Sometimes, I run out of words. I flip through the blank pages and chew the ends of my nails. I rack my brain for sentences I haven’t said. I try to rip my heart open, break it apart to examine the contents like a pathetic piggy bank. So often I am left wanting. There are times to push on and forward and keep on writing until you find yourself in the words, again… and then there are times to take a deep breath, a step back, and to read someone else for a while.
I gave out a call for guest blogs and several people answered. I’m really excited to give my blog over to some of my favourite bloggers this week. Amy from Just a Titch was the very first to answer the call. I thought it was pretty fitting, considering she was one of the very first bloggers to ever leave me a comment on this blog, back before I got my sea legs, so to speak. I tend to carry a torch for beginnings. I’m pretty excited about the post she put together for me, in part because it seems a bit of a departure from her usual style and partly because it broke my heart to read.
So, without further delay, please give a lovely warm welcome to Amy. Comment! Rinse! Repeat!
The Night Before that Became the Morning After
It was a Saturday night, spring flirting with summer, bringing warm days but those perfect nights where you need a blanket but can pad around barefoot, even outside, down my street to go buy a bottle of rum and cans of cold Coke for us to drink while we watch movies. We cuddle onto my tiny love seat to watch The Shining, which I’m petrified of, and instead of our usual awkward position of sitting perfectly upright, side by side, you lift your right arm and welcome me into the crook of your side. We blame the scary movie, but it feels right, and when I have to pee, I wait as long as possible, pretending to be scared of what’s waiting in the bathroom, but mostly scared that when I return you won’t lift your arm up again and welcome me back.
Before we started the movie, I made you promise you’d stay and sleep in my bed, because watching this movie was all your idea, but we both know that you’d have stayed anyway. There is a desperation to our friendship these days, a need to figure out what exactly we’ve been doing, long beyond the casual sex and the drunken kisses and all the things that are but aren’t exactly right. We both know of the ghosts that haunt our relationship; the past, the other transient “him” in my life, the girl whose name comes up far too often in conversation to just be called your roommate anymore. We tell one another everything, except for these secrets, the things we need so desperately to discuss.
When the movie ends, I feign fear as we curl into bed and you whisper “RED RUM” in my ear, and your breath feels nice on my face. I know it’s smell. You wrap your arms around me, and it feels forced, but I pull you closer to me, wishing it felt the way I always wished it would, the way I’d dreamed it would during all those nights alone spent dreaming of this moment. You fall asleep but I study your face in the moonlight and pet my cat and think about the boy who’s far away in Vegas who I didn’t realize I loved until tonight, with your arms around me and the feeling that I’m doing it wrong. But he is gone and I don’t think he loves me after all, and you are here, and you are my best friend, the person I should want, the person I have wanted until right now, under my clean white sheets when everything feels weird.
We drive to brunch the next morning, with Death Cab For Cutie singing about losing our summer skins, and it hits me: I’m losing you, we’re losing us, we’re losing, losing, losing all the time. And as you drive me home and hold me on my porch for just a minute, I wonder what it will feel like when you stop holding me, when you stop coming to my porch, when I can no longer call you my best friend, or call you at all. I wipe away tears and blame it on the sunshine hitting my eyes, but spend the rest of the afternoon crying. Crying for the future seems silly and pointless, but I know that soon enough, the future will be now.
And a few months later, when the boy from Vegas just becomes the Boy and you have the Girl, we have Nothing, and I remember that morning after that night where we might have had it all, but we couldn’t, really.
Death Cab For Cutie – Summer Skin