Single In New York...
Playing Old Games.
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Thursday night I had been itching for a break after spending the last four days with my father. Just as I was dreaming of what the sun would feel like on my face, while I sat cold in a hospital, my cell phone rang. It was J.
“Do you have time to get away for a little while?”
“Your timing couldn’t be more perfect!”
So he picked me up and we went to the Shrine. “You want to climb the rock and sit at the statues feet? For old time’s sakes?” He’d asked. I smiled at him, and started climbing without saying a word. And he climbed right beside me.
As we sat the foot of a stone statue some 20 feet taller than I and some 20 feet off of the ground, J put his arm around me as we sat Indian style next to each other.
“Want to play a game?”
I just looked at him. One eyebrow raised and half a smirk on my face. “What kind of game are we talking?”
“One of your favorites. We used to play this all the time.”
“Small words?” I asked. He smiled. “You start.” I said.
[This a game we used to play when we were dating and going through a rough patch. When we would fight a lot, this always helped. We would each just say short words and short sentences, which made it harder to be mean. And it ALWAYS put a smile on our faces.]
J – “You’ve changed.”
D – “I’m ever changing.”
J – “I like it.”
D – “What?”
J – “The new you.”
D – “I miss this.”
J – “Me too.”
D – “I love you.”
J – “I love you too.”
D – “IN love with you.”
He didn’t say anything.
D – “Always have been.”
D – “Always will be.”
He just looked at me.
D – “I’m sorry.”
J – “Don’t be.”
And we sat in silence for a few hours together watching the sun set over the tree tops. He just held me and didn’t say a word. And then he took me home where he hugged me tight, kissed my forehead, said good night, said he loved me, and said he’d call me later.
Which he did. He asked me if I wanted to go to the beach with him that night to talk some more. But I was tired and knew that I still had things to do for my father the next day and needed to be in the best shape I could be to take care of him. So I declined.
So things didn’t turn out the way I would have liked. But I tried. And that’s a lot. Especially for me. (Remember my previous post? “Hi! My name is… Coward!”) I still love him. And I still always will. And it still hurts. And it might forever. But that was a risk I had to take.
Confessions, Distractions, and Butterflies in my Tummy.
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But here I am. Letting go. Of both my secrets and my responsibilities.
I am sitting in a very [uncomfortable] chair in a large, empty, cold, white hospital room. My father sleeps peacefully with the aid of medication. I listen to him breathe steadily at a much slower rythm than the keys of my laptop.
We will call him J.
**************************************
J and I have been through a lot together. We had dated on and off all through out high school. And shortly thereafter. He went away to college while I stayed home. I broke up with him before he left and demanded that he have fun at college without having to worry about me at home and how I would feel about the things he was doing. We agreed to stay friends, and we have.
Other than my sister, J is my best friend. We don’t always talk, and we see each other about once a year these days, but when we do, we pick up right where we left off. I know that he would be there for me if I ever needed him for anything, any time, anywhere in the world. And vice versa.
J and I will always have a special bond.
At a Christmas party this past winter we had chatted with each other for the first time in person in over a year. He introduced me to his live-in girlfriend of a year and I introduced him to the new crush in my life (you remember him? Mr. Perfect). Things were very nice. We caught up on what was new with each other, how our families had been, and places/bands/movies we had seen. We laughed about old times and hugged each other goodnight for what felt like eternity.
I got to see J again this past weekend. He drove down to attend a graduation party for a mutual friend of ours’. Him and his live-in girlfriend. She is very sweet, she’s pretty and smart, funny, and most importantly she adores him and treats him good.
*******************************************
But this isn’t about them. It’s about me. And my secret.
I have earlier mentioned that J was my first true love. So for that, he will always hold a special place in my heart. But what I neglected to mention was that I am still in love with J. That I might always be in love with J. And I have been lying to myself about that for years.
Even when I was with the Ex (the loser one) and all the other guys in between I would still think of J though we don’t talk often anymore. (Our schedules conflict. But we try to make it work!) And when I haven’t thought of him for a long time, I convince myself that I am not in love with him anymore.
…Until I see him.
Or hear is voice.
And I fall…
Head over heels.
All. Over. Again.
