I realize I haven't written in a couple months. I've been too busy being wrapped in my own thoughts, in him, and in work. I thought I would take this break to write a little about us. From just my point of view.
He was my first real boyfriend. He was my first real everything. My first kiss, my first partner, my first love. And to my knowledge, I was his first for all those things too. I still remember little things about our relationship. I remember how we were still young, and without much privacy, so he rented a hotel room for an afternoon, just so we could be alone. I remember we were always wildly chemically compatible, unable to find a reason not to be attached at the hip.
I used to do stupid things, like wait until he fell asleep and touch his lips. At first, it was because his lips were so perfect, and I wanted to always remember what they felt like, but his reaction is what kept me doing it. I meant it to be soft and romantic, but it tickled him. He kept biting his lip in his sleep, wherever I touched, and eventually he would wake up, annoyed and disgruntled, but even that was so amusing and adorable to me. I had completely forgotten about this, until we met again, and I saw his lips, and touched them softly after he fell asleep. He had the same exact reaction, and it brought that memory rushing back like it had just happened yesterday for the very first time.
He used to walk on the outside of the sidewalk whenever we went somewhere. He said it was safer for the girl to walk on the inside of the sidewalk. I had forgotten he used to do it, but he still does it. He doesn't like to separate paths with poles or fire hydrants or trees because it splits us while we're walking. I don't take much stock in these things. If a car drove up on the sidewalk and hit him while I was perfectly safe, how happy could I be? Would I even think about the fact that he saved me from that car? I think I would just be horrified and sad and most likely be mad at the world that something so unexpected would happen. We always walked on the same side of poles and trees and hydrants, but we broke up. So why continue that now? If it has any meaning at all, then wouldn't you come to the conclusion that maybe always being on the same side of things means you won't end up together?
His hands... I remember his hands and how we used to lace our fingers together and how much I liked the feeling of his fingers in between mine. And my feelings about that haven't changed at all. They feel perfect. Not perfect in a physical way, per se, but ... everything inside me feels like it lines up and matches and feels calm when his fingers are in between mine.
I know I was a child, and I know that I was unappreciative and selfish, but I loved him. I loved him the way that I knew how. I took him for granted sometimes, and I know that's wrong, but I was young, and I didn't know how to love in every way that I know now, at 31. But I refuse to let anyone say I didn't love him, because I did.
And today, I don't know if I ever really let myself stop loving him. I dated others, I got married, I got divorced, I've said I love you to many different men, but I don't know if I ever felt the same way I did back then. I've never been happy to just lay next to someone and feel their heartbeat or listen to them snore. I've never wanted to just softly touch someone's lips because they are so perfect. I've never wanted to be near someone like this. Only then, and only now.
Friday, March 25, 2016
Monday, January 25, 2016
background.
It's been sixteen years, so the details are not all perfectly clear. I also only remember the things that happened from my point of view. I try to remember everything as much as I can from an outside point of view, but I know that's impossible because I am one half of the story. The more I can remember, the easier this will be to work out.
I remember a boy from my sophomore year of high school. He was quiet. He seemed nice, but he was really quiet and shy. He wasn't in my group of friends, and I didn't really know what group of friends he was in at all. But he was nice to me. When I started conversations, he always kept up and he offered to do things like carry my books to my locker, or carry my clarinet case.
I didn't really get to know him much, if at all. I just knew there was a boy, who was quiet and nice. It wasn't that I didn't notice him, it was just that I didn't know him.
He remembers that he got a stomach virus. He missed 2 weeks of school and lost a lot of weight. He remembers that I didn't notice him at all until he came back "skinny" and that I didn't pay him any attention until after the stomach virus. I can't say that I paid attention to him because he was skinnier than he used to be. I just know that I didn't see him for a little while, and then he was there again. He wasn't AS quiet and shy, but he was still the same nice, thoughtful boy who sometime carried my books and clarinet case.
He doesn't remember that we went to junior prom together. I remember my dress (it was my favorite), an a-line ball gown type dress that I remember begging my mom to get for me. It wasn't a dress that we could reasonably afford, but she saw how much I loved the dress, and my parents bought it for me. I remember how elegant the material felt, and I remember the detailed black beading across the bodice. I remember the sheer top layer of the dress being black, and the layer underneath being a shimmery blue-green, making the dress look like different hues of gray-blue under different lights. I remember the picture, I remember the corsage, I remember it all.
We both remember senior prom. My parents bought me another expensive dress that was way too much for a high school dance, but so beautiful. It was white, with a top layer of beading from the straps of the dress, all the way down to the ankles. The details of the dress aren't important. He came to pick me up with a corsage of white flowers. We took pictures with my parents and my little sister. We went to dinner at Alexander's, which is now Kitchen Bar. We went to the prom, we took a picture there. One thing that should be in both our memories is taking pictures with his family, his parents. We didn't do that. I am sure that was because of me, but I can't clearly remember the reason, I just know there are no pictures of all of us together. Maybe this was the beginning of all the problems, or maybe it was far before this.
