2004-08-11
In the damp darkness, my mind wanders
�Did you fuck him?� asks Aaron, in a sharp whisper.
�No...� I respond as I look down.
It seems to me as if these days, Aaron and I cannot speak without him inquiring about my personal life. Unfortunately, whenever I make the attempt to inquire about his, he ends up inflamed or offended.
�Then what did you do, exactly? Did you even like this guy?�
�Aaron,� I begin �This guy whom you refer to was my boyfriend of many months, and obviously, we did not just hold hands and eat ice-cream. Why the hell are you getting so mad?� I ask.
�I�m not...it�s your fucking business�, he responds.
I get this urge to slap him hard across the face, mainly, because I still feel sensitive regarding my previous relationship. About twenty-minutes and many exasperated sighs later, I find myself trying to make him laugh. He slowly begins to loosen up as I start mentioning this year�s senior prank, and how him and I should go down in the books for what we�re about to pull off. I lean over and whisper in his ear:
�Dr. Stockdale, will this really make my quarks and leptons move faster?�
He now lets out a loud laugh and looks at me, shaking his head.
�Let�s talk about senior prank�
�Finally�, I say.
This is during our lunch hour, and him and I are sitting down in the courtyard, making the attempt at whispering and scribbling down ideas for our senior prank. However, throughout the entire time, I keep wondering why he behaves the way he does sometimes. One minute, he can be very open and warm, and then next he�s unbearably frigid.
Despite the fact that I have tried to let go of this, I still cannot help but ruminate over this particular conversation. And this bothers me, for the entire day.
On the way home, I feel compelled to stop by this bridge that I used to walk over. It�s quite small, and hidden under the branches and plush leaves of summer that tend to hide the dry, blue sky. In this particular little place, it feels dark and damp--seclusion from the chaos of the world. The small brook babbles beneath as the current makes the water dance gracefully over small rocks. For so long, and in so many entries, I have written about this particular bridge and brook. Perhaps one afternoon, I should drive there with a pen and notepad, and once and for all make the attempt at capturing everything that I see.
And how could I say how it feels, when I approach this particular spot that I�ve approached so many a time before, and each time, I�m a new person. That bridge has seen uncountable versions of myself pass over it, many times getting out of the car. My heels press onto the pavement and I lean over the railing to watch that brook flow below me. Wondering, how I felt each time that I had passed it, and wondering what I was thinking. If I could ask for each leaf and tree-bark to show me the pictures they have taken, and the stories they have recorded, I would come close to my dream of re-living the past and capturing time as if it were a firefly at dusk. Clasping my hands around it, I would delight in this find, like a child in a straw hat and overalls.
But, how to explain the heaviness that I feel in leaving, and in changing, and in knowing that the winter breeze will not fog up this particular window. That the soles of these shoes will not press onto this particular pavement, or, that I have to accept change, and time...I cannot stay static.
And if trees could whisper our stories, what would they say?
�I saw her when she cried, with crimsoned lips and pearl-black eyes�
I would hear the wind�s voice say these things.
But with hands in a black coat, I want to walk and never stop until everything is behind me. If I cannot have my memories, then I might as well outrun them.
Night always creeps upon me and clasps its spiny fingers around my throat as I try to breathe. But in the end, I still cannot forget glacier-blue eyes and two lips searching for mine in the darkness. When mine touched yours, my heart heaved a sigh of autumn. Grabbing your face gently, my fingers could intricately dance through your hair. And tell me, how do I take away the feeling of your bare skin on mine? Please, look at me through the grey of dawn and smile and let your fingertips dance with mine as we entrap ourselves in a velvet-rose kiss.
And in the end, nights haunt me because I truly...miss you.