4:54 pm. Thursday afternoon.
The past two days I’ve been forcing myself to get out of my own head. For whatever reason I had this impeding feeling that something was about to happen. As though my soul wants to jump out of its own skin. I am running around with blood racing through my veins, an accelerated heart beat, and feeling as though I am about to jump off a cliff. My stomach is raw and my throat is dry. If a chalk board was capable of feelings it would feel as I do this very moment. The moment it had finger nails run down it causing an ear piercing noise.
That’s me.
I’ve returned from the post office where I received a small brown paper package. Tied up with a string. That man knows me too well.
I’m staring directly at it from the other side of the room as though it is going to jump up and bite me. The sender? A man from my past who made me believe in love again, in caring, kindness and a different kind of strength. He erased all of my long faded bruises and scars left by someone else, someone from a different time. He stirred my core in a good way. Our time together was months of raw emotion and unplanned sequences. It was natural. We were natural.
Promises were made and phrases of adoration were whispered in the middle of the night. There’s a lesson to learn there about a promise made while building a sheet cocoon with another in the wee hours of the morning. I wanted to believe his, “I’ll never leave you” was true. Did I. Even then I had doubt which turned into remorse. Correction, not remorse - rather an impending doom. Both of us knowing and denying the tragic end of our time spent together. His move was inevitable. Who was I to cage him and not want the very best for him?
(As I write this my face is burning and quickly drying any tears that try to make it to the surface.)
I can’t cope with this now. Perhaps later I’ll finish writing this, or perhaps not. Right now, all I want is to put on an oversized cotton hooded sweat shirt and to bathe in its comfort. Think I will go for a run. That is what I do best.
1:50 A.M. Friday November 17, 2005
I didn’t intend to stay out this late, really. But I found myself smack dab in the middle stuck between Hillary and an ex-boyfriend who insisted on buying our drinks. He further insisted analyzing my current state.
“It’s always you – getting all wrapped up and then dropping things. Tell me this, are you still asking men their zip code in the first five minutes?’
Aghast I replied, “I beg your pardon?”
“You know to see how far you can push them away.”
I wanted to respond with a verbal smack on the face and say something like ‘And you wonder why we’re not together?’ However, I was in public and the situation he was speaking of - well - he was totally wrong. In true little mermaid fashion I wanted more from the situation but reality wouldn’t allow it. We wouldn’t allow it. The candles were blown out. We delighted in the “it was fun while it lasted tid bits.” It’s not as though I have a fear of comfort, but a fear of losing. A fear of allowing someone to get close then losing that touch. It’s irrational and so is love. Yes, I do indeed have a feeling of self doubt and not measuring up to that of a Vegas Show Girl with the money of Paris Hilton meets the class of Jackie-O quality but who is he to judge? Frankly, I’m not one to hide emotion well. We had reached the point in the conversation when he acknowledged he had gone to far by the expression on my face. Nothing he said could satiate me other than,
“What you need is to be brazen and leave all your logic behind. Stop thinking about the what if’s and question the ending. Open the damn thing.”
If only he knew half of my past which leads me to the present. But the chord was struck in the tune he sang half drunk on cheap scotch while his words drove my semi inebeborated state sober. His words resonated through my core and I needed to get away.
We escaped that wretched smoke filled environment in search of one less, uh – pretentious and landed on one more reminiscent of mom and dad’s living room with a DJ playing hip hop.
Now it’s late and getting later and here I sit once again staring at the package. Now or never right? Okay. Muscle the strength Jess.
2:45 a.m.
When I untied the package a CD and bits of candle confetti spilled out and onto the floor. Pink, blue, white iridescent small confetti pieces lay littered on my lap. A note remained nestled inside the envelope. Clumsily I withdrew the note that plainly stated in black sharpee marker. “Before you do anything listen to the CD.” From hundreds of miles away this man is still putting demands on me. ?. I was hypnotized by his penmanship and did as I was told. But first things first. I unstrapped my shoes and gingerly placed them next to the wall. Stood up, walked to the fridge, and removed a bottle of water. I then untwisted the top and reached in my cabinet for a multi-vitamin. I have no idea why I took the vitamin. It just seemed like the thing to do. Hesitantly I walked across the room, inserted the CD, and pressed play. I hovered over the stereo waiting for what I wasn’t sure. Two songs were recorded on the CD. Rob Thomas Something to Be and3 Doors Down Here Without You.
Good choice Rock Star.
The note was filled with regret and eluded to ill fated mistakes. “I’ll be in town next week. Are you available for dinner?” I scowled as I read it I’m sure, and crumpled the paper in a ball. Then threw it against the wall attempting to aim for the trash can. My stomach was suddenly churning after being infested by his words. For a split second anyway. Then I chuckled. It shouldn’t be funny but it is to me anyway. And now I’m smiling as I stand here knowing 7:00 am is going to come a moment to soon. Oh wells, I’m smiling because my schedule is booked next week (thanks to family in town) and there is something to be said for crossing a bridge and realizing a chapter is closed. Time gives you the knowledge to look back and take what you can from experiences. Learn the lesson and see the things that were just wrong in your past. Months later I realize those moments were a time of weakness that I shrugged off so I wouldn’t appear so needy. (Shouldn’t it be about balance?) When in fact, I had the role down pat for glorified tart and could have doubled for Anne Margaret in Bye Bye Birdie.
Chuckle.
After all is done there are no do overs. One can’t reedit life.
Then again, as I recently asked a friend, “Would you have it any other way?”
Hell no. Good night now - I’m tired.