Such as this weekend. I like to think that I hide it well, that not even my best friends who know me better than anybody know my true feelings for him.
J pulls me aside.
“Dean. I heard about your father. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call me? I would have come down!” He’s referring to the Father’s Day weekend disaster.
“Don’t worry about it. He’s fine now. But I’m sure he’d love to see you. If you have time before you head home, you should stop over there.”
“Yea I will. But you really should have called me. Is there anything you need?”
“No. I’ve got it all under control. But thanks.”
We hug. And we walk back to the table to engage in some more drinking, reminiscing and chain smoking on the patio by the pool.
Sitting at a round table is me, six high school classmates I was very close with at one point, their significant others, and a mutual friend of all of our’s whom is a few years older than we are. Sitting across from me is J and his girlfriend.
Just as the sun is setting, the firepit is getting started and the candles are being lit, one of my best friends from high school (we will call her B) and someone who is very close with J as well, pulls me aside.
“Dean. I’m not crazy. I swear. But I think J is still in love with you.”
“WHAT?!” Im genuinely shocked.
“I’m serious. You should see the way he looks at you. You were talking before to S and he was staring at you… adoringly.”
“B, have you lost your mind?! He has a girlfriend, that he lives with, for almost TWO years now!”
“Yea, but… Didn’t he ask you to move in with him?”
“About 100 years ago! Seriously, I was dating ‘The Ex’ and he wanted me to move hundreds of miles from home and work. We were just kids!”
“But that didn’t stop you from moving in with The Ex.”
“That was different.”
“I’m just saying. I think there’s a good chance he’s still in love with you.”
“Alright. And what am I supposed to do about it?”
“Go after him! I always said you guys were meant to be together!!”
“We did nothing but fight when were together! We’re much better off as friends.”
“You were kids!”
“Didn’t I just say that?”
“Whatever. I’m just saying…”
Is she right? I have no clue. And I will most likely never know. Because I will never ask him. And I will never admit to B that I still love him whether he loves me or not, because what J and I have is very special. It’s something most people will never experience in their entire lives, and we are so very lucky for that. And because of the great bond that we share, I will never risk making things weird between us.
…Unless of course he admits it first.
Then, all bets are off.
My Dearest J,
I thought it important to express how deep my love is for you. That the air would not smell as sweet should it not blow through your hair. That the sun is only warm when I think of it kissing your cheeks and then I become envious, for I long to kiss those cheeks myself. That the night time sky wouldn’t be as beautiful if glistening stars didn’t remind me of the twinkle in your beautiful, brown eyes.
I should tell you that the crashing waves and the towering buildings no longer scare me. Nor do I fear the howling wind of a thundering storm, the cold lonely nights, the thick haunted woods. I don’t even fear the distance between us. For I know that our hearts will one day bring us together and we will share the rest of our days cherishing one another.
My love for you, sweet J, is infinite and immortal. It is what keeps me going in these times when I cannot see your face, hear your voice, or be held in your arms. The love I hold so tight is strong and it’s pure, but mostly it’s beautiful. It is so exquisite that William Shakespeare himself could not find words to express its full splendor.
Tonight, handsome J, dream of me as I dream of you. And know that soon we will be together for all time.
Thinking of you always with more love than I could express in ten thousand lifetimes,
Dean.
But we live in 2008. And I would not dare share such a letter. But, perhaps it will go a little like this instead,
“I wanted to tell you that I love you. That I’ve loved you all along. And I’ll always love you.”
And I’ll leave it at that. Because while sonnets and melodies are gorgeous, sometimes just the straightforward, reader’s digest version is all that’s needed. (And easier for me to spit out before I throw up all over him from being so nervous.)
I’m not yet sure when this will take place. But we are supposed to be getting together either tonight or tomorrow night (depending on the condition of my dad after some more testing today). Of course I will report back…
New York, New Jersey and Mother’s Day.
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He and I (we will call him “B”) are somewhat dating now these days. And for the first time in a long time, I’m dating someone exclusively. It’s strange to be back in this place, somewhere I haven’t been a while, and have not even visited since I last left.
Sunday morning I am woken up by his alarm on his cell phone.
“Good morning. I know this is a bit earlier than we talked about, but I figured you didn’t want to miss a run with Doc before we head out. So I set the alarm a little earlier than planned.”
