and the blue that runs through it
Taking myself less seriously = good.
Sometimes it’s refreshing to just be a kid, make what are probably poor choices and have fun.
(Don’t worry. I haven’t done anything too bad. I’m still pretty much a goodie two-shoes – let’s be realistic here.)
Balance is nice….
‘We had good chemistry I think we’d make good carnies let’s run away togezar.’* <–Also okay?
I finally told the ROTC fellow I knew what he’d said about me last May. His response? A surprisingly long explanation and he admitted he was a jerk.
…
Sorry, did the world just rock? Yeah, thought so.
I keep trying to friend you for the simple fact that we did share a lot of memories together, and I still want to see how you’re doing on this giant blue marble of ours. I don’t think I felt the need before, probably because I was so bitter at myself (even though I thought the bitterness was directed toward you). I wanted to just completely forget about you.
Leaves me in a weird spot. I’m okay with not giving two shits about him. Sometimes I feel guilty for not caring, but mostly that time in my life is gone from memory. Save for the rare remembrance of a positive time with him (and yeah, there were a lot of those), most of my recollections of those two years were crying and feeling dirty and arguments that made my mouth taste bad and unhappiness. It wasn’t all because of him, but I can’t say he did much to help it. I’m just as much to blame, because I didn’t walk away from it.
I know he played a big role in my life at one point. And maybe I don’t care now because I don’t let myself think about it. Surely it’s more than that, though. There’s never been another person for whom I didn’t care at all – not even a stranger, not even someone I’ve disliked hugely. It was never that he broke up with me. It was everything before that, starting that first weekend back in Kirksville sophomore year.
What solidified it all was the night I sat in a straight-backed wooden chair in Danny’s bedroom about a month after it ended for good. We were watching Youtube videos and playing video games. He was crouched on the floor next to me, and it all came up. Word vomit. I looked at his blue desk as I spoke. I told him what happened – those things that came after the love and before the end. I think he was the only one who ever really understood it, and I think that was a night where he really secured his place in my heart. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to apologize for someone else’s fuck ups. He looked at me hard for a second and then hugged me, a hug both fierce and gentle, like he wanted to hug all the shitty parts out, but knew I might break if he pressed too hard.
So…what? What do I take from this? Do with it? To let him back in not only is to accept his apology, but to reflect on a chunk of my life that I’ve basically sealed away for the last two years. I’m not sure I can do that. Ninety percent of the time, to think back to those years leads to two memories. The first is of playing and kissing him in the snow freshmen year, very early in our relationship. Feeling warm all the way through, even though it was ten-thirty at night and snowing and February. The second is a string of memories rolled into one of sitting in my bed sophomore year, probably January or February. I felt cold straight through my core for months. I couldn’t get warm. Most everything I remember of that year is cold and it was always sunset, always too much work, always tripping over myself and sitting in his lap crying late at night – then he’d get angry or frustrated or tired…and then usually left while I was still upset.
He says I played a big part in his development, and I wonder how much he played in mine. It should have been so big, but when all was said and done, I hate everything I ever was with him. I destroyed that part of myself when things finally ended between us, and something new and (I’d say) pretty beautiful and confident and amazing grew out of it. I’m not sure he gets any credit, unless one counts his involvement in the peak and then fall-out of my lesser self. So I guess he can have that acknowledgment of his role in my development.
Beyond that, well, I’m not so sure. So why would I let him back in my world?
*NOT FROM THE HIPSTER. But perhaps a hipster. Ish? Are hipsters able to see the humour in other hipsters and then make fun of them? Would that be too ironic, thus negating the joker’s hipsterdom? Or does it somehow all turn out as post irony, by default making everyone involved a hipster? Questions of the world….
Pros: He’s cute and funny, we have great conversations and he’s a totally gorgeous indie boy. His music taste is excellent, he makes a mean bowl of pasta and has a classy affinity for wine.
Cons: He texted the following after leaving tonight: ‘We seem to have great chemistry, i’d imagine we’d have some great carnal interactions.’ a) HELLO comma splice? and b) Uhhm…? And he’s a cat person.
We’re hanging out sometime this week probably (I agreed to help clean his room…) and going on what I’d gamble to call an Official Date this weekend.
I checked that mouth on him
Fucking checked that gas on him.
I had him, cornered him
Fucking shut that gate on him
Why would you listen to him?
He had his way, I’m bored of him.
I’m tired of him
I don’t wanna be as bad as him
-M.I.A.
You left g r e a t
b i g g a p s
That I just can’t seem to fill.
