How Darth Vader and I became mere FBs

“What’s your deepest, darkest secret?”

I asked Darth Vader that fatal question a few months ago, back when we were still tiptoeing around each other’s private lives. It was in a slightly fusty motel room with mirrored walls and ceiling, muted lights, and a see-through bathroom wall. It was our fourth date and we were in bed—him, doing the customary niceties after a round of heated fucking; me, dreamily wanting to get close to this new man in my life.

I met Darth Vader several months ago through one of these websites where everybody gets to link up with all sorts of people. He sent me a message; he said I was cute. I checked out his profile. Ooh, he loves reading. I’m a sucker for men who love reading. He even likes Homer. Only a handful of people I know like Homer. I liked him immediately.

He cooks, he likes watching films—and good films at that—and hoards pirated DVDs. He likes eating out. He’s independent like me since he rents his own place and drives his own car. He’s sort of an artist, a bit like Estong. I’m also a sucker for artists. No, that’s an understatement. I’d kill to be with an artist or any man who appreciates the arts. So there, he’s perfect. Or so I thought. I met up with him.

And on our fourth date: “What’s your deepest, darkest secret?”

He hesitated. And that’s when I knew there was something I needed to hear. When a person hesitates to respond to what could be the most innocent question in the world, you know you’ll have got to hang on to every word.

“You go first,” he said.

I took a deep breathe. After all, I do have a few skeletons in my closet. But I’m out of it, sort of. It continues to haunt me, especially his memories. But I think all’s in the past. Our past, at least, is over.

“My ex,” I began, “The one I’ve mentioned—he’s married.”

He looked straight into my eye. “And you have a problem with that?” He has an insouciant way of asking about things.

“Well, it’s not a very nice set up,” I answered lamely. “Besides, what if the wife confronts me or something? It’s a messy situation and I don’t like being in a messy situation.”

“What if the wife couldn’t confront you?” he prodded.

“Even so,” I said. “So what’s yours?”

He hesitated again. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to speak. Whatever it is, it must be something really deep and dark, I had thought.

“Well, I have two,” he began. “The first is: I once slept with this woman whom my brother eventually married.”

“Does your brother know about it?”

“No, he doesn’t. And what’s worst is that I saw her once with another man—when they were already married. But I couldn’t tell my brother.” He then went on an elaborate narration of how he got to hook up with his sister-in-law and how he caught her dating someone behind his brother’s back.

Then there was a pause. He seemed to be thinking. It was a very long pause.

“So what’s the second one?”

“Huh?”

“You said you have two.”

Again, he hesitated. “I thought you have forgotten about the second.”

I feigned a chuckle. “Of course I didn’t. So tell me, what’s the second one?”

Silence. He seemed to be at a loss. Another long pause. Then finally—

“I’m married.”

My mind went blank. There were a lot of things I had wanted to say and at the same time, there was nothing to say. I couldn’t even bring myself to ask him why in the hell he never told me that he’s married, nor why he fucking gave me a pint of hope that I could be with someone equal to or better than Estong. I was freaking optimistic about us. We had three wonderful dates before this. I was edging out of Estong’s shadow. I was slowly moving on--with him.

But I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t have the heart to say anything. I just felt so…beaten. But I had to keep my composure.

“You’re crying?” he asked.

For someone who was hurting so bad, I was unbelievably calm. “No.”

“Yes you are.”

“No, of course not.” I got up, went to the mirrored wall, and faked an eye inspection. “I’m not crying. I have irritated eyes.”

What a liar. Him and me.

So there you have it. Darth Vader’s married. Again, I’m facing a dead end.