"somewhere other than inside the out there" -- part eight.
now, if there is one thing in the deep folds of creation that we both understand, it is that nothing can be fully understood.
yeah yeah, i'll take a horrendously overdramatic bow for that one.
anyway, i got a little sidetracked, and these cigarettes won't smoke themselves, so let's get on with it, shall we?
so to summarize, boy and girl meet. flirtations rise and mutter. hijinks ensue. ex takes center stage. my "summer of bitterness" (and unparalleled anti-social fortitude). a little romp in denver that left me screaming for a confessional booth.
that brings us to junior year of college, and in now time ... some four odd years ago.
i had attempted to contact him over the summer. i felt strange about not having any closure except the unrequitted phone calls back in april. i genuinely liked this kid at one time, and more than anything, i have little faith in people. so when someone proves me wrong with intelligence and defining personality. i find it difficult to do what you kids call "letting go." so, i bit that hyperbolic bullet left levitating near my temple, and emailed him. i, too, can be a wimp. that infamous courier font spelled out something along the lines of -- in every relationship, i have found a friend. i hope this one ends the same way.-- and he wrote back saying how great it was to hear from me and to call next time i was in boston for the weekend.
i never called. i realized that i was still too angry to actually face him.
so, first week back, i had broken my left hand. (i fell off a train, a stationary train, if you can believe it.) i had this ridiculous looking cast from fingertips to elbow, and so my hand was molded into the shape of a duck shadow animal for a month and a half before i started physical therapy. also, i'm left handed, making taking notes, typing, and basically anything requiring simple motor skills null and void. i got to be dictophone girl.
this was the also the first year that i was living by myself, my own room in the same brownstone that i had been living in for two years.
all of these are just smarmy details that probably won't even really come into play, but interesting nonetheless, eh?
right.
so, i spent the first couple of weeks of class kissing up to the good note-takers in my lit classes, and therefore, making a stupid amount of new friends that i would then promptly blow off when i was able to write again.
i carefully avoided any environment where i could perhaps on any given occasion run into the boy. the last thing i needed was to see his happy face glued to the little tart. i found a few new hangouts, places i knew he wouldn't go, like the library and my porch.
i had heard things.
his roommate and i had built a fragile but quaint friendship in the few months that i spent with him. before summer, i ran into his roommate outside of class. he had obviously tried to avoid the subject, but since i knew this, i jackhammered it and discovered that she was moving in to the apartment (ah, chagrin).
so again, it was best for me to avoid all contact. cut it off completely, lest the gangrene get the best of me.
well, one of my new friends (my very first true communist friend and who turned out to be my first female stalker!) really wanted to eat a quick lunch. shaking my head and tight fisted, i agreed to go to the back court with her if she carried my tray and made it quick, very very quick.
now, the back court at boston university was the last place on campus that smokers could eat and smoke and hang out for hours on end. it was the boy's very bread and butter. all of his friends hung out there. all of my friends hung out there. i had refused to go for the first two weeks of class for the very thought that i could run into him and embarass myself further by becoming discombobulated and flustered with the lack of any reasonable reaction to his presence.
i ate fast with narrow eyes. i kept my head low and was ready to leave within ten minutes. all clear, we left for our next class.
sigh of relief and much more relaxed, we left the union. crossing the stone courtyard, my eyes were still a bit slitted, and my shoulders were still a bit tense. when we reached the sidewalk, i believe that's when i started taking full breaths again.
we were talking (about anything but politics) and had just cleared the territory when i made the mistake of following the glint in the corner of my eye.
pause for a moment, and let's talk about colors (bear with me here).
when i shake a person's hand or meet their eyes or engage with them in anyway, i get bursts of colors. i don't like to call them auras or energies or whatever. we've always just referred to them as "colors" and that's what they'll stay. it's my own personal reaction to a person. for instance, i can't stand the color yellow. i really hate it. it reminds me of sickness and a loss of hope. i own yellow things, and even have yellow pillow cases, but i'm picky about which yellows i let into my space. i'm big on colors. they breathe and build around me in more than three dimensions. anyway, so this has been happening for a long time, and i'd gotten fairly used to it. i really paid little attention to it for most of my life because of its confusing nature.
if i don't like someone's color, i usually don't like the person. i get strange or inconsequential reads off of people, but i never actually try to see anyway. it had been like breathing to me, and frankly, i forgot it most of the time. it's not a gift or a talent. it's just a strange quirk that i have, and i never really liked talking about it. when i did, the word 'crazy' always made a little cameo. it made me nervous. i keep my quirks to myself generally.
i'm getting off subject again.
how did we fall in love? how the fuck did this happen after he had treated me with such unknowing spite?
frankly, i'm not sure, but if i understand anything, it's that i'll never understand.
there was this small glint in the corner of my eye, and i looked up to such a smile. the kind of smile that got troy into all that trouble.
and when he saw who he was looking at, his smile began to dance and sing and put on this little vaudeville show.
i swear, before, the sun was shining. but right then, flares were going off in the center of the solar system, and that hard ball of tar and anger stored at the roof of my mouth melted to chocolate.
i wish i could say that i held my own.
"wow, it's so good to see you!" and he hugged me, wrapped those arms so tightly around me that my commie friend's eyes were bulging.
i closed my eyes and all i saw was every color.
"can i get your new number? i really want to talk to you."
"you what?"
"i really want to talk to you. i've got to talk to you about something," and he reached in his pocket and posed to write my number on his hand.
and then he was just standing there with that smile. i couldn't believe he was just standing there with every time he blew me off cowering at his docs.
i strangely recited my number.
he waved goodbye and promised to call.
my commie friend emptied all sorts of questions on to me, but i just shook my head and wondered what the hell just happened.
"but, i hate him."
she looked at me and changed the subject.
we kept walking, and echoes of blue and in betweens that i had never seen before triumphed in my head.
years later, he and i, looking over rooftops of new orleans, would harp on that day, and how his smile changed my mind about everything.
