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amulAnd I could almost like you
Now it's nearly over
It was strange (that's my new word for this weekend, I use it for everything) right from the arrival. I turned down a street I've come to many times before in the last year, the road upon which once my yearning, my beautiful, my Achingly Defiant lived. Only I stopped short, about a block or so, and climbed the long steps to Roo's home.
I arrived late, of course, and so there was little time for much more than a few minutes conversation before Roo and I fell asleep mid-sentence, with so much to do the next day. I awoke and realized that I'd forgotten to bring my negatives, no darkroom for me this weekend, however much I needed that particular form of meditation. My plans ruined, I lingered inside this unfamiliar home on an all-too-familiar street, talking with her sister. Eventually, I made it to the party.
We've all grown up, it seems, except for those I always thought needed it most. We talked of home ownership and job markets, tax forms and savings accounts. We watched children at play and drank sodas instead of beers.
The children left and the Party proper began. Achingly D stopped by, and we hugged. The first words out of my mouth were the ones I could never bring myself to say to Christine. I'm sorry. And that was a kind of growing up, too.
I met hernew guy, Alexander, too. I looked him in the face and spoke cordially to him, but could not bring myself to shake his hand.
Piece by piece, the beginnings of a grand revel were put together, but I could not enjoy it. Twin urges pulled at me, to let loose and to seek out my newly recovered friend. In the end, the desire to speak softly to a woman I once loved was stronger than my urge to REunify with my old compadres. So I sought her out in the salon she'd spent the last week perfecting, and we talked of small things as she dyed Boss Lady's hair.
So often in that late hour was I struck with the urge to be with her, to call her my own and rediscover the love that was once between us. I pushed those thoughts aside with a bitter smile, and tried to embrace the friendship, the sole path we both could walk safely, and remind myself of the long hours last weekend we spent accepting it as the only option both of us could survive.
I recalled the sly grin of Unmoving Rabbit, when I mentioned Roo at the party. She whispered to me, "Just follow your heart," thinking she knew where my heart led me. I saw Roo's ex shift uncomfortably in his seat, and the vengeful spirit inside me hoped he believed we were dating now, too.
Back at Roo's home, after a brief stop back at the party, we talked again of loss and loneliness, of the need to forge ahead. She's adopted a piece of Hindu philosophy, though she doesn't know it. Be content knowing that you do your best, and leave the outcome in the hands of God.
In the dark, in the hours of night so late that they are just as easily Too Early, I whispered these words:
I can't believe it's been two years now. I know you want me to stop calling it a failure, but that's what it still feels like. I expected the world to end, to be different. They should have stopped, all of them. There should have been a day of mourning. Banks should have closed and mothers should have beat their fists against walls. Toys should have fallen from children's hands. The world should have stopped and grieved with me.
But they all just went on. After all, it was just one more failed romance. Nothing new there.
And she, thinking I spoke of Christine, agreed that she had felt such things as well.
I did not correct her.
Now it's nearly over
It was strange (that's my new word for this weekend, I use it for everything) right from the arrival. I turned down a street I've come to many times before in the last year, the road upon which once my yearning, my beautiful, my Achingly Defiant lived. Only I stopped short, about a block or so, and climbed the long steps to Roo's home.
I arrived late, of course, and so there was little time for much more than a few minutes conversation before Roo and I fell asleep mid-sentence, with so much to do the next day. I awoke and realized that I'd forgotten to bring my negatives, no darkroom for me this weekend, however much I needed that particular form of meditation. My plans ruined, I lingered inside this unfamiliar home on an all-too-familiar street, talking with her sister. Eventually, I made it to the party.
We've all grown up, it seems, except for those I always thought needed it most. We talked of home ownership and job markets, tax forms and savings accounts. We watched children at play and drank sodas instead of beers.
The children left and the Party proper began. Achingly D stopped by, and we hugged. The first words out of my mouth were the ones I could never bring myself to say to Christine. I'm sorry. And that was a kind of growing up, too.
I met her
Piece by piece, the beginnings of a grand revel were put together, but I could not enjoy it. Twin urges pulled at me, to let loose and to seek out my newly recovered friend. In the end, the desire to speak softly to a woman I once loved was stronger than my urge to REunify with my old compadres. So I sought her out in the salon she'd spent the last week perfecting, and we talked of small things as she dyed Boss Lady's hair.
So often in that late hour was I struck with the urge to be with her, to call her my own and rediscover the love that was once between us. I pushed those thoughts aside with a bitter smile, and tried to embrace the friendship, the sole path we both could walk safely, and remind myself of the long hours last weekend we spent accepting it as the only option both of us could survive.
I recalled the sly grin of Unmoving Rabbit, when I mentioned Roo at the party. She whispered to me, "Just follow your heart," thinking she knew where my heart led me. I saw Roo's ex shift uncomfortably in his seat, and the vengeful spirit inside me hoped he believed we were dating now, too.
Back at Roo's home, after a brief stop back at the party, we talked again of loss and loneliness, of the need to forge ahead. She's adopted a piece of Hindu philosophy, though she doesn't know it. Be content knowing that you do your best, and leave the outcome in the hands of God.
In the dark, in the hours of night so late that they are just as easily Too Early, I whispered these words:
I can't believe it's been two years now. I know you want me to stop calling it a failure, but that's what it still feels like. I expected the world to end, to be different. They should have stopped, all of them. There should have been a day of mourning. Banks should have closed and mothers should have beat their fists against walls. Toys should have fallen from children's hands. The world should have stopped and grieved with me.
But they all just went on. After all, it was just one more failed romance. Nothing new there.
And she, thinking I spoke of Christine, agreed that she had felt such things as well.
I did not correct her.
