Wednesday, April 23, 2008
"1,913 - Im/possibilities (6)
So I waited.
I waited for the perfect time to make my move. The time when I’d have the exact right thing to say, and he’d be powerless to refuse it. That time was tomorrow.
Always tomorrow.
Tomorrow I’d have more time. Tomorrow I’d be braver. I sat with the phone in my hand and his number on the screen, but I couldn’t press it. I wanted to, but some lurking thought told me not to call, “No, now’s not the right time.”
I know what it was; I felt like this time had to be the last time. But how many times had I said that before? When was the time he’d no longer put up with it; when was enough enough? It seems like being aware of that possibility should have made the obvious sink in; he didn’t want me and only didn’t want to hurt my feelings.
Even those who accept hopelessness can respect others’ feelings. How far should a person go to protect feelings? Isn’t there a point where protection makes it worse; perpetuates the cycle? If there is such point, it had been crossed.
The problem was I felt like a different person when Nathan and I were alone. All the drama surrounding life faded, and every word spoken was truth. Truth which understands its own infinite impossibilities. The kind of truth few people recognize and even less accept. As a direct result, I felt like circumstances that seem typical and obvious to others didn’t apply to us.
I can’t overlook the possibility that He knew He made me feel this way, but I also couldn’t convince myself what I felt when I was with him wasn’t real.
Impossibilities.
"1,913 - Beginning of the End (5)
During our talk He repeated many things he had said the night before; many things I had told myself months before. His logic rolled smoothly. He had a way of communicating ideas that made them seem like your own. When He was done, I sat there thinking I had rediscovered love didn’t exist.
I finally turned to leave and He offered me one last hug.
I can’t let this seemingly insignificant event go unnoted. I’ll never know exactly why He did it, but that last hug validated every feeling, thought and emotion I’d ever had for him. There’s a pestering thought that this was his final lesson; his proof that I had confused carnal pleasure with love.
As I took in what was to be our last contact, I closed my eyes. It occurred to me I should try my best to remember everything. I would never again find anyone who would come so close to knowing who I really was. I had found my other; my parallel. It was directly because He chose the same questions as I that I could never be with him. I knew I should take solace in the fact we would go on existing parallel, although we’d have to do it separately, but I couldn’t.
In our last embrace I remembered the warmth and feel of his soft skin. I enjoyed his smell; the somewhat bitter yet comforting smell of the morning after. I sank down in the tousled bed; the bed I would not be able to forget because when I returned home I would exist in that same bed. I saw his perfect hair for the first time imperfect. I’d left four scratches on his shoulder I hoped wouldn’t fade. I saw tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.
And there it was again. I felt something. I spoke irrationally, without thought.
“Nathan, I can love you; I want to love you!”
“If you want any happiness at all in your life, I assure you that’s not what you want.”
I opened my mouth expecting words to flow out, but nothing came. My mind searched for something to say, but still nothing.
That was it.
I was out of ideas; out of mental tricks to delay the inevitable. I wonder if, as I sat there completely overwhelmed, He finally saw who I was. I wondered if He then knew the whole time I had just been doing my best to keep up. I wasn’t as intelligent, resourceful, and motivated as He. Had I simply been hiding behind my words and hoping not to get caught?
“Thank you, I have my ending now…”
"1,913 - Tar (4)
*From my book "1,913
In a moment of weakness, I decided to carry out the ridiculous plan my heart formulated, only a modified version. Although, calling it an actual plan is a huge stretch. I sent Nathan his story.
“October 4, 2007 4:30 AM To: silence From: LUSH
As much as I’ll hate myself in the morning (or possibly even seconds from hitting send), here are 1,913 words all about you. Do you deserve to read it? Perhaps not. Will it finally end your chapter? Most likely. Do I think you’ll actually respond? No, but I haven’t lost all hope in humanity… Perhaps I have…
Ann”
I stared at the screen for what seemed like hours, waiting for the reply I knew would never come. It was done, it was over. Finally, I would be free. He would know the pain He caused; He would know the anguish and issues He brought to my head. Finally, I could hate him and put him away in my mind. Finally… There was a reply…
“Oct 4, 2007 10:10 PM To: LUSH From: silence
Dear Ann,
I don’t know what to say. I feel paralyzed after reading your 1,913 words. They are beyond vivid. Everything came back to my mind. It was like I was in your living room again, looking at the tattoo magazines. No one has ever written something so personal that has had anything to do with me, and so I feel like you threw a large boulder at me, and now I'm crushed below it. I have been so alone for so long, so alienated, that I have felt like I have been nothing to anyone. That I might mean anything to you, was never a thought, because I lost all faith in people. I lost all faith in relationships, love and the like. To me everything had become worthless and absurd. God died for me, the possibility for meaning flew out my window and relationships were, at most, fleeting.
After the split with my spouse, I had been alone in that apartment for almost a year, with only my books to keep me company. Thom was my first friend in a year. I felt like I betrayed my friendship, when I chose you over him. My guilt has gone unquenched the entire time.
