Life Worth Living

Before I say anything, I think I should divulge the thing that’s been on the back of my mind since last weekend, making it impossible to completely let loose even when I’m letting loose, namely, that I have two papers due on Tuesday, one of which which is going to be hell. And that’s the first thing I thought of when Buttercup asked me to go to a party with her, Jasmine, and another friend of ours, Daisy, hosted by the same people who host about half the parties we go to. Seeing as how I do most of my work between the hours of 10 PM and 2 AM, especially on weekends, it would be a large chunk of time to lose. But Buttercup and Jasmine had been guilting me all week and I knew I would probably end up going in.

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It was so awkward the first two hours, sitting there in a room of tipsy people I didn’t know, watching Leone be friendly with another girl. But he kept coming back to me, back to me. And then we all of us were on the bed lying all over each other and Leone came up on my right side and wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my neck and ran his arms up and down my torso. And I curled my fingers into his hair and put my arms around his neck and let him hold me.

One of the two other girls there called a taxi before I was ready to leave. Leone beckoned me into the other room. He said, “Nothing sexual, and no pressure either way, but you’re welcome to sleep in my bed.”

I demurred, and all the while my mind screamed “STAY”. We dilly-dallied. Finally he said, “I don’t think you understand. I’m asking you to stay.”

I wanted to. I wanted to so badly, so badly. But I knew that leaving was the right thing to do, and I knew that when I told him I had to go, and I knew that as I sat in the taxi on the way back, and I know that still now. I wanted to stay and spend the night in his arms, but I know I made the right choice.

So now I go, not quite sober, to my bed alone, and wish I still had his arms around me.

—

The really long sober version that I wrote the next morning can be found here.

There is a great little restaurant 15 minutes away (walking) from my place that my GSI friend once took me to for lunch (actually UGSI, but I suppose since he graduated two years ago I can justify taking that “U” off). It’s a Cajun restaurant, which I wasn’t familiar with at all, but I went ahead and ordered the most exotic sounding thing on the menu: the jambalaya…which may actually be the broccoli-beef of Cajun cuisine, but which I’d certainly never heard of before. It was delicious. I had jambalaya again in Canada this winter at Winne’s bar/lounge, and that was great too. I came back to Berkeley nursing a quiet little craving for it.

Well and we had been texting all day again yesterday (which we do every day anyway), and Leone asked me what I was doing today, and since he had paid for dinner last week and for coffee the day before, I told him I’d buy him dinner there.

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I met him on the northern lip of campus today wondering if it would be today, finally, that we got things out into the open. It wasn’t, but it was still so, so amazing.

He was standing there, chuckling at the wrong half-turn I’d made, and then he handed me motorcycle jacket, helmet, and gloves while I looked on apprehensively. I put my arms through the heavy fabric, squeezed into the helmet, and lifted my head as he buckled it for me. Then I slipped my hands into the gloves and watched, nervous and excited, as he wheeled the bike onto the street and motioned for me to get on. I clambered aboard, and we were off.

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Leone, I am so sad at you right now. I’m sad because it’s a beautiful day outside, and even more so from having come after a string of horrible rainy days, and because when you called me this morning you told me to let you know when I was done having lunch with my friend so that we could hang out. Well. I was done 3 hours ago. I texted you three hours ago. You texted me back, waited for me to ask you about hanging out, and then said that you still wanted to, but that you were trying to think of something to do…and then failed to reply for an hour and a half.

This is so not fun. This is so not fair. I’m tired of this. Tired of waiting for you, tired of waiting on you. I dont know if we’re just both playing the wait-until-the-other-one-makes-the-first-move game here, and I dont care if it makes me a petulant brat, but I dont want to play anymore.

I dont. I dont want to play anymore. I want to be done with this. I just want to go to sleep for the next few hours so that I wont spend every single minute waiting for you to text me back and make something of my day. I hate this waiting by the phone waiting for it to ring business. I hate it. Sometimes it makes me hate being a girl.

You know what? I dont want to like you anymore. What the heck are you doing?

I’ve never had it out for Valentines Day. I know that it’s the day of the year where happy couples do romantic things for each other and single chicks cry and eat ice cream and watch sad movies by themselves on the couch…but I’ve always been mostly indifferent. When February 14 rolls around each year, I always smile wryly and think “maybe next year.” It’s never gotten to me; it’s never brought me down.