“Thanks.” I managed to whisper while yawning.
Yes, I let him stay the night. That’s the first time I’d let anyone I was interested in stay the night since the Ex moved out. It was nice waking up to his face. I’ll admit that.
We were dressed in less than five minutes and out the door. Doc, B, and I running through Central Park together. The sun was warm, and it didn’t rain like they had predicted. Vendors were selling potted plants and hibiscus trees at discounted prices, and lines were wrapped up and down the paths with last minute Mother’s Day shoppers.
We stopped to get smoothies on the way back to the apartment and discussed the train schedule and the day’s plans and events.
[Side note: I even let him shower and get dressed at my apartment after our run, rather than him going home and coming back. That was a little strange, but I liked it. A lot.]
An hour later, we were out the door again. Two subways and a train ride later and we were on the train platform in Trenton (New Jersey) waiting for our cab. We were going to his parents’ house for brunch where we would meet with his [twin] brother and his girlfriend and the four of us would enjoy a breakfast/lunch buffet accompanied by B’s parents and two grandmothers.
I had met B’s parents before, and B lives with his brother, so I have met him and his girlfriend before too. But I have never met his grandmothers and I have never met his parents while we were considered “dating”. It makes it so much easier meeting the family when you know there is nothing romantic going on between the two of us, now that we’re actually dating, and they know it, it changes everything. And maybe they didn’t think so, or they just didn’t acknowledge it, because everything felt exactly the same. Which was a wonderful relief.
At about 2:45, we were out the door again. One train, two subways, and another train later, and we were now standing at the train platform at Ronkonkoma (Long Island, New York) where we waited for another cab.
And now B was in the same situation as I was earlier in the day. He had met most of my family before, just not when we were dating. But again, no one acted any different. This, I’m sure, was a relief for him as well.
We went to the beach and then we went to the Shrine where I really opened up to him.
I told him why that place was so special to me, what it was like when my mom was sick, and how strange everything felt after she had passed. I told him how I can’t remember my grandparents’ funerals a few shorts months after my mom’s because I was practically a zombie by then. I even told him how I hate myself everyday because I can’t remember her. My own mother. The woman who gave birth to me.
He stayed silent, but supportive. He hugged me, and held my hand, and kissed my cheek.
The train ride home was quiet. I just wondered what he was thinking.
*********************************************************
“Can I stay the night? I love waking up to your face.”
And I let him.
Hi! My Name Is: Coward.
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Doc and I are laying in my bed watching Sex in the City reruns. And it makes me wonder, will I be Carrie Bradshaw forever?
Sure, we’re both single and living in New York. We go out for drinks with our friends after a long day in the office. We rely on our laptops, sitting at home, calling our names after we experience a night of bliss, a night of turmoil and everything in between. The keys long to be pressed by my fingers while I dictate every detail of my life’s events. Or sometimes the lack thereof.
The difference between Carrie and I? Well, for starters, I don’t march down Fashion Avenue wearing Manolo Blahniks and sip martinis and cosmopolitans with Manhattan socialites, corporate executives and a wealthy lawyer. I do, however, sip imported beers (at $8 a pop) at pubs with a documentary producer, an art gallery owner, a waitress, a struggling actor, a writer, a college professor, a New York City firefighter, and a few students. My hair does not look nearly as nice or tamed as hers when it decides to defy my many efforts to keep it from curling. I don’t work one day a week, in fact I work eight. I do not attend glamorous galas, parties, and balls. And I don’t sleep with every person that I date.
I am dating someone, yes. He is not the Mr. Perfect you have read about in previous posts. He is not that friend that I mentioned once or twice before. He is not the Ex.
He’s… someone semi-new.
He and I met last May at a bar. He’s a few years older than me, but still likes to have fun. He is mature and responsible but spontaneous and carefree at the same time (if that is possible).
But this post is not about him.
It’s about me. About my desire to be happy, but my inability to allow myself to do so. I refuse to open up to people. This is a flaw that I am aware of, am ashamed of, but still cannot seem to break this horrible habit of mine. What is it that I am afraid of? What is it that scares me so much that I will push people away from me? People that seem to care about me, and want to be there for me.
And most importantly, how do I make myself stop?