I have thought a lot about you. I wondered why I just allowed things to end the way I did. The same pathetic reason I always do; I'm scared of getting hurt. My heart has been ripped out so many times. So much that I doubt I even have a heart anymore. If I do, it is merely for pumping blood. In being alone, I know what to expect. Loneliness I can deal with. I can sleep it off. But to be broken again, that is my greatest fear.
I agree with so many of the sentiments you laid out. I felt so alive with you that night. The experience was completely unique, not to be compared with any other experience. I wanted it to last forever. I felt completely vulnerable. I feel vulnerable, now, telling you this. That was why I could not handle it. If one night could feel like that, what would happen to me? I'm too weak, too sensitive to take anymore. In all honesty, I have no self confidence, although I do my best to hide it. You were and are what my heart wants, but I'm too much of a coward to go after you.
I'm not sorry that I met you. Nevertheless, I very much regret the state I was in when I met you. I hope that some day you can forgive me, for causing you any heartache, anger or pain. I feel foolish asking you that, because it doesn’t negate my actions. I hope you and Thom are doing well.
I have missed you.
Nathan”
I read it over and over. I interpreted it until it lost all meaning. I studied it until I was captive within its lines. My heart was clinched between its words, like a balloon being squeezed until it’s colorless and transparent. You were and are what my heart wants sat in the back of my throat and suffocated me. I wanted to reply but my hands had betrayed me and gone numb.
Any trace of distinction between me and that soft, purple couch I was sitting on slipped away without warning. I felt anesthetized. I became nothing more than a mass of human remains slowly decaying into the earth. There was no division between anything; everything was made of the same substance as that couch and I. I didn’t bother trying to move. I knew if I so much as tried to lift a finger, it would have already melded with the tar of existence. Nothing could be separated, and nothing was human. The atmosphere was nothing but a post-apocalyptic prison guard keeping his inmates alive by feeding them lies that there was something more than nothing.
Imprudently, there was still a part of me that anticipated meaning; perhaps if I could tear away from this abysmal tar, there would be something out there. When I finally came back to what I knew as reality, everything still appeared meaningless. I was able to think clearly, but still couldn’t form sense of things. I was disgusted by the objects around me; the couch I sat on, the coffee table I’d so carefully placed, the walls that were so perfectly painted, and, worst, the window my eyes couldn’t escape. I looked out and saw a world that didn’t know me, a world that didn’t know itself.
From that point forward, I functioned on pure instinct from a life otherwise gone. In this reality, I couldn’t have fathomed a more perfect response. The response was both great and terrible. It was everything I had wanted and everything I expected at the same time.
"1,913 - Silence (3)
He’d dropped off the face of the earth; blinked out of existence. Even Thomas hadn’t heard from him; he had stop showing up to work. Who knows where He went. I wish I could have said, “Who cares,” but I couldn’t. Thoughts of him taunted my mind. Why should this person, who I hardly knew, bring such a chaos of questions to my head? There was something about him; something He had. Not something that could be seen, but it was there. Perhaps I didn't possess this quality and that's why I was nothing to him.
My mind brought great comfort to my heart with its lies, “Perhaps you were too much for him. You were too much of what He needed and wanted in a time when He couldn't take. He must have been torn between you and prior obligations.” That would have been nice. The thought He might be avoiding me because He wanted me and knew He shouldn't. Ah, the schemes my brain invents to sooth my sad heart.
I kept trying to end his chapter in my life; I would tell myself He wasn’t worth all these words, but I couldn't. He would sneak into my every thought. Like the sound of silence, once you hear it, it drowns out everything else.
How did He do it? At first I thought it was a flaw of my own, but then I was sure He was doing something to me, forcing something into my head. Why would He do this? If He didn't want me fine, but why wouldn’t He let me forget him?!
Obviously that was not what was going on. I had to do something to finalize him in my mind and in my text.
But what?
"1,913 - Encounter (2)
Sometime in late July, I had started smoking. I think it was mostly because my hands had become bored with the state of things and Thomas was always willing to share his early death.
One night I was choking down a cigarette with Thomas outside of his store when we spotted Nathan walking up. He was wearing the same nice shoes, belt, and expensive watch as the night before, but his hair seemed more perfectly messy. As He drew closer I was struck by his smile.
“Hey guys, how are you two?”
He had a styrofoam cup in his hand with an anarchy symbol drawn on it. I thought it was a bit out of place for such a civilized young man. I raised an eyebrow and pointed at it.
“I was feeling a bit anarchical tonight.”
I don’t know what it was, but the way He said it so matter-of-a-factly amused me. That symbol juxtaposed with him seemed clearly out of place for a boy I thought so innocent and naïve. Yet when confronted with it, his answer was smooth and natural as if that simple statement was the absolute last word on the matter. How could I possibly ask another question?
Thomas had been right, there was something about him. I felt like I had lost a battle, and in a way I had. I told myself I would not be fond, interested, intrigued, or any other state that could possibly lead to emotions down the line, but I was taken by Nathan.