—
It’s a prematurely warm night in early May, and we’re on our weekly phone call. We have a routine now. A few teasing texts back-and-forth on Fridays as I finish up my classes for the week and head off to meet Jayne for lunch at the SUB. And each Wednesday night you call me after your film class. Usually you catch me on my way to the Rec Center and we talk for a few minutes before I promise to call back later, or sometimes I slip into the locker room after a run, drenched in sweat and breathless, Muse or Modest Mouse blasting in my ears, to find a voicemail from you. I go home and make macaroni and cheese with Nikki, then call you back as I devour all the calories I just ran off, plus a glass of grape juice.
It started while it was cold out, but now the snow has melted for good and I’ve returned to riding my bike to campus at night. I love standing on the pedals and zipping down hills at break-neck speeds, hair whipping behind me like a small child. These solo rides are the first real tastes of happiness I’ve had in years.
Tonight I pedal slowly, weaving in the near-darkness as I steer one-handed. The other hand clasps my pink phone to my face, which is flushed as we talk. You’re saying you might stay up north this summer. I pause, then say, all in one breath, ‘I hope you make whatever choice is best for you, but I just want you to know, if you stay there, there is going to be a girl in Kansas City who will really miss you.’ Woosh.
That put it on the line – the one we’ve been toeing for weeks now, since I sent you a text that threw everything in the air with so few words: I still like you. I’m sorry for saying this while you had a girlfriend, but I was sitting in a basement with two old friends, drinking coffee and listening to Bob Dylan on vinyl. Sometimes the moment is right, never mind other attachments and all the details like how we spend three-fourths of the year nearly eight hours apart. I was so sure of it. And you put your arm around me in the hotel lobby when I took a school trip to Minneapolis, and you didn’t take it away when the joking moment was gone. You left it for awhile (she was your girlfriend then, too). And it felt so comfortable. You’ve always felt so comfortable. From flirting on the school bus to falling asleep together in your basement watching movies after football games, it’s been right, plain and simple.
You don’t miss a beat. ‘Aww,’ you say, and I can hear the smile in your voice. It’s the same smile that will mark my life change five months from now when I sit in your lap and tell you I love you for the first time.
These moments, they never go away. They are always perfect. They are always the safety of twilight, wrapped up in your devil-may-care grin and knowing that for a second, someone else in this world breathed in exact synchronization with me. They are warm, permanent, secure and at times, the only thing I believe in much anymore.
Why you? Why can’t I take it back?
Those moments changed everything, and somehow, I don’t think any of it is done quite yet. I still can’t talk about it, write about it, even think about it much. You are still this giant empty hole that I can’t approach enough to start patching.
I see now that I was looking for you in him. He will never be honest or serious with me though, will never be content to sit in a parking lot at midnight talking about religion and video games and all those little in-betweens. There is no substance. Traces are the same, but the parts of you that meant the most will never be part of him. That’s exactly why I wanted him so badly.
S. last week said I’m the one he wishes he could have a second chance with, a do-over. I couldn’t say anything. Once, so recently, I wanted the same with him. That was before you. After you, how could anyone else compare?
I’m still tired, so tired like I told you I was in March. Too tired to chase after you or anyone else. Too tired for playing. Too bored and stagnant to do anything but walk away from this. Somehow I am still worn and broken. When he called the other night after six months of silence, it was you on the other end of the phone. It was your voice that made my knees give out, leaving me to sink onto the edge of my bed. His words were kind, surprisingly apologetic, whereas the last memories I have of you hurt. I could hear the alcohol in your voice, and the disdain you use for things you’ve logically convinced yourself you don’t need.
I know just where it began. Where does it end?
Something of note.
A week and a half ago, my friend Kristin told me how a friend’s father once told her (yeah, this is one of those) that one can kill a person by hitting them in the back of the neck with a phone book just the right way. It’s the perfect murder (albeit not at all glamourous) – no fingerprints.
The next day, a stack of perhaps 15 St. Louis Yellow Pages appeared in my hallway outside the rubbish chute. A few days after that, my hallway started smelling about a hundred million times worse than normal.
Let me also add that around the time Kristin told me this Vital Life Information, a building manager called to tell me Kanye would be evicted soon. He’s been gone, I’m pretty sure, for a week now at least.
Yellow Pages + bad smell + ‘evicted’ neighbor = ???
You do your math and I’ll do mine…but let me just tell you that mine adds up to a pile of decaying bodies in the now empty next-door apartment, left behind when Kanye moved out, and still not attended to because the building owners are lazy or busy or know what’s in there and are afraid to face it.
Next time — Ridiculous Walking Alone At Night Adventures #3520810480: A Small Asian Man Reads My Palm And Tells My Future.
EDIT:
Just found this on Eff My Life…think it’s a sign….
