"You're too short for me," my girlfriend's former co-worker quipped at the club, "but you're not too short for my friend."
I rolled my eyes and glanced over at his friend. Not bad, but I wasn't exactly drooling. My other friends were otherwise engaged, so I figured there wouldn't be any harm in dancing with him. We danced, didn't even talk and barely looked at each other. After the song I resumed my spot on the platform. It wasn't long before he was back in front of me, two feet below; he beckoned me down to his level. It was only courteous to comply. He is a retail manager originally from the Deep South. He is 26. That's pretty much all I found out about him that night.
It's difficult to define how long a rebound lasts. Sometimes we transition seamlessly into the next relationship. Other times we take weeks, perhaps even months or years, to heal. But no matter how long it takes, the process is always the same. You have to come to terms with the fact that you are now available. There are no relationships to hide behind or to protect you from the longing you feel when alone in your bed.
Going out when you are newly single is like being naked in front of a crowd, except you are the only one that notices. For the last few weeks I have been nude at least four nights a week.
"Let's go get a drink," I told my club companion after a second round of dancing. My upcoming 9 a.m. meeting hung over my head like the sword of Damocles, but another Corona later and I was walking the six blocks to his apartment. I woke up bleary-eyed the next morning. I could just make out my clothes scattered on the floor and my coat hung on the chair across the room, but I didn't have an ounce of regret. I was happy to have done my part for New Orleans and gone wild on Mardi Gras.
When one-night stands used to be my M.O., I never wanted to see someone again if I didn't think it could be something more. For some reason this time is different. We have hardly anything in common. I honestly don't think he is my type at all, but both my Friday and Saturday nights ended at his apartment. Each morning was the same: lighthearted, unimportant conversation and complete ambivalence about future plans. I had never felt better. There was no pressure, no false hopes or commitments. If this is what it felt like to have a "fuck buddy," then I was hooked.
Of course these are difficult relationships to navigate. While my friend was abroad, she thought it was wonderful to have a guy on call to satisfy her. She wasn't looking for anything serious; it was only a few months after all. Then one night he decided that he wanted to take her out on a date. He confessed his love for her, and she tried to let him down easy. Needless to say, that was the end of their no-strings sex.
When guys would call her in the middle of the night, my other friend didn't used to mind. Now she is tired of previous hook-ups thinking they have the right to disturb her sleep. She'll only wake up for the one guy she really cares about.
So now I'm torn about what course I want to take. I can set up a wall and allow it to be just about sex, or I can make avenues towards a real relationship. I know I won't drop everything if he calls, but the withholding game is starting to lose its luster.
The feelings that accompany the end of a relationship parallel a basketball's rebound perfectly. You weren't quite successful in your last relationship and so you just wait for someone else to pick you up and bring you home to score. At least that's how I've been feeling lately. The most important thing to remember is that we are never really out of the game, but sometimes we switch positions. Just make sure that you enjoy whom you play with.