I cannot say whether or not he will be fed up with these habits of mine. But I can tell you that many have done that before. And have walked away, leaving me in the dust, without looking back because of this terrible thing that I do. And I never see it coming. Not until it’s too late. And all that’s left is sad little Dean and her self-broken heart.
Which brings me back to Carrie. Am I Carrie Bradshaw? As much as I wish I weren’t. As much as I don’t want to be. As much as I deny it… I think I know deep down it’s true. And I think my friends know it too. And perhaps they’re just too afraid to bring it to my attention, fearing that I don’t already know. Fearing that I might feel attacked, criticized, or ridiculed. Fearing I will only put my guard up higher and stronger.
I don’t want to be Carrie. I don’t want to be Samantha, Miranda, or even Charlotte. I want to be Dean. But I want to be the Dean that’s not afraid to be happy.
Using all the strength I have, I will open up to him. Right now.
Lessons I’ve Learned.
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1.) When you lie to your parents and go somewhere/do something they would not approve of, you run the risk of getting into some kind of trouble. Resulting in your getting caught or forcing you to lie some more to ensure you don’t get caught.
2.) When you break a bone, it hurts.
3.) When a doctor recommends something (casting a limb, wiring your jaw shut, prescribing medication, warning you of future risks, etc.) you should always listen. They know what they’re talking about. (Which is why they’re doctors.)
4.) Whenever you think there’s no hope left… you’re wrong. Always.
5.) People can always be understood and forgiven. But situations don’t have to be forgotten. Especially situations that turned into lessons.
6.) The only things in life that cannot be erased:
a) The past.
b) Words that were spoken.
c) Broken promises.
7.) Family is always the most important thing. If your family is not worthy of your love, create a new family, we often call them friends when they mean so much more.
8.) Don’t ever pass up an opportunity to tell a loved one just how much they mean to you.
9.) A broken heart hurts much worse than people will tell you. You’ll never understand unless you actually experience it.
10.) Everyone should experience it. At least once. You’ll appreciate the love that much more.
11.) I’m not perfect. Neither are you. Don’t get too mad at other people who just can’t help but makes mistakes. We’ve all made our share. (Some more than others.)
12.) Fall in love. Every fucking chance you get!
13.) Try to forgive people for their past. You may have done something that someone else might not approve of.
14.) Express yourself as much as you can everyday. Write, paint, read, dye your hair a funky color, dress however you want to, get a tattoo, and remember just how beautiful you are when you’re being true to yourself.
15.) Smile. Everyday. Because no matter how hard things get, someone always has it worse than you, and someone would always “kill” to be in your shoes rather than their own.
16.) Be thankful for every single thing you’ve ever done and experienced. It made you who you are. Don’t regret a thing.
17.) When you say something about someone else that you wouldn’t want them to hear; There’s a 98% chance they’re going to hear it. So be careful.
18.) When you call out sick from your job to go to your favorite bar with all of your friends, there is a very high risk of running into your boss while you’re there. (Learned that one this weekend. Whoops!)
19.) Things that always change:
a.) Fashion
b.) Music
c.) Time
d.) Weather
e.) Technology
f.) Relationships
g.) The strengthening/weakening of your heart
20.) The value of your worth is determined by you, not by status, money, power, material things, etc. If you feel that you’re worth nothing, than you are. And trust me; you’re always worth a lot more than you give yourself credit for.
21.) Don’t let anyone make you feel any less than wonderful. Because it’s not true and they don’t deserve to know just how wonderful you really are.
22.) There won’t always be a tomorrow. But try not to think about it. Today is so much more important! Because if there is a tomorrow, what you do today can make or break it.
23.) Love is so much sweeter when you’re not afraid of it.
24.) Work is just work. It should never be your life. Your family, friends, experiences, adventures, lessons, mistakes, smiles, laughs, memories, heart-aches, and failures are what make up your life. Work is just something we do to make sure we can have all those other things.
25.) Trust your gut.
26.) Don’t even be afraid to ask for help. Offer to help others every chance you get.
27.) Doing what you love is so much more important than making millions of dollars.
28.) Try as many new things as possible and meet as many new people as you can. You can never have too many friends and learning new things, trying new things, going new place is an important part of life.
