Easter was okay. I felt less socially awkward than normal at church. Maybe it was because they hired a string quartet, which meant that there were four other people standing around awkwardly by themselves. When I would catch the other musicians' eyes, they would smile at me. And of course, the choir, Reverend John, and a bunch of other random people complimented me on my playing. I don't know whether they're especially nice or just musically uneducated. My tone quality sucks. I need a new flute desperately. Mine was a mediocre student instrument to begin with, plus I've had it for six years, and it's been out in the rain and snow and heat and freezing cold for two band seasons. Anyway, afterwards we had the family over. Not much to say about that.
The day didn't start off very well. I had one of those mornings where you don't feel comfortable in your own body - your skin feels wierd and your legs are stiff and the muscles in your face seem hard to controll. I didn't get enough sleep. Adam was hanging out in front of Greg's locker in the morning, but as soon as I walked up to the group he disappeared. A drama kid who we kind of know came up and asked where he was. "I dunno," said Dave. "He hides." I almost said, "Here's a rule you can usually go by, Brian: If you can see me, he's not anywhere around." But I didn't.
Dave said, "Speaking of Adam, are we ever going to have band practice again?" "...I don't know if it's possible. I mean, did you notice that as soon as I joined the group, he left the group?" "Yes," said Dave. "No, actually," said Tom, and looked surprised. "Where did he go?" "He's very good at slipping away unnoticed, isn't he?" said Dave. "...I'm sorry we killed your band Dave," I said, and meant it. Why should he have to pay for our personal problems? It was his band too. He either didn't hear me or pretended not to.
I also found out that today was the only day that Greg could practice for Music in the Community, but he failed to tell the rest of us this and we didn't bring our instruments. So... we're kind of screwed.
On the bus on the way home, Adam sat with me. I saw him looking around for other seats beforehand, and I knew it was just because he saw nothing preferable. Still, it was a surprisingly pleasant conversation. Like, it was a GOOD conversation. We laughed a lot. It wasn't at all awkward, except for the fact that I couldn't make eye contact for too long. At one point in the conversation, he kind of playfully elbowed me. At another, he rested his head on my shoulder for a fraction of a second. And at the end of the conversation, he said goodbye to me, which he didn't usually do even when we were going out. When he got off the bus I started crying. I cried until we were well past the middle school and into the south of town. At this point, Amy came and sat in the seat across from me and gave me an energetic "Hey Aidan!" "Hey Amy." "What's up?" "Not a whole lot." "You look tired." "I am tired." "...You look upset too. Are you upset?" I shrugged. "You don't have a kleenex, do you?" She handed me one. "...Were you crying, or are you just sick?" All this in the same loud, shrill, somewhat cheerful tone of voice, like the way you might be interrogated by a small child. "Little bit of both," I muttered. This was a lie. I am not sick.
She sat in the seat in front of me and looked over the back. "Why are you sad?" I said nothing. "Do you not want to talk about it?" "Not really." So she just gave me a life saver and then started talking about other stuff. I talked back to her about this stuff, and I think it sounded convincing. But when I got home I broke down crying again. I guess my fears were justified, and this is going to be like Tom, only worse. This is the same thing that happened with him. I thought I was over him. I thought, "I want to move on, therefor I will move on." But then later I realized that it wasn't as easy as that. My emotions and my mind just aren't that in sync. In fact, they're pretty desperately out of sync. In Tom's case they were about a year out of sync. Maybe in this case I don't even want to move on. It used to be that I could look back to when things were good and say, "That wasn't that long ago." Now it is pretty long ago, and the more time passes, the farther away it gets. Those were the happiest days of my life, and they're steadily slipping away and there's nothing I can do about it. I don't want them to. I want to hold on to them. I guess that doesn't count as moving on.
I guess in the long run, I'm glad he talked to me. But how dare he touch me? Slut.
I hate these mixed emotions. I don't even know how I feel anymore.
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