Except that I remember back in December I was looking at the year ahead thinking, “this will be my first Valentines Day not single.” I was so sure. Well, look what happened to that. And then, after I got back in January and started getting impatient and frightened from all this waiting, I thought—it’ll be Valentines Day this all comes together. That’s what he’s waiting for: Valentines Day, and then it will be magic. But here I am, still alone, still waiting. And it’s funny, but it’s on the one Valentines Day I know that someone out there wants me, someone that I want right back, that is turning out to be the saddest one.

Dashed hopes and burst bubbles, is all that today is. I know the day’s not over yet, but I dont want to hope anymore. Of course I will, because hope is one of those things that’ll latch onto anything and remain, a tenacious little bugger, against all odds, against all wishes. It’s not that I wanted him to act on Valentines Day because it’s the day of love and it would be so romantic and sweet and it would be a beautiful story. I wanted him to act on Valentines Day because that’s what would make this all make sense. Why did he wait so long? Because he wanted to wait for this day. Why did he make me wonder this long month? Because he wanted to wait for this day. Not because he never planned to act or because he wasn’t ready to or because he’s going to make me wait even longer, but because today is the perfect day.

But all is quiet on his end, and I no longer have a way to explain his actions. Anything could happen now; nothing makes sense. I had wanted it so badly; was half convinced it would happen. Now I come to the decision I said I would have to make if he let this day pass him by: make the first move, or walk away. Yeah, right. Like I could walk away from him that easily. But I’m not giving up on that fairy tale.

Guess it’s back to limbo.

I dont know why, but instead of falling out of my (I thought) brief period of indifference, I feel like I’m even closer to letting him go.

It was dark the night that I lost you; far away and dark away and so, so cold. The ice creeping up my fingers sent shivers up my spine and down my neck and I reached for your hand in the dimness because you had always been there, and I didn’t need to be able to see to find you.

It was dark, and grey, and deep shadows crawled all along the walls and the edges of my vision the night I reached for you and felt nothing but empty air. Gone, you. Gone, forsaken, disappeared into the wide world, or maybe you had never been and I had dreamt you up like I had dreamt the sun and the sky and the crystal stars.

And I sat there alone in the night waiting for you, wishing for you, closing my eyes and willing sleep to take me to you. And I stared out into that lonely night and wondered where you were, if you ever were, if you ever would be. And I watched as the long dark shadows gathered and grew and took the place of you. And I strained to hear what the night would whisper to me, but the darkness kept its secrets.

When the sun came up again I was still sitting, still waiting, still wishing. I felt the glow of the light on my face and felt my cold body warm and come alive, and I wondered if I could face this day without you. But you were never there, I’d only thought you were, and I had always been alone, and I had always been just fine without you.

—

I dont know why I wrote this or what it means. I just know that I wanted to write and didn’t know what to write about—and so I just let my fingers do the thinking. I’m not sure whether that was a good idea, but I always like what comes out when I just do stream-of-consciousness writing without any plan, any idea, any focus in mind. I’m sure that this, along with similar posts I’ve done, is in some ways my subconscious speaking—I just wish it would speak less metaphorically.

It’s because this is stream-of-consciousness that I’m putting this in the “She” category, even though this one is first person, and the rest of them aren’t.

I feel like every day, my feelings toward him change just a little bit. Like I said last night, it is a little bit of a roller coaster, although I admit the analogy is a little extreme. Like I said (again last night), it isn’t anything he’s doing (at least not that I can pinpoint), and like I said (last night), I can probably chock it all up to hormones, especially the most recent back and forth-ing. I may not have a great range of emotions (not that I’m complaining; I’d be stupid to complain when my “normal” is a 7-8 on the happiness scale) (and apparently five out of five of my closest friends have said this of me on separate occasions)—and I may fit a little into the stereotypical male emotional paradigm, but I am a girl. More importantly, I am human.

Yesterday if I could have said anything to Leone without fear of consequences or repercussions, I would’ve told him “I’m feeling a little cross with you today. It’s not your fault, but if you could maybe say a little something to soothe my ruffled feathers, to pump my ego up a little bit, to remind me you’re still chasing me, that’d be great.”

Today I want to tell him, “I think you’re starting to lose me. I probably wont feel this way tomorrow, or in a few days at the most, but that’s how I feel tonight. I feel like I’ve been here for too long, and nothing’s coming out of it, and I’m afraid we’re falling into the “friends” category. I dont want that to happen, but I dont think I’m as scared of it happening as I should be. So if you still care—and I honestly hope you do—tell me something sweet. Tell me something a guy would tell the girl he loved, but not a girl he’s just friends with. Usually, I can be strong, but right now, I need this.

I’m scared I’m slipping away, and I dont want you to let me go.”