“Thomas, why did you make me meet this guy?! Life has conditioned me to know there isn’t any way this will have a productive outcome. But it’s too late now, I’m interested.”
“What, you’re not ready for a voyage of deception and half-truths? Just face it the way you would after a bottle of Goldschlagger, ‘Does it feels right now?’.”
So in the following weeks I became the greatest consumer of fountain drinks there will ever be. I took every opportunity to drive Thomas to work, and successfully ran into Nathan a few times. We had short, casual conversations.
I learned that He had been married and had a child. Although it was never spoken to me, I later pieced together that He and his wife had separated because He had renounced their Mormon faith. He’d gone on a mission to Brazil and spoke fluent Portuguese. As if that were not enough, He thought himself an artist and played bass in a band that was significantly influenced by one of my favorite bands. Coincidentally, He was moving to a neighboring town the same weekend Thomas and I were moving out of our apartment.
"1,913 - Beginning (1)
Logic tells me to start at the beginning because I feel every moment of my life has been building up to this point. I believe most would agree the beginning is a satisfactory starting point. However, it seems rather illogical and boring to start twenty-two years ago. Perhaps I should make a big entrance. Start with a birth, a death, or some monumental, life-altering event that leaks insight into my life and how I came to be this way. Unfortunately, there is no such event.
I’ve given up on writing a real book. My attempt at writing something of substance has been more than in vain. I thought for a moment I could, perhaps, exaggerate and lie through the parts of my life I didn’t find appealing, but why bother?
Some people have linear thought with emotions that connect from day to day. I simply have none. Who really knows where it started? Just like any other story a series of events led to this point, and beyond this point there are more to come.
Nothing makes my story particularly special. If I truthfully thought someone were out there reading this, I would warn him, “Stop now before you recognize what could have been in place of these white pages spattered with black ink. But if you’ve made it this far, you must crave the same agony as I. We’re more similar than you know.”
I’ve only just begun to realize everything I’ve ever written is part of my story. Before, I thought they were separate; short stories, unconnected. I thought I had separate moments when I felt different ways and these moments of my life could not be combined; they were so fundamentally different that my audience would collapse under the pressure of trying to understand one thought to the next. I realize now my separate ideas with different meanings are not extraordinary; they are everyone’s. But I still ask myself, could, or would, someone else be able to comprehend these separate ideas and make them into a whole understanding? Am I searching for someone who can easily understand me?
Concerning my perfect other: I want him to understand my questions, but do I want him to know the answers? I feel as if the search would bring us together. But after the search is complete, will we still be one? How long can two people be one? Does the end of the adventure mean the end of the need for one another?
Perhaps I am thinking too long term. In my life, I’ve had many others: some have lasted years, some have lasted months, some have lasted weeks, days, hours, minutes and some were mere seconds long. Which of these interactions are of importance? Did the man I passed earlier today that said something seemingly insignificant in fact really change my life?
Is it possible the interaction that lasted a few blissful hours was really a beginning, middle and end of a journey? In a way I hope so, but then how can two people be one forever? Must all adventures end? This thinking makes me feel as if we are all doomed to be alone. I can’t help but wonder, though, does that in reality make everyone mortally connected? Could our own loneliness keep us together?
It’s odd to me how one person can make me question my own reality. Then, at a later time, that same person has no real effect on my way of thinking. The questions and thoughts he had produced seem to have no relevance and I, perhaps, even feel a bit foolish for placing these questions so highly.
There are people now, who I no longer hold highly, who have significantly changed my life for both better and worse; good and bad. I also realize there are people who I don’t even remember that have done the same. How do I decide who to remember?
My story is a puzzle I’m trying to piece together. As I write it down, I wonder how the separate parts will fit together in the end. My biggest fear is that I will live my life with the same superficial mistakes made throughout history. There are so many questions I have yet to find the answers to, and I know those answers will merely lead to new questions followed by more answers and more questions. It’s truly hard to stay focused or even put an ounce of care into everyday life with thoughts like these tormenting my mind.
It occurs to me everyone must have a vision of their perfect other. Everyone must think about the qualities they would want in their mate; the ideal other. How many of these qualities must one possess to be a satisfactory other? Which qualities can we forego and which are an absolute?
In my experience, I have found in the beginning all the qualities that fit into my ideal scheme shine and the qualities that go against my desires are omitted. However, it seems to be an eventuality that the qualities and traits I don’t like take center stage, until I’m left with someone who I realize perhaps doesn’t have the qualities I originally thought were nonnegotiable. But surely he hasn’t changed so significantly to go from acceptable to unacceptable. Did I compromise my ideals too much in the beginning or did I simply become greedy half-way through and not hold up my end of the bargain?
Once be with me
And if you should feel the sun again, I, too, shall forever be with you. if the sun does shine no more, my memory will linger in the dull, nonreflect moon. In incredible, black unactualized potential, much less missed than the sun and forgotten with time.