29.) Don’t hold in your feelings. You’re only hurting yourself that way.
30.) Always remember:
The sun always rises in the East.
It always sets in the west.
The stars always shine.
(Even if you can’t see them.)
Time never stops.
And it doesn’t rewind.
People come and go.
Just make sure you know who to keep and who to let go.
Time doesn’t heal all things.
But it certainly can help.
It takes more energy to be angry, than it does to be happy.
Try to learn other people’s lessons.
But most importantly:
Learn from your own.
Circle of life.
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I will paint until I die.
I will write until I die.
I will sing until I die.
I will think until I die.
I will feel until I die.
I will breathe until I die.
I will love until I die.
I will mourn until I die.
I will cry until I die.
…Even if only on the inside.
—–
A new series of paintings I just finished.
“Sun.”
“Always.”
“Sets.”
Why Mr. Unrealistic IS Mr. Unrealistic.
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-He lived too far away. And then he moved. And now he lives even further away.
-He is older than me. By ten years. Which doesn’t bother either of us, but I know it will bother my sometimes protective brother, father, brother-in-laws, cousins, uncles, and friends.
-He’s smart, funny, spontaneous, adventurous, caring, sensitive, artistic, creative, happy, trusting, trustworthy, honest, and engaging. Basically, going back to point #1. Too good to be true.
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I thought I was going to be able to come up with more than this. And I cannot. Maybe there isn’t anymore? Maybe he’s not as unrealistic as I think he is. Maybe he’s just what I need, what we both need. And maybe I shouldn’t be scared to let people in anymore. Maybe I should let him be mine, and mine his. And maybe I should stop thinking of him as Mr. Unrealistic and starting thinking of him as Mr. Perfect. Because that’s really what he is when all is said and done.
Because he makes me smile.
And he cares about me.
We can talk about anything and everything.
For hours.
He holds me whenever he has the chance.
Calls me to say hello and that he was thinking of me.
Takes pictures of himself making funny faces and sends them to me.
Just to know that I smiled that day.
Tells me jokes just to hear me laugh.
Makes me buy a Christmas tree.
And helps me decorate it.
Loves to sit on my couch and drink hot chocolate with me.
He loves the sound of my fingers typing and the faces I make when working on my book.
Because he says he can really hear me think when I do that.
And to him, it’s beautiful.
Because he will not see his family, just to spend Christmas with me.
And I won’t let him.
(Even though I want to…)
Because family is important.
And because he tells me he’s going to marry me someday.
And that he’s never felt that way about anyone before.
And he’s already told everyone that.
Even though most of them have never met me.
He says they know he means it.
Because he does.
And even if he doesn’t mean it, it still makes me smile.
And that’s enough for me.
For now.
**************************
Mr. Perfect.
Perfect.
Freedom.
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Feeling disconnected from everyone and everything I opted to walk to work last night. It was cold, one of the coldest nights we’ve had. But it was breathtaking nonetheless. 28 blocks later I found myself at the doors of job #2. I wished that I could turn back time and allow myself another hour to walk. I felt refreshed, but craved more. Everything needed it. My soul, my thoughts, and even the lonely streets enjoyed my company and wished that I would stay a little while longer.
I was quiet all night at work, just thinking to myself. I had my headphones on for the entire ten hour shift. They know that means I don’t want to be interrupted. And they agreed. Without saying a word about it. Thoughts were moving slowly at one point, cohesive, clear, and heavy. But then they were rampant, speeding in and out of my head as though on an uncontrollable racetrack, a course with no speed limit and no signs of slowing down. I felt anxious and out of control. Soon my heart started racing, I couldn’t focus my attention on anything and I had the shakes.
I bum a smoke from my lead stock employee who, in a thick Irish accent says to me, “Dean! I thought you gave up fags!” I don’t even answer him, just take the cigarette out of his hand and walk out the emergency exit to the roof.
I have been working here for years, and this is my first time smoking a cigarette on the roof. But it was beautiful and I just wanted to feel free! And I don’t know what made me think of it, but the roof seemed like the only “free” place I could have been just then. And I felt alive. I can’t describe it.
