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.