The NAFTA Blueprint

About three years ago, I walked into the Los Angeles Public Library in Downtown. Upon sight I was enthralled by a pair of arctic-blue nebulous eyes escorted by sandy-blonde hair that seemed to murmur my heart’s longing. When our eyes met at the information desk, both of us were struck with a paralysis of absolute bliss, or maybe it was just me. She dropped a medicinal textbook from her hand. I tripped twice as I walked, both of us with distraught embarrassment. My heart raced and skipped its natural process, oh so blue. It was so magnificent, “Who’s that?” I whispered.

  I walked away like a child throwing a tantrum and sought refuge behind an aisle of law books, catching my breath. The eyes were the scouts for the soul, I believed that, and although I had talked about that sort of thing before, it had never felt as clairvoyant. She was a celestial swan sent to offer guidance in my journey of library research―what to do? I gathered my composure which was swimming in a sea of instability. I approached her with some nervousness and confidence, and then I introduced myself.

  “Hi, I’m Michael, nice to meet you. What are you doing here?” I didn’t know what to say, it was all I could recite, Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  She became embarrassed, began blushing, and with coyness said, “I’m Chloe, nice to meet you as well. Well, I work here, believe it or not, that’s why I’m standing behind this desk,” then she offered a silly laugh.

  “Oh, that’s great, that’s so really great. I was wondering if you could help me find something. I’m looking for ‘The Three Cities’ trilogy by Zola,” I sounded robotic, maybe even my body language shifted like a stiff.

  “Yeah, okay, let me go ahead and check. I’ve heard of him, but I don’t know his work.”

  And that’s how Chloe and I began. She was about two years older than I. A divorced mother from Texas who was getting ready to return to her hometown, with a heap of damage prancing behind her trying to remain optimistic, but she quivered a jaded glow like others that had gone through a similar situation. We hit it off. We talked about previous relationships, religion, politics, music, and everything in between. All the things she couldn’t talk to her ex-husband about, she was venting.

  Both the ex and Chloe were military brats. Perhaps it’s what attracted her to him, a reflective father-figure type. It was what she needed to conquer her father, to repeat the cycle of violence and distance she grew up with on military bases. We took lunch together that afternoon and we walked along a courtyard veranda in Downtown L.A. where I impressed her with my travels and experiences, showing her true knight errantry. It was something she thought had been murdered by feminism. Our spring fling blossomed into a full-blown relationship. It was long distance I guess, but full on.

  A floating nightingale yielded in front of us to chirp an unknown sonnet, which I took to be a sign of divine providence. I was such a gentleman, you should have seen me, I mean―the first night we went out, she expressed how she didn’t want to come up to my apartment because of what was expected on dates.

  Many single mothers had a stigma of seeking a partner as a surrogate father for their children, but I think Chloe just wanted charm, to be wooed. In turn, I called a cab to drive her home, which I also joined then took back to my apartment…so she wouldn’t have to go alone. Sure the cab ride was expensive, but money was the last thing I was worried about. Well, it’s not like I was wealthy or anything of the sort, but I did well, I was never worried about a price tag, more so when it came to love. I’d give up money and heaven all for love. Those frugal days of worrying about money were extinct. I had worked hard to get the education, the job, the rewards, and the next step was the girl. I would have given my last dollar for that girl. It was the American dream. What better than a beach-blonde American bombshell from out-of-state? She was perfect, she was amiable.

  But our period of time was scarce because of her children, the divorce, and her plans to return to Texas. And she was on a rebound. I guess I never wanted to believe that. I thought it might have been too recent, six months of being divorced, but hey, I was in love…I didn’t care. You’re supposed to take chances. Some friends were even taken aback because I wasn’t the type of person that was supposed to get married prior to my thirties, to one with children nonetheless, but they didn’t know about Chloe. They didn’t understand the connection we had.

  Not long after beginning our relationship, she sent the children to live with her relatives while she finalized her Los Angeles concerns, and we began a whirlwind relationship. I was polarized though, I didn’t want a woman with children, but Chloe seemed different, she was distinguished, and she was stunning…too good to pass up. You should have seen her―long strawberry blonde hair, Baltic blue eyes, flush skin, model height, slender body, and well-proportioned body. She fell for my youth, ambition, energy, my charming personality, but I disagreed. I didn’t think I had those qualities. I fell for her looks, well…because she worked in a library as well―books are my life.

