A Room Full of Men

I just thought up of a fantasy. Here's what it entails. I somehow wrangle every guy I have ever been romantically involved with into a room. It would probably have to be a rather large space. I'm talking guys from my first date at 17 to now...guys I've remotely been involved with like the ones I've only kissed to guys I've done more than kiss. And maybe I'd thrown in some of my crushes that never amounted to anything, too. All of them. Sitting, standing, whatever. I'd be a classroom setting and I'd of course be the center of the room. The meeting would give me a chance to compare hair color, fashion, eye color, height, personalities, etc, to find some sort of common thread through all of them. I'd discover why I chose the men I did. The bad ones. The good ones. I'm sure there would be some "what was I thinking?" and "How could I have been with that one?" moments. My entire 12 year dating history would unravel before me like a really bad sci-fi film. The guy I went to Prom with would be there as would that one guy who broke my heart at 19 and not only left me for another woman but married her. A candid dialogue would ensue. They would tell me why they were initially drawn to me, what kind of lover or person I was, and why they dumped me or why they gave me the "let's be friends speech." Some would tell me they made a mistake leaving me, that I was the best thing to ever happen to them, that what's-her-name wasn't good enough or didn't satisfy them the way I did. I would smile and just give a "I told you so" nod. I would in turn tell them why I was drawn to them and for those few I dumped, tell them why. Then, maybe a fight would break out. Do guys get jealous? Maybe a couple of them would fight over me. There'd definitely be some bloodshed. When things calmed down, we'd continue our discussion. And maybe if I was feeling frisky, a three way would ensue. After a while, I'd tell the ones that ever meant something to me to stay while asking all the others to leave. The ones that remotely meant something, probably like 8, would stay. I'd take each one aside to have a heart-to-heart discussion. We'd pour our hearts out to each other. We'd talk about what happened and I would tell them how much they meant. We'd just have it out. Tears. Laughter. Maybe some slapping. Maybe some more fights would break out. And then, at the end of the long evening, Death Cab For Cutie's "Marching Bands of Manhattan" would blast through the PA system. As it played, I'd hug and kiss all 8 of them goodbye. I'd wish them well and go home alone. I'd fall asleep and proceed to dream of the man I will fall madly in love with, marry, and then divorce. What a glorious fantasy it is. Sigh.

"Our history is what guides us, shapes us. Our history resurfaces time and time and time. But we have to remember sometimes the most important history is the history we're making today."