Sounds were muted. Wind was strong. Air was clear. Lights were dimmed. And people seemed small and far away. Which is just what I needed. The cigarette felt heavenly. Every deep breath I took seemed to calm my nervous and make things feel as though they were alright. And I wouldn’t have traded that moment for anything it the world.
…And things are alright.
Father Time.
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Is it true that when Father Time falls asleep time stands still? And if that is true, why does he always fall asleep in moments of tragedy? Or in moments that are filled with endless amounts of love?
It is possible that love and tragedy are things that Father Time can never explore or experience and so he is filled with such boredom that he will ultimately fall asleep, making time stand still, the world halting, and reality feeling like anything but?
This weekend stood still for me. Father Time sleeping from Saturday all the way straight through until Monday morning.
Saturday afternoon I got a surprise from Mr. Unrealistic. He was on his way to see me. And escort me to the Halloween parties I had already agreed to attend. I was ecstatic. He could not get there fast enough. Time had stood still. And time continued to stand still until he left Sunday morning.
I tried to remove the goofy smile off of my face, but it was no use. He made me smile. Just for being near me, just for listening to me, just for looking at me, and not looking at me at all. He is perfect in every way important to me. He held my hand, whispered in my ear, hugged me whenever he had the chance, and would sometimes just stare into my eyes without saying a word. I was in heaven, the happiest I’ve been in a very long time, and I knew right then, that things would only get better.
I wanted to tell him that I think I love him. But I know that “think” lessens “love’s” value. And I didn’t want him to think I devalued the “love” I MIGHT have for him. I wanted to tell him that I think about him all the time and that one day I could really love him. I wanted to tell him that the world is a brighter, happier, much more interesting place for having him in it, and I am beyond privileged to having him in my life and for allowing me to be in his.
I wanted to tell him that I don’t know how to be sad, angry, or anything negative when he’s around or even when I’m just thinking of him. I wanted to tell him that he truly is the most amazing person I have ever met and every day I look forward to learning more about him, seeing more with him, and thinking more of him.
…And time stood still that night. When he hugged me. And kissed my forehead. And told me I am remarkable in every way possible and that he can’t wait to fall in love with me.
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Sunday morning.
I awaken and feel as though the night before had never happened. That it was all a dream. And I am not as lucky as I think I am.
Just when I thought time would start back up where it left off, I check the time on my phone to see if it’s real. I have seventeen missed calls on my cell phone and two new voicemails. From two people. Completely unrelated to each other. No connection, they’ve never even met before.
I check the voicemails before I call anyone back.
“Dean, its Diane, Matt’s Mom. Call me right away at home.” I hear a click and was surprised that I didn’t hear a goodbye first.
Second message:
Sobs. Short fast breaths. “Dean? I need you. Please.” Another click. Another message without a goodbye. My heart drops, stops even. Time is moving slow.
I call Diane. Who informs me that Matt has been killed in fire. My friend. One of my very best guy friends. A house fire. With a few of his friends. While enjoying the last of the nice beach weather. And I wonder, did Father Time fall asleep again? Did he forget that we need time to heal? That time is the only thing that can help us? Is he purposely torturing me by making time stand still and forcing me to grieve with no end in sight?
I fall to my knees, unable to breathe, unable to fathom what was said, what I feel, and what to do next. I want to fall into a deep coma, and be alone, and cry to myself. I want to be left in a dark place, in silence, all alone. But I know that being alone with my thoughts will only eat away at me. And I have another call to make. To my friend, a friend who needs me, and I don’t yet know why. I want to be selfish, and be alone, and ignore that message, but I don’t know how. I have to be there for my friend. I don’t know what else to do.
“Dean. Please help me. I don’t know what to do.” He says, his voice shaking uncontrollably. He says that he can’t leave his house, because he can’t drive, because he can’t do anything. Not even breathe. And I know the feeling.
I arrive at his apartment to find him lying on his kitchen floor. His face is red, and bloated, and he has been crying for hours. But I’m sure it feels more like days, weeks even. He tells me that Carrie has died. My friend. My high school teammate. My college companion. My first roommate. His fiancée. The love of his life. His best friend.
