For Jude.

Where's that line I used to know?

With love, 

the one who slipped on you.

March 26, 2015

     I lay my head on his chest and pull an arm up to fuss with his shirt buttons. We each wait for the other to speak.

     "So, we're just not going to talk about this?" he asks. 

     I shake my head. "There is nothing I need to say."  

     "Really? Nothing. At all?" 

     I look up at him, seeing only the outline of his chin through the dark. "What were you expecting?" 

     "I don't know," he runs a solitary finger in a straight line across my back. Pins together the wings of my shoulder blades and it feels like a metaphor. "I just got into so much trouble last time we did this--" 

     "Yeah, well, last time was different," I say, "you're not in trouble."

     "What do you mean last time was different? I remember last time being remarkably similar to this time." 

     "Except, no Jimmy Kimmel," I remind him. 

     "No, you're right. No late night television. This time, we sort of just pulled ourselves together in the dark and silence, didn't we?" 

     "And last time, you kissed me goodnight." 

     "What does that have to do with anything?" 

     "Never mind what it has to do with anything. You're not going to do it again."

     "Okay, fair enough," he laughs, "how are you feeling?" 

     "Nothing." I say. He laughs again. "No, honest. I feel nothing. Hollow."
     "Wow," he says. "Never heard that one before."
     "You've never kissed a girl who felt nothing?" I ask, pulling my face up near his.
     "I have to say--this is a first."
     "What, you've never kissed your best friend before?"
     "Not like this, no." My forehead rests against his cheek and I feel the creases, laugh-lines I've always caged a fondness for, melt into me. "Well, so, what's protocol? I mean, what do we do now?"
     "This. Exactly this," I say. He shakes me.
     "What? No."
     "No, I mean it! I'm leaving as soon as I can get out of here. We've already broken the rules and we both enjoyed it. Might as well break them again." I reach a hand up against the light scruff I know takes him weeks to grow and I pull him toward me because I know it works. He doesn't resist, but lightly lines my collarbone with his lips. A minute passes and he wriggles away from me.
     "We can't--I can't do that... this! To you. I can't do it."
     "Yes, you can. I'm practically gone already. This is a free pass. I'm giving you permission."
     "No. I refuse to let us get to that point. You are too important to me," I pull him toward me again, and let him keep talking. Talking, kissing. Collar bone, resisting. "I respect you too much. You mean too much and I don't want you to bolt again."

     Minutes later, we are still beside one another in that bed. That tiny bed inside the little brick house with the big, blue door. I can smell the sheets--cedar wood and mint julep. We're laced together, tastefully disheveled like Venus and Mars in that Botecelli, and I can't make sense of the words I hear him say. Some kind of backwards love ballad.

I can't kiss you, can't touch you again. Because I love you too much.

     And it hurts. Good hell, it hurts.

Help. I'm feeling.

It's a weird thing to be at a point in your life where you can do anything you want, but you're stuck in squares one and two until the fairy godmother shows up and grants you five wishes. (In my fantasy, it's a godmother, not a genie. And there are five wishes--not three. Because in my own fantasy, I'm the boss and I deserve my bonus wishes, honestly.)

When I am sad, I buy dainty underwear.

When I am really sad, I walk around my apartment in it and try not to bake more chocolate cake. 

I have a few big decisions to make in the next months. Having everything to do with where I'm going to end up and what I'm going to do when I get there. Each decision, I'm learning, will take a lot of heart, but heart's hard when you're ruled by your brain. 

Can't sleep again, so I scrolled old text messages and tried to convince myself that moving across the country wasn't the answer. No small feat, I'm afraid, because I stumbled across this and fell back in like with the city. And its people.

I once wrote this: 

"Thinking about The Jefferson at sunset, Arlington in the pouring rain, the handsome man who collected me at the Pentagon City metro stop, and how in the world I ever got here."

Hard to argue with it, right? 

Help.

May 11, 2014

There was the gravel road, the big, white mansion, your mom in the garden, and there was me.

I didn't want to come inside because I knew it would make me feel things. Things for you, things for the white mansion. For your mother in her gardening gloves and a beige linen dress. I knew I couldn't get away empty if I came inside, which is always a thing I'm trying to get away on, isn't it? I often run on only enough to carry me through. To the next gas station, the next meal. The next time I see you.

That's it with you. I want empty because it's less work. And work is something you're a lot of. And if you're work, then I want empty because it means there's less of you. 

***

I wrote this last year after my first visit to the big, white mansion on the outskirts of Brigham City. The first time I met Jude's mother, she was gardening and warm. A month or two before she'd been diagnosed. She invited me inside, but I declined her invitation. Because I was just too scared.