Graduation was more of the same. Pictures of me and him. Pictures of us with my parents. No pictures of us with his family. He remembers his parents being upset that he ran off during graduation to be with his girlfriend and her family. I vaguely remember him telling me they were upset, and I vaguely remember arguing that they should've taken pictures with us, no one was stopping them.
If I could crawl into his brain, into his memories, and see what he saw and remembered, I would probably feel more bad, more sorry. But because I only have my memories, I can only remember what the immature, thoughtless, careless, teenage me saw and experienced that year. By the prom, we were already boyfriend and girlfriend, and I was already a horrible selfish and self-absorbed person, 17 years in the making.
I'm sure there were lots more instances where I excluded his family, or just didn't think about them at all because I thought they had nothing to do with me. I'm sure it hurt him then, and I was too engrossed in myself to notice.
Even writing this introduction to the beginning of us, I have realized and recognized more things about myself that are terrible. Who knows how far along I get with this before I give up on the happiness part, and just be satisfied with the meeting again? Maybe I will just accept that meeting again ends in apologizing and letting go, letting be.
We begin the story by acknowledging that I was a selfish kid, and he was not. He was giving, caring, loving, and thoughtful, and more mature than I could be, even now.
I remember a boy from my sophomore year of high school. He was quiet. He seemed nice, but he was really quiet and shy. He wasn't in my group of friends, and I didn't really know what group of friends he was in at all. But he was nice to me. When I started conversations, he always kept up and he offered to do things like carry my books to my locker, or carry my clarinet case.
I didn't really get to know him much, if at all. I just knew there was a boy, who was quiet and nice. It wasn't that I didn't notice him, it was just that I didn't know him.
He remembers that he got a stomach virus. He missed 2 weeks of school and lost a lot of weight. He remembers that I didn't notice him at all until he came back "skinny" and that I didn't pay him any attention until after the stomach virus. I can't say that I paid attention to him because he was skinnier than he used to be. I just know that I didn't see him for a little while, and then he was there again. He wasn't AS quiet and shy, but he was still the same nice, thoughtful boy who sometime carried my books and clarinet case.
He doesn't remember that we went to junior prom together. I remember my dress (it was my favorite), an a-line ball gown type dress that I remember begging my mom to get for me. It wasn't a dress that we could reasonably afford, but she saw how much I loved the dress, and my parents bought it for me. I remember how elegant the material felt, and I remember the detailed black beading across the bodice. I remember the sheer top layer of the dress being black, and the layer underneath being a shimmery blue-green, making the dress look like different hues of gray-blue under different lights. I remember the picture, I remember the corsage, I remember it all.
We both remember senior prom. My parents bought me another expensive dress that was way too much for a high school dance, but so beautiful. It was white, with a top layer of beading from the straps of the dress, all the way down to the ankles. The details of the dress aren't important. He came to pick me up with a corsage of white flowers. We took pictures with my parents and my little sister. We went to dinner at Alexander's, which is now Kitchen Bar. We went to the prom, we took a picture there. One thing that should be in both our memories is taking pictures with his family, his parents. We didn't do that. I am sure that was because of me, but I can't clearly remember the reason, I just know there are no pictures of all of us together. Maybe this was the beginning of all the problems, or maybe it was far before this.
Graduation was more of the same. Pictures of me and him. Pictures of us with my parents. No pictures of us with his family. He remembers his parents being upset that he ran off during graduation to be with his girlfriend and her family. I vaguely remember him telling me they were upset, and I vaguely remember arguing that they should've taken pictures with us, no one was stopping them.
If I could crawl into his brain, into his memories, and see what he saw and remembered, I would probably feel more bad, more sorry. But because I only have my memories, I can only remember what the immature, thoughtless, careless, teenage me saw and experienced that year. By the prom, we were already boyfriend and girlfriend, and I was already a horrible selfish and self-absorbed person, 17 years in the making.
I'm sure there were lots more instances where I excluded his family, or just didn't think about them at all because I thought they had nothing to do with me. I'm sure it hurt him then, and I was too engrossed in myself to notice.
Even writing this introduction to the beginning of us, I have realized and recognized more things about myself that are terrible. Who knows how far along I get with this before I give up on the happiness part, and just be satisfied with the meeting again? Maybe I will just accept that meeting again ends in apologizing and letting go, letting be.
We begin the story by acknowledging that I was a selfish kid, and he was not. He was giving, caring, loving, and thoughtful, and more mature than I could be, even now.
refresh.
There are so many conflicted thoughts in my brain that I needed somewhere to work them out. The title of the blog "retrovailles" means: the happiness of meeting again after a long time. It isn't how the stories of this blog begin, nor is it definitely the way this story will end. Rather, it is what I hope will become of the story that is in my heart. Happiness is a feeling that has been present, meeting after a long time is also the truth. Now if only the two of those things would join together, we will have achieved what the heart and brain so desperately want. I am embarking on this journey, without knowing who I am traveling with, and without knowing if I will ever come back. Here I go.
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