  You know, having a long-distance relationship is brutal, if you’ve ever had one. You spend your weeks planning to visit your partner, or for your partner to visit you, everything revolves around the next visit. You rearrange your work schedule, you anticipate an airport turnabout, you plan a weekend of absolute bliss, and you wait for that one second when you see your partner’s face light up when they see you waiting in suspense. And well, I love airports, if you observe people at the airport, they’re usually excited. Coming or going, it doesn’t matter, it’s something different. And to be quite honest, I hated going to Texas to visit her in that small hick-town. I mean―no offense to small towns, but I just didn’t feel comfortable in her hometown.

  My amusement was playing video games with her children in a crammed apartment watching Chloe be a mother, which I wasn’t used to. I was a selfish egocentric bastard. I didn’t want to visit her in Texas, that’s why I preferred to pay for her round-trip tickets instead of me flying there. I didn’t care if I pulled her away from her children, they were insignificant. I would beg her and plead her and cry for her to come see me and make an excuse about some story I was working on, but I just dreaded going out there, what can I say.

  But look at me now, I’ve been living here for two years. I’m from Los Angeles, where all my friends and family and contacts were. I had things to do, places to go to, events to attend…leads to follow in the filth of the Los Angeles gutter. I’m a journalist…I loved it, being out on the street, on the crime beat, a crime reporter, absorbing the decadence of the streets. It’s what I do, but now I’m just wandering. I would drop everything to answer the phone when she called. I’d try to make everything as perfect as could be…whenever she came to visit.

  Weekends and holidays were pre-planned with an itinerary, of course I realize now, like friends have told me, that it was too structured for her. I know, I know, but when you’re in love and you care for someone, of course you don’t want to disappoint them. And that’s all it was, I wanted Chloe to see stability in a relationship she had never seen before, but I think she started seeing it as a logistical cycle of emotional pressure. Her ex-husband was all over the place, like me to some extent, covering national and international stories, but did she want that again? Did she even see me as her ideal partner―her hero with a black cape?

  And if she was looking for another husband, then I would take it to that next level. Her ex wasn’t a real husband, not what women really wanted in a man, but maybe I’ve had it wrong. What I thought all women wanted like stability, fidelity, romance, assertiveness, well…it’s never really worked for me…I’ve always been dumped. Really, what do I know? We talked about marriage numerous times but I didn’t want to seem too hasty. But I was ready and if I had to relocate to Texas I would do so with vehement conviction. I needed to be spontaneous.

  I looked for homes in Houston, online, on the MLS website, until I found a quaint vintage home, and then I just went for it. I applied for another job too…lan
ded one with the Chronicle, and that was it. I made the transition but it didn’t seem to please her, so it backfired. Then I proposed to her, what else was I supposed to do? I had made some significant changes in my life for her and I had come this far, but then she said I had waited too long. She claimed disillusionment by my reluctance and broke it off, my proposal seemed forced.

  I was dumbfounded. I thought I was a good partner, a good decision-maker, a good economic provider, a good lover, a good catch―a keeper. She proved me wrong, I felt inferior instead. It began a web of instability for me, for a long time…almost like two years now. But, I wasn’t going out without a fight. I had to fight for my Chloe, to fight the dragon of cynicism. I made a fool of myself…I took a redeye flight one evening out to see her and arranged a luxurious limousine, expensive dinner and wine-type evening. You know the kind―when a man is trying to hold on to the last piece of thread that’s bursting at the seams.

  After that second rejection, I couldn’t take more heartache and embarrassment. I practically begged for a commitment, and well I had bought the house. I had made arrangements to come here to Texas for her, to be with her and the children, but she started seeing her ex again. Maybe she had been seeing him all along, maybe it was recent, and maybe it was when I was on international assignments.

  I didn’t know…I didn’t care…and still I was stupid enough to take her back if she would have me. He called me on the phone a few times and asked if I would step away from the relationship like a true gentleman so they could resume their life together as a family unit, a bunch of nonsense really. I mean―he used to beat her often, mistreat and neglect her and the children, but it’s what she wanted…she didn’t want me. She had too much of a good thing with me. I got some sort of closure after I wrote her a letter to convey that whatever happened between us, I didn’t want any bad blood to remain lingering in the peripheral of my thought process, which she responded with an explanation about her decisions. I guess we were both civil about it. And that was that, my Chloe phase was over…I could breathe again. Or so I wanted to believe.