We were just babies. We were just babies, but you already had a baby of your own. That made you seem so much older and more responsible than me, but when I look back now, I see that wasn't the case.
Halloween, 1995. Who is this guy? Where did he come from? Why hadn't I noticed before? The next day, hanging out and talking while the boy played with Lego. The day after: "Do you want a ride to work?" And all the days after.
Brian, afterwards: "I know you're thinking: I'd really like this guy if he didn't have a kid."
My response: "I like him even though he has a kid."
"That's kind of scary."
"More than you can imagine."
Hours of gun practice out on the range. Many more rides to work. Trips to the mall. Sneaking around apartments, checking the lay of the land for "assasination" attempts. Card games, buckets of Sangria. Even the Macarena, despite my attempts to remain cool.
"There's one thing I hate about her. She's not ticklish."
You seemed to move twice as fast as everything else around you. I got the impression of a dragonfly -- a brightly colored blur flitting around and about me -- and me chasing after you, following in your wake, grasping for you and thinking I had caught you, but always coming up empty-handed.
Even empty-handed I felt myself thaw. Every moment was bliss, every moment was occupied. The murky ice I had trapped myself under began to melt, and I could feel again. The pain and confusion were as welcome as the joy of being near you.
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you."
"You're drunk, where's Kyle?"
"CJ is with him."
"And you came to see me?"
"Can I sleep here?"
"I guess."
Sleep. That was all. I lay awake in my bed all night trying not to breathe while you slept. While the girl you were fucking stayed overnight with your child, you slept in my bed. You didn't even try to touch me. Yet you'd rather sleep in my bed than stay with her. Did you ever think for a second what kind of message that might send? After the first time? The third? The fifth?
Drunk together, at a party. I don't remember how it started. You bit me. I pulled your hair. This time I was in control. Left you drunk, reeling, spent, panting with desire for me, but I still couldn't bring myself to kiss you. I couldn't break the unspoken divide between us, and so it remained, unbroken and unspoken. I was as afraid of what would happen if I did as I was of what would happen if I didn't.
First the one you dropped for me. Then the other one. Unforgivable.
Disgusted, I withdrew.
"Is she hurt? Is she upset?"
"What do you think, you big jerk?"
"I don't want to hurt her. I love her."
"You've got a really stupid way of showing it."
You left, then. I don't remember when or if you said goodbye. Just that you left for grad school. A year or so later you called. Passing through. Could you come see me? Sure. Sure.
"You're a dish. I love you. I have always loved you." Offhanded, flippant, vacuous, and years too late. Wounds healed, though I couldn't help noticing the one with you at the time. She had a look on her face I recognized. It was the same one I'd worn when I chased you.
Looking at your face today for the first time since, I want you to know that if you're out there, I miss you. And the ice? It hasn't reformed. Thank you.
Posted by lux at June 4, 2004 11:40 PM