I miss what we had. i dont know what made it different than here, but it was. its like school. i wrote high school at first thinking it wouldnt need clarification. forgetting that most have more. that many would think of their ALMA MATER while i think of the place that took me four years and two summer schools to reach terminal escape velocity.
The school. think of it. of the times you had. studies show that we remember the bad from the past as well as or better than the good. and the future? all sunshine, rainbows, and bleaches assholes. its all the good we think we deserve. i think i see the past more rosey, say what that may about me. I remember the good more often than the bad. think of high school. think of the halls, the classrooms. the parking lot really. i went so rarely that the parking lot was all i saw when i dropped my brother off, picked up my best friend, and drove back to god knows where. it just wasnt there. i smile thinking of it even now. the times we had. even though that school hardly played into it, it was there.
but go back and what is it? theyve put on an addition now. the library is where the cafeteria was. the library is now classrooms. the gym is labs. gym is in a new wing. i wouldnt even know where to begin. and to walk in there? its like seeing your childhood favorite movie for what it really is. shit. shit designed by some asshole to make money when for you it was the world. to walk into that school again would release things i wouldnt know how to (nor have any desire to) deal with. and they wouldnt bring me anywhere but down. so why would i bother. i wont.
but there. OD. it wasnt so much as a place but an intersection of place and time. its an XY intersection on a graph. at the corner of 4th st and maple ave on friday at 2:13pm you will see the most incredible rainbow to ever exist. but any other time and it will simply be another dingy spot in another dirty town in another lonely world. good luck finding meaning, i cant. its bullshit like the non metaphorical 99.999%
it was blind luck. like most everything else in life. we like to pretend we have an effect. and yeah, i guess in a small small way (that .001%) we do. but really…
i think you started it. i think you found me first. you dropped the first bomb. i can look back on all the saved files (i saved them as im sure you did) and see. but i think it was you. god knows where it went from there.
but it was a flash of lightening to a random tree. you happened at that exact moment and i was tallest in that field. where the electrical potential was greatest. i guess its just a matter of time. you were the second strike. the first was years before. we still keep in contact, but it was a different situation. we were drowning and grabbed the same float. it was necessity
we were different werent we? it was more of a search i think. i think of it like searching the pound for that little puppy that speaks to you. except you couldnt leave. not able until you found it. resonance maybe is the best word.
so you did. we resonated. i loved it. i really really did. we both faded in and out. but overall, we were there. even when werent actually. our presence was there
but you cant go back to that place. back to that school. playground of first kiss. ball field of first home run. basement of first sleepover. life moves on and if you dont hold on to what it gave you, it fades too. i drive by that ball field once in a while when im back visiting family. i feel like an outsider. there are other kids there now. and its their place. not mine. im an intruder and i shouldnt be there. i have never stopped. i always just keep driving.
i make the special detour to go past the school once every few years. its not what i remember. its not where i went. its pripyat to me. the best i could possibly do would be to stand in the parking lot and smile sadly. maybe if i went with friends could i muster that, but thats the limit.
at 6 months old we moved to a house. rural sort of neighborhood. big wheat fields across the street. pond way out back. tons of land for exploring and catching frogs. climbed trees to no end. chased chipmunks and woodchucks into their holes. dug into the sandbox until we hit bedrock and clay. followed the stone wall down one side and up the other. shimmied and squirmed under the porch to find rocks and sticks and decomposed corpses of mice and crickets that were blackbeards treasure. sat on the stairs in the basement trying to will myself to go to the dark corner. just because. never did. we moved when i was 16. closest to a home ive ever had.
my father didnt give much advice growing up. didnt say much. was a doer. lead by example. didnt know how to express emotion. perhaps a bit of a rub off. one of the sticky ones was “god hates a coward” and i always knew in the back of my mind that it was followed by “and despises a fool” but i never considered that part. lived as much of my life on the first as i could never considering that it was integral. always thought it was a whole separate line. dont be a coward, unless it pushes you to be a fool.
so i always lived by the first. i was probably 15 the first time i said it to myself out loud. standing on a 40 foot cliff over a river holding a rope. wasnt a great spot to jump. water was low. rope was shitty. hands were shaking. did it.
how many times have i said that to myself since then? many. thought of what i should do. what i could do. what the conservative me says. what the crazy me says. what i would be proud of. the second part… was so important. i never realized.