I fall to my knees again. Time stops. And we hold each other. And cry. And I don’t say a word, because I don’t know what to say. I know nothing will make it better. Make anything better. I want to tell him she’s happy, but I know it won’t help. I want to tell him she didn’t suffer, but I know she did. And I want to tell him that there will be justice, but I have seen it before. And justice does not always follow through when a drunk driver hits an innocent woman head-on going the wrong way. Not even when she’s engaged to be married, and carrying a child for the past four and a half months, and on her way home from the job she hates but works at anyway to help pay the mortgage on the brand new house her fiancée built for her. She hates that job, doesn’t need to work at all, he insisted that she didn’t. She insisted that she did. That’s the way she was. “Nothing in life is free… Except for love. And I have that. Why be greedy about anything else?” She always said.
She quit her job finally. That was her last night. Her last night at work. Her last night on Earth.
He had gotten a second chance at love. His first wife gone. At 23 years old. Cancer. Tumors. Uncontrollable. Unstoppable. Caught too late. Left him to raise their little boy alone. Only eight months old. He never thought he’d love again. Not until he met Carrie. Who showed him that sometimes, if you’re lucky enough, and deserve it, and appreciate it enough, and are open to it, you get a second chance. They were having a little girl. To be named Isabel. After his first wife. Carrie thought it was perfect.
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Matt. Son. Brother. Grandson. Nephew. Cousin. Friend. Boyfriend. College student. 21 years old. Gone. So quickly.
Carrie. Daughter. Sister. Aunt. Granddaughter. Niece. Cousin. Friend. Fiancée. Mother-To-Be. 24 years old. Gone. So quickly.
So I beg you, Father Time, to please wake up. Save me from this pain. Because I need you, Father Time, to keep time going, so I can keep going.
Photographic Memory.
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I was on the subway. The dreaded F train. I don’t know what it is about the F train, I just never really want to take it. Nevertheless, I was on the F and sitting across from a couple. Now, I know it’s not polite to stare, so I didn’t, even though I love to people watch. I glanced in their direction for what felt like the shortest second known to mankind.
Later I found myself walking through Union Square alone. I was utilizing my photographic memory and recalling just how that couple looked during that moment in time on the F train.
He had thin brown hair that was well past his shoulders. It was straight but somehow messy at the same time. He wore jeans that were tight and ripped in the knees with black Converse sneakers that I haven’t seen on anyone in years. His tee shirt was old, faded, and had the Live logo in the middle. He looked like someone who would listen to Live. Without standing up, I could tell that he was most likely a foot or more taller than she.
Her hair was black. It was pulled back into a messy bun with a few strands sticking out here and there with large waves in them. I could tell that her hair was long, but not much longer than his. The only make-up she wore was on her eyes and it was very dark and very heavy. But still, her brown eyes looked big and wide and taking everything in. Her eyes were young. Not like his.
Her top was tight, but not very revealing. She wore a short, black and red skirt that showed her black lace stockings leading down to where her black platform boots started, just under the knee. Her legs were draped over his lap and she was childishly tapping her right foot while gabbing on and on about the most recent cartoons she had seen.
He appeared to be about 20-25 years older than her. You could see it in his pale skin and the way that he smiled. She talked and talked while he played with the hair on the back of her neck. She thought he was listening. I know he was undressing her with his mind. Once in a while he would interrupt her with a kiss. She never minded.
She was happy. You could see it in her eyes. She was thinking about the future. About tomorrow. About ten years from now. What THEY would be doing. And where THEY would be living. She adored him and admired him, and her soul was bare and visible in that naïve face. She would smile wide and stare at his face. She was wondering what her family would think of him. And how she couldn’t wait for her friends to meet him. Their relationship was still new, but she was so excited. She was so in love. She hasn’t admitted it to herself yet, but I knew she was in love.
He was looking at her lips. And at her neck. And at her exposed thighs. He never looked her in the eye. He grinned. It was different than a smile. His grin was mischievous and alarming. He didn’t care what she had to say, he wasn’t listening to her anyway. In fact, he wished she would stop talking and start kissing him.
But he was thinking about the future too. He was thinking about what would happen when the subway stopped and they got off. He wondered what color her underwear was. And he thought about what the rest of the night would be like. He never thought about the next day, or the next week, or the next year. Not as she has. Only his immediate future thoughts involved her.
And I felt apologetic for her. She was blind to it all.