‘Today, I found out that my new neighbor who moved in 2 weeks ago has been dead in his apartment for the past 5 days. I’ve been making jokes to the other people in building that he could die and no one would know about it. FML’
Today, I emailed a features story to my supervisor, with a note asking if he wanted me to do more interviews for better details/quotes, as well as if he had any other projects for me to work on that afternoon.
His reply:
‘Nugatory.’
Still can’t figure out if he typo-ed on ‘negatory,’ meaning he had no work for me, or if he typed impeccably and meant my copy was worthless and trifling….
A few minutes later, he sent a longer email saying he’d look over my story and that he didn’t have any other projects for me, so I should email out to the department and ask. He made no mention of the nugatory comment. o.O
About 15 minutes before I clocked out today, the department senior vice president sent me some directions for a project to pick up in the morning. He might have concluded the email with, ‘Questions? Holla.’
I love this internship.
Nowhere
Yeah we’re going nowhere fast
Maybe this time, i’ll be yours you’ll be mine
c-c-c-crazy, get your ass in my bed
Baby you’ll be, just my summer boyfriend
Summer boy
Time to say goodbye, summertime. Fall brings the full shift into something new, a final wave out the window to where I’ve been.
I probably should have put it all together when this song ran through my head the entire month of July. Things are changing.
Honesty requested, subjects changed, and who’s to blame, really? Silence was the only answer I needed, didn’t you know? You told me everything in that moment.
I took you too seriously, and I don’t know why. You never made much sense, start to finish. I got lost in you – when did I stop thinking?
You’ll never be a notch in my bedpost – you’re more of a minor milestone. When I tick off the boys of my life, you’ll always be my thumb, the final finger to poke out. You are reduced to a short, squat digit that puts it all together and makes life as I understand it possible.
The one who was innocent and young (it’s okay – I was too).
The one who was abusive.
The one I wasn’t ready for.
The one who wasn’t ready for me…
…or the one who wasn’t a good match, to hear him tell it.
And you?
The one who doesn’t even belong on this list.
And yet, there you are. Somehow, entirely unintentionally I’m sure, you made the cut. Don’t worry; it wasn’t my plan to tack you on the end there, either. It’s three boys I loved, one close-friend-spring-fling, and you, whatever you are.
One hand to leave behind me. Five fingers of awkward first hand-holds, fumblings in the dark, lonely roadtrips back to where I left my heart, ‘I’m sorry’ flowers and cards, video games, military bases and FTXs, first sips of rum stirred in diet Pepsi, quantum physics discussions, studying in the Secret Room, soccer in the pouring rain, causing scenes in Waffle House. You driving the longest way home and saying openly (seriously? I never knew), ‘I just want to spend more time with you. Hope you don’t mind.’ What did you expect me to think with lines like that?
But I have two hands, so I have more tries.
Friday night I went out to a bar district with some of the interns. I decided to leave a little earlier than the others wanted to, so I said I’d just walk home — the area is only eight or nine blocks from my apartment, and I’d only had a couple beers over the course of the entire evening.
Bad choice.
About three blocks from home, some tall, drunk guy walking the opposite direction stumbled past as he crossed the street.
‘Hey baby, can I have a kiss?’ he asked, leaning down and pointing to his cheek.
‘Um, no, I don’t think so,’ I responded hesitantly.
‘Lesbian!’ he snapped. He then smacked me on the ass and stumbled away.
Internship life is good.
For one thing, there are the awesome emails that we (the interns) send to one another….
Me: I think there are now TWO people on your floor who are suspicious of me. I got a couple strange looks. I think they know I’m just there for the coffee*…and you.
A: Haha, I did NOT like the way one of the guys looked at you this morning when you were standing by my desk. It wasn’t an “I know you are taking our coffee” look. It was an “I’m going to follow you slowly in my windowless van the next time I see you out” kind of look.
Me: Ohhh boy. My skirt today isn’t too short, is it?
I can hear the argument now, “NO, it’s NOT sexual harassment. She was begging for the attention with that skirt!” *Face palm*
A: No. I think it was other factors. Like you being female. Or having a pulse.
And then we have things like this:
Photos taken by two of the other interns, on different floors. These guys also made an appearance at this morning’s staff meeting. Sadly, I was in a meeting when they made the floor rounds. They were selling tickets for tomorrow night’s Battle of the Bands. Our corporate band (really), Pro Bono and the Non-Billables, is playing against three other local company groups in a fundraiser for United Way.
*12th floor has wayyy better coffee than my floor, 19. On days I’m extra tired, I slip downstairs in the morning, say hey to my friend, and fill up my mug – usually without anyone else noticing. Until today….
