"somewhere other than inside the out there" -- part five
hesitance makes my hands shake, and i get very high-strung and nervous. i tend to talk without thinking and think with too much talking.
hesitance makes me an incredible fool when i should plow headfirst into any endeavor.
hesitance ties me up and gags me in a dark warehouse.
i have so little patience with myself.
we ate a full meal at this tiny irish pub just off of a main road in harvard square. a few months later, we convinced ourselves that it was just a dream, never to be found again.
we sat near the back, and we leaned in close over the table to talk. every single word he said, i later found engraved on a wall near the back of my brain ... in some intolerably difficult language.
sitting in the harvard square station, waiting for the red line, i sat and leaned against one of the huge metallic columns. he stood and paced, unable to keep still.
"so, i rented 'heathers' and 'house of yes'..."
open ended.
"really?"
"yeah. you wanna come over?"
"do you want me to?"
"i just asked you, didn't i?"
i smiled some sort of gaping grin and nodded.
we wasted away the evening with two of our favorite movies.
his roommate made some rather uncomfortable groaning noises from the hallway.
"dude, i'm not feelin' so hot," and he disappeared into the bathroom, still moaning with some unknowable pain.
disgusting noises came from the bathroom, and i just looked at the boy sitting next to me. he snickered nervously.
his roommate was taken to the emergency room for food poisoning or something.
but we sat there, talking, well past the end of the second movie.
we moved to his room, and he played me dozens of bands that i'd never heard of, that he would later make me a mix tape of, that we would later share. he showed me some comics, and he loved how the artwork blew me away.
the trains had stopped running hours before.
the entire apartment was dark and quiet.
but our voices kept running, taking each moment and folding it into delicate shapes.
hours seem to dissolve when you're in this type of time. they just disappear like sugar in water.
i was curled up on the end of his bed, and i didn't want to leave. he was laying near the head of the bed, and he turned off the light.
i muttered the next afternoon and rolled over with someone's back facing me. shot up like a goddamn firework. half asleep, it was pretty much the last thing that i was expecting.
see, i had decided (with a vengeance) that i would stop dating all together when my last long term boyfriend and i broke up ... about a year and a half prior to this point. i just stopped. i didn't go out to dinner. i didn't hang out. i didn't accept any invitation beyond friendship. there was no room for me in the dating pool. i felt isolated, estranged. sure, there was that guy from work, but that pretty much proved my point that me and social interaction were in a really big fight. there was no way i was getting involved. i was done with guys, and as far as i was concerned, they were done with me for a very long time. i wanted nothing to do with the heavy burdens and luggage and drama it all brought right up to my front porch.
what the hell was i doing in his bed?
ah, the morning after. what a tender and inexplicably awkward pause of time before you finally have to "talk."
we both got up, and got dressed, and got awkward before i quickly decided that i had to get home as quickly as possible.
but it was done. i was definitely overcooked and every bit of steam was escaping from my pores. i had fallen, and i hated myself for it.
the next few months, we spent every bit of time together. i went to the comic store with him. he met me after class. we sat and watched movies and talked until sunrise.
but every equation has one, that goddamn variable that you don't account for. you know what i'm talking about, the ex.
she wasn't really an ex, so much as a past fling. but man, she wanted to rip me to pieces, and he was hopeless over her.
it ended badly. incredibly badly.
we fought it out, good soldiers that we were. we fought and bickered and put it all down on some intangible line. we tore each other apart, and then we would make up.
one night, middle of april, it couldn't be put back together again.
i swore that would be the last time i would ever talk to that disgusting person again. i wouldn't cry, and i wouldn't get angry. i grew a thick skin of bitter and took it as a lesson.
but before, during those couple of months, i had found him. he was this purpose and this point in my skipping heartbeat. my god, how i hated him for it. he challenged every view i had. he hated the beatles. his wallet chain made this amazing symphony of sounds when he was walking.
this all made it quite impossible for me to forget him. summer came, and i holed up in my room for fear that someone would guess that i wasn't over some bastard who clearly had fucked with me.
i know, it's ridiculous right? two fucking months, and there i was shaking over this boy that could not care less about me.
well, remember what i said about love? the concept that hits you that there is something out there worth mapping?
this couldn't be done. i knew it. i was most certainly too weak to admit that to anyone. but i knew that he loved me, and heartbroken and serious, i resigned to keep going, fighting the sneers and insults that rose whenever his name was mentioned.
it always happens, you love the one who you hate the most. i knew we weren't done, but i would never admit that i was waiting.
turns out, we're not the ones waiting for love. it waits for us.
