I’m crying uncontrollably, and I don’t know why. I’m hoping that in some way, this will help.
I’ve got a lot on my mind lately. Thinking about friendships and lovers. The past and, more importantly, the future.
I’m doing all I can to NOT think about moving out. Having Jaclyn in Irving and me in Addison is going to make seeing her a less frequent event. Additionally, the fact that she has Matt so close by means the likelihood of us seeing one another decreases even more. I know I should be happy for her, and I am. Really, I am. But part of me is selfish. Part of me wants her always around as she has always been. I know that things change, and that this is generally for the best. But it is hard not to look at the past and see all the good times we have had together and not want that to continue just as it always has. Who else can I count on to tell me I look nice in my new shirt, or to wash my hair in the sink when I’m in a hurry, or to sniff my armpits and tell me if I stink? And who else is going to do “Hippo Face” for me when I’m sad, or truly understand when I say “I love you” or give me “Travel Tips” when I go away? I don’t know for sure, but there is a strong possibility that no one will EVER understand me like she does. Amanda did… a long, long time ago.
And Sarah. Sarah is wonderful. And Justin and Jaclyn help keep me in line when I start stressing out about something stupid. But I hardly get to see her. And when I do, most of the time, I don’t feel like I can be myself. Not because of her, but because of those people around us. Our relationship is still young, and still has a lot of growing to do. A lot of figuring out, and learning, and opening up, and letting loose. And those are good things. Those are the things that make me look forward to tomorrow, and make me hurt so deeply when I can’t see her. There is still a screen door between us, because neither one of us is ready to open it just yet, so everything isn’t crystal clear all the time. And while both of us are pushing the pointer to “Yes” on the Ouija board, I still feel a tug away every now and then. And I’m not sure who’s doing it: me, her, something else entirely. And that’s okay. That’s the way things are supposed to be, for now. I just wish that every time I felt that tug, I could ask “Was that you?” and expect a straight answer. But, either because I’m afraid, or she is unwilling to talk, I don’t ask, or she doesn’t answer. We’ll get there… or have a damn good time finding out that we’re not going to make it.
And my mom in New York with her stories about a father I have never known that are stuck on repeat. A father that would slap her in the face to wake her from pneumonia, or tap her phone calls with her lawyer. A father that would sleep with another woman while she was in the hospital giving birth to my brother. I don’t understand divorce, and I guess I never will. But I have a hard time believing that he could do the things she says he did. Especially when, after telling me such horrible stories, she tells me about how loving he used to be, and how good he used to take care of her. And how, during the divorce he got an apartment so that she could stay in the house. And how, after the divorce, he offered the house to her, but she told him to keep it, because she wanted my brother and I to have it. I have never known the horrible man she speaks of, and yet I see the good man she speaks of as often as I possibly can. And, while I won’t deny that it is possible, I can’t simply accept that someone as wonderful as my father would have EVER done anything like that.
And my mom in New York and her church. She so fanatically believes in her God and her Savior. I can accept that and I am very happy for her that she has this in her life. It is something to make the horrible nature of “now” seem worth it in the long run. But she firmly believes that my brother and I are miracle babies, given the circumstances of our births. And this means that she has high hopes for me, especially where her God is concerned. I can NEVER tell her that I don’t believe as she does. As a son, I already feel like I have let her down by not being there for her, and not living closer, and not being able to take care of her like she needs. Telling her that I don’t believe in the God that she loves and trusts with all of her soul would not only crush her, but make me that much more of a failure where she is concerned.
Last night, I went outside to smoke a cigarette. I sat on the tailgate of my truck and I let the wind blow through me. I let the world crash down around me as I sat there, awe struck at the awesome power of nature. And for a few short minutes, everything was peaceful, and quiet. The moon passed underneath some clouds and popped back up on the other side, as if playing a childish game of peek-a-boo to cheer me up. The trees waved their leaves in my face begging me to come out and play. And at that very moment in time, I knew where I was, and where I was going, and what I wanted. I knew what was right, and what was wrong. I knew what was true, and what really mattered in this world. And, if I had let the rebel in me speak his mind, I would have gotten in my truck and driven away. I would have stopped by Sarah’s place, and begged her to come with me, knowing she would say “no”. I would have said my goodbyes, and left this place without looking back. I would have driven farther than the roads can reach, and deeper than the caves extend. I would have gone to that last piece of land on this earth that has yet to be explored. I would have stuck my flag in the ground, pitched my tent and claimed it as my own. And I would have built a giant fire, and sat there all night thinking about all the wonderful things I left behind, and all the horrible things that couldn’t find me anymore. I don’t know if I would have decided it was worth it, but it wouldn’t matter. I didn’t though. Either I don’t have the balls, or there is something here worth staying for.
But now it’s time to straighten up, wash my face, and put on some clothes. I’ve got work to do, and a life to lead, and strength to show. Besides, when you talk so much, people start to realize that you’re not as strong or as tough as you lead people to believe.