that house. it went on the market recently. my sister sent me the link. had i all the money in the world… i know it would be wrong to do it. wouldnt be the same. would diminish all the things i remember. the basement wouldnt be as huge and daunting. that maple tree wouldnt be as magnificent. the stone wall less romantic. the hallways more of a pain to move furniture through than magical. the roof, would see how much work it needs when i crawl out on it more than i would be in awe of the world it showed from two stories up. it would all be wrong. would unravel what i remember. its all so big and beautiful and perfect and awe-inspiring in retrospect. why destroy it. but i know i would try. and it would turn out the same. wrong. im nothing if not stubborn.
none of it can come back. i wish it could. god i wish it could so badly. i was browsing around earlier about personality types (yeehaw exciting evening) and came upon the question “do you find something beautiful in sadness” and was struck with how i hadnt thought of that in some time. it is. cobain had a line “i miss the comfort in being sad” and i used to think of it a lot in my teen years. it is. and when i had those to share it with… it had beauty. it carried with it an inherent nobility when shared. but its like an old love. you had such times. but then she left. the connection was severed and the scar started to form. when she returned, try as you might, the scar wont allow it. you dont want to let go. but that spot. that DAMNED spot. two puzzle pieces used to fit together so well there. then they pulled apart and one got wet and the other stuffed behind the sofa and now.. its not quite right.
its not that i dont want it to be. and its not that i blame you, but i know you believe that it is your fault. after a while. i fully and completely started to let go. started to KNOW that the other piece wouldnt come back. up until then, i tore the scar open often. reread everything. looked for any sign. hoped and longed. tore it. healed. tore it. then after a while. it hurt more than it was worth. was sure the other side was gone. god knows where. but gone. wasnt coming back. so i let it go. had to let it go. didnt want to let it go. still dont want to let it go. second guess it all. hope ill feel different tomorrow.
when i realized what dad meant. it changed everything. this was recent. maybe 6 months ago. we were in his basement playing poker. bought him that damn poker table probably 5 years ago in the hopes it would inspire him to finish the basement. should have known. 5 years later, finally laying down chips in that basement, and cleaning these poor drunk saps of their money, i have three of a kind at a table of people who i know dont hold shitty hands unless theyre bluffing (and theyre far too drunk to bluff well at this point) and all eyes are on me. Big pile of quarters in front of me. but more than dollars, we play for the respect the game provides. read the others. evaluate your hand. consider your losses. remember the discards. think of the face cards. measure the odds.
soft shake of the head “god hates a coward”
dad doesnt even look up. “but he despises a fool”
i never really considered it. i guess someone makes it 30something more years than you by knowing something sometimes. some of those old bastards are fools. ive always known my father to be anything but. stubborn. emotionless. callous. racist. cold. reserved. many things good and bad. never… never a fool.
i folded.
i know there are certain types to ascribe to different views of the same situation. some people would hold on, no matter what. that was me. 10 years ago. pride and ego would have dictated to hold on no matter what. i REFUSE to lose regardless of what the cards say. and when they drop and i win, i am justified. and when they drop and i lose, i have an excuse, someone else to blame. the final line in the story though is, i lost. no matter what i did.
in the end, doesnt matter why. to fold is to lose. i dropped my cards.
saved myself from a defeat, but that doesnt matter. him holding a flush doesnt change it. he could have held garbage. could have had high king and it would have made the same result. being dealt a setup punch in boxing and missing the loss simply because of the bell does not make you the better fighter. seeing chance as you being better than others is a very stupid way to see life. i used to look at things that worked out for me as purely and completely as the product of my hard work, my intelligence, what i deserve. now i believe that it is mostly luck. the fact that you were there at the street corner to see the rainbow no one else thought was a rainbow. that it shone at that moment instead of ten minutes earlier or later.
and in the end. that the scar may be too far along.
i want to believe i am wrong. that it didnt die sometime in the void. but everytime i go to write somthing, its not there. it used to ache to come out. used to anticipate what was going to be in there long before i received anything to reply to. used to write and then save to write again the next night. to revise and reread and rewrite and let it all out. now… its just not there. and i keep looking for it to be.
i have always been as honest with you as i can be. and i hate to be right now more than i ever have before. possibly more than i have ever been in my life. but the truth is something i want for me and for you to be who you are to me…
a part of me hates you for doing this to me. for taking from me what we had.
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