Lemondrop

The summer after my freshman year, I was working full time in retail. I'd started college in my hometown, and I already knew I had to get the hell out of there, so I was transferring to NYU that fall.

One day, at work, my co-worker Diana asked me if I'd ever noticed the young guy that worked the tiny toy kiosk right outside our store. My heart skipped a beat. Although I had never told a soul, I spent whole work days daydreaming about that very boy. He was young, outwardly shy and -- though I rarely say this about men -- totally beautiful.

I thought maybe Diana had a crush on him too, but to my relief, she and "Joey" were friends. Better than that, he'd recently asked about me. I quickly agreed to go with her that night to hang out at his house. But on the way over, Diana let it slip that she'd omitted a minor detail. Before I had a chance to think about it or leap out of the moving car, she blurted it out.

"He has agoraphobia."

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I was shocked, of course, but I'd always noticed he was shy. But after my initial disappointment (he wasn't perfect) and confusion (agoraphobic? really?), I just felt intrigued.

After sticking around for some initial small talk, Diana made up an excuse and left us alone. I felt instantly comfortable with him, another rare thing for me. It was like being on a fifth date instead of a first -- he made me dinner and we talked for hours in his parents' living room.

Eventually, his agoraphobia came up. Ever since graduating from high school, Joey had a hard time leaving the house. Most days, he could go within five miles (to the grocery store and to work), but some days he couldn't make it past his front door. He had no idea why or how to fix it, and was seeing a shrink. Although I liked him, I already felt paralyzed by his situation. But when he told me I was the most "beautiful, hilarious, free" person he'd ever met, I was his.

Love Under House Arrest

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-IV) defines the condition as "anxiety about being in places or situations from which escape might be difficult or embarrassing," characterized by restricted travel, panic attacks and intense social anxiety. He didn't seem like the type -- he'd been a star quarterback in high school and is still to this day the best-looking guy I've ever "dated." He worked out for two hours a day, changed his clothes four times in the morning before he'd settle on the right outfit.

We spent our relationship at his house. Typically, we'd hang out and make dinner or sit on his porch talking, occasionally walking to the edge of the neighborhood (until he started to hyperventilate). But he made me feel safe, and there are probably few people in my life I've talked to -- really talked to -- like him. There were problems in the relationship beyond the obvious -- spending so much time alone after graduation had worn him rough around the edges, and there was really, really bad sex involved as well. I figured that things would end naturally when I left for New York.

Getting Out, Even When He Couldn't

One night, a few weeks before my move, Joey's phone rang in the middle of the night. It was his ex-girlfriend, worked into some mysterious emotional state that he spent an hour talking her down from. I was confused that he was somehow able (and willing) to help her with her neuroses and furious that he didn't feel the need to even mention what had just gone on to me ... But ultimately, I was upset that I cared so much about someone I had zero future with. So, I gathered my stuff, told him I hoped he found someone wonderful, and walked out.

Then, a month into my first semester at NYU, Joey called me. Though my rapid heartbeat told me not to, I picked up the phone. I barely said a word as I listened to him go on and on -- about how much he missed me, how he hated that we'd left things that way and how he should have warned me about things before I got involved. I just listened, accepted his apology and got off the phone.

We never talked again, but I've never forgotten that boy. And not because of the agoraphobia and the fact that he had a life-altering fear that I'll never fully understand, but because he he really took the time to see me. And because he'd called me "free."

Loren Lankford is a frequent Lemondrop contributor who enjoys drinking too much coffee, antiquing and watching Buster Keaton movies. She divides her time between Atlanta and NYC.