his coworkers (starting to drink at 5pm is never a good sign), so i ate dinner with tom and planned to meet terry at the bar. tom had to bail because his friend was going through a breakup. so, it was just me. going to meet terry, my ex-boyfriend, at the bar.

i started trying to call terry around 10:30 and got no answer. at 11:15 i decided to go to the bar, having been assured by tom that terry just couldn't hear his cellphone and that he was probably right there in the front room. i packed up my neuroses and walked to the bar, preparing myself to do one of the things i hate most: walk into a crowded bar alone.

terry wasn't, in fact, in the front room; nor was he in the pool room (not like a cabana. a room with pool tables. what's that called?) or upstairs. after i'd stood with ron and scott (my editors from gay life) for two hours, scott asked me, "so, you're getting stood up?" "yeah, i guess i am," i told him.

terry showed up at 1:45, last call, to pay his bar tab. he walked right past me. i went up to him at the bar and he looked surprised. "where have you been?" i asked. "on the dance side. where's tom?" "tom ditched me. and so did kel. check your phone." i'd tried calling him something like 18 times. his face formed a look of surprise and he apologized. when we walked outside, i expected that we'd leave. even if we're ex's, we live together, and i don't walk around baltimore, the city that bleeds, by myself at 2am.

after standing around for 15 minutes, horrified that i was on the sidewalk sale, i told terry's new "friends" that it was nice to meet them and turned to leave. terry didn't follow. i couldn't believe what was happening--not only had i spent the evening wondering where he was, now he was letting me walk home alone. this, i'm sad to say, is where things got ugly. drunkenly ugly.

on my way home i started to try to call terry's cellphone. forgive me. i was drunk. after not answering a few times, he annoyedly picked up the phone. i'd started to walk back toward central; i guess to see what he was doing. again. i was drunk. he'd left with his new "friends," and i got a sick feeling in my stomach. tom told me this morning that terry probably just wanted to hook up. i know that.

we finally both got home--terry, i'm sure, pissed that i'd ex-boyfriend-style cockblocked him--and the fireworks flew. i just couldn't make him understand why i was hurt that he never even bothered checking his phone to see where i was. he had a whole satchel full of excuses, but when it comes down to it, this is what happened, and what i couldn't get him to own up to: if he'd wanted me there, he would've--one time--glanced at his phone and seen that i'd tried to call 18 times.

in the middle of our screaming match, as usual, terry got in bed (er, futon) and passed out. he's much better than i am at escaping a situation. i understand that last night was bound to happen sometime; and that terry's behavior is normal. we're ex-boyfriends. but it doesn't make it any easier.