So this one time I think I dated a terrorist. Seriously.
He made me call him Abe but that was not the name on his license. He was from Lebanon and owned/flew planes and owned several gas stations over the course of the 4 years we ‘dated’ on and off. He lived a very extravagant lifestyle – a new luxury car every year, professionally decorated apartment, unlimited supply of Ecstasy- always paid cash for everything.
He looked like a
smaller version of Vin Diesel. Very hot. Had the accent thing going on too. Mmmmmmmm...... the problem was I was never ever to ask him about work or anything personal for that matter. Never.
Every aspect of our relationship was on his terms – he called me, I didn’t call him. Pretty fucking degrading now that I think about the way things were, but I was young and foolish. I have only taken Ecstasy with him, and one time I thought I took too much and
he refused to take me to the hospital.He would periodically take me to his house and there would be some random guy sleeping on his couch – I was not allowed to speak to them, he made sure of that. He always told me they were flight students who had just arrived to America that were looking for a place to live.
There was a period of time when I did not hear from him for about six months (which wasn't terribly odd), and then one day he called me at work and asked if I would come pick him up in some random city. I did, of course, and he emerged from a gas station with a single black bag that contained all of his worldly possessions and a lame story about getting ripped off. He asked me to borrow money for a bus ticket and the next day I watched him board a bus and head on his way to San Francisco to start a new life.
Fast forward two months later and I get a call from him – he’s back in town and wants me to come see him. Once again he has a luxury apartment and a fat daddy Lexus and is ready to party again. He never said a word about San Francisco other than it was a really long bus ride and was beautiful. He then tells me that he needs to stay in the country and he wants to get married – on paper only of course. There was
$50,000 in it for my trouble, all I had to do was go to the attorney with him.
At that point I caught on that things were really, really wrong. I told him I would think about it and went home.
That conversation happened in
August 2001. I never heard from him again.
So that’s my story – I never quite knew what to think about all of that. So he is now known as “terrorist boy” to all of my friends.
The odd thing is I still think about him all the time.