Last Friday, I went back to the big, white mansion and this time, I went inside. Started writing about the experience tonight and couldn't even get through the thing without choking up. 

Jay.

You know the girlfriend foil in all of those rom-coms you grew up watching? The one who slaps the heroine, forces her to pull it together and take back what's hers? 

I have one of those. It has taken me years, but I finally nailed one down. And you can't have her! 

Do you have a girlfriend who wants to pause the day on M Street in order to demand answers from a shady psychic in a dicey, dark parlor? And in the same day, that girlfriend also wants to spend thirty minutes dissecting a Degas on a cold gallery wall. Do you have that friend?! That's Paige! I am in love with her!

We spend hours in the upper loft of a pizza shop with Diet Coke, talking family ties near an open window on an early spring evening. Watch the world buzz below us on the busy street because it's Saturday. We talk lipstick and metaphor. Ambitious men in fitted suits. Cheap dates and cheese plates. 

I can't explain it--I wish I could--but our friendship arrived just when we both needed it. I am very grateful for her.

March 26, 2015.

     I lay my head on his chest and pull an arm up to fuss with his shirt buttons. We each wait for the other to speak.

     "So, we're just not going to talk about this?" he asks. 

     I shake my head. "There is nothing I need to say."  

     "Really? Nothing. At all?" 

     I look up at him, seeing only the outline of his chin through the dark. "What were you expecting?" 

     "I don't know," he runs a solitary finger in a straight line across my back. Pins together the wings of my shoulder blades and it feels like a metaphor. "I just got into so much trouble last time we did this--" 

     "Yeah, well, last time was different," I say, "you're not in trouble."

     "What do you mean last time was different? I remember last time being remarkably similar to this time." 

     "Except, no Jimmy Kimmel," I remind him. 

     "No, you're right. No late night television. This time, we sort of just pulled ourselves together in the dark and silence, didn't we?" 

     "And last time, you kissed me goodnight." 

     "What does that have to do with anything?" 

     "Never mind what it has to do with anything. You're not going to do it again."

     "Okay, fair enough," he laughs, "how are you feeling?" 

     "Nothing." I say. He laughs again. "No, honest. I feel nothing. Hollow."
     "Wow," he says. "Never heard that one before."
     "You've never kissed a girl who felt nothing?" I ask, pulling my face up near his.
     "I have to say--this is a first."
     "What, you've never kissed your best friend before?"
     "Not like this, no." My forehead rests against his cheek and I feel the creases, laugh-lines I've always caged a fondness for, melt into me. "Well, so, what's protocol? I mean, what do we do now?"
     "This. Exactly this," I say. He shakes me.
     "What? No."
     "No, I mean it! I'm leaving as soon as I can get out of here. We've already broken the rules and we both enjoyed it. Might as well break them again." I reach a hand up against the light scruff I know takes him weeks to grow and I pull him toward me because I know it works. He doesn't resist, but lightly lines my collarbone with his lips. A minute passes and he wriggles away from me.
     "We can't--I can't do that... this! To you. I can't do it."
     "Yes, you can. I'm practically gone already. This is a free pass. I'm giving you permission."
     "No. I refuse to let us get to that point. You are too important to me," I pull him toward me again, and let him keep talking. Talking, kissing. Collar bone, resisting. "I respect you too much. You mean too much and I don't want you to bolt again."

     Minutes later, we are still beside one another in that bed. That tiny bed inside the little brick house with the big, blue door. I can smell the sheets--cedar wood and mint julep. We're laced together, tastefully disheveled like Venus and Mars in the Botticelli, and I can't make sense of the words I hear him say. Some kind of backwards love ballad.

I can't kiss you, can't touch you again. Because I love you too much.

     And it hurts. Good hell, it hurts.

Something cool.

You've missed a lot because I haven't been writing. Well, I have, but my actions are the opposite of well-thought-out and I have no excuse for them. Decided I shouldn't paste them to the interwebs until they've been tweaked and beautified a bit. Right now they're all just messy thoughts and scenes that replay in my head. Every night, dammit.

But here's a condensed breakdown of things that've been happening:

Mostly, spring allergies have kicked in, I've ordered my cap & gown (-$70), I've been avoiding the dishes in my kitchen sink and I've been watching that new show on TV Land with Hilary Duff. Also accidentally but very much on purpose, I've been coaxing Jude into poetry readings and very casual late-night necking and idk what I'm doing with my life right now but I'm definitely saying a lot of yes to it and it's sort of fun.

(This entire blog post was unstable and probably something I should warn my mother not to read. Cheers!)