Parisian romance
17 February 2008
Filed under Uncategorized
Tags: boundaries, damien rice, fling, France, music, Paris, raspberry beer, romance
Because of him, I listen to Damien Rice.
We were drunk off of raspberry-flavored beer, and sneaking glances at each other on the lawn in front of an ancient cathedral. The lyrics of “Blower’s Daughter” ran through our heads and despite our love of tradition and history, neither of us wanted to step out of the breeze and glaring sun to enter the static and musty church.
“Volcano” vibrated through the sunrays that followed us down the cobblestone streets of Brussels, and we chomped down on chicken from the local market. Later that night, we caught the last train back to Paris, and “Delicate” played into my ear, which was lying on his shoulder as I drifted to sleep.
Some people belong in our lives, even if they only step in for a while, because they make us grow, and they help us see things that only they could see. He taught me that I could be bewitching. He taught me to loosen up, to pee in the bushes of a French park at midnight, to romp around topless in the Mediterranean Sea at 2 in the morning, to run with him through the Parisian streets in pouring rain, laughing and singing, and stomping through puddles in flip-flops on a hot July evening.
Our relationship was a delicate one, one that could only exist as it did in Paris. We left others behind that summer, and when we returned we realized that we had gotten ahead of ourselves.
I still listen to Damien Rice. Remembering our dinners together in Europe, I cut my pizza with a knife and fork when I’m at a restaurant. And I think of him every time see Chimay in the liquor store. But he remains a musical memory.
He pops up every once and a while among our mutual friends — we smile at each other in acknowledgment of the role we each played in shaping each other’s lives and in agreement that we did well to move on while we were ahead.
“And so it is
Just like you said it should be
We’ll both forget the breeze
Most of the time“
Popcorn on prom night
11 February 2008
Filed under Uncategorized
Tags: abuse, breakups, crying, dating, getting over, letting go, prom
The night of my junior prom was full of colorful, floorlength dress, most of them drooping to the floor as the girls beneath them saw how low they could go. Disco lights raced across the walls, people laughed, drunken couples caressed and sober couples fought. At least, that’s how I envision it.
My dress was hanging calmly in my bedroom closet. I was in the basement, chomping down on popcorn to distract my throat from its intentions of getting all choked up. I don’t remember what movie I was watching; I can’t imagine I was paying much attention.
My ex-boyfriend of one week, whom I had spent the last year of my life with, was surrounded by all of my friends, dancing at our junior prom with his date, a girl I had never met before, an “old friend” of his that he asked to prom when he realized at the last minute that I couldn’t go with him.
I couldn’t understand why I had to give up parts of my life experience when he was the one who did something wrong. He had called my mom a bitch, he had dictated how I was to dress and wear my hair that night, he had ignored my curfews even as I begged him let me get home on time for once. My parents knew how he abused me, and yet I was the one who was punished.
He seemed more than friendly with his date, people told me the next day. Sadly, that was not surprising. What killed me was that weeks, months, even years later people would say to me, “Remember at junior prom, when…” They share memories that I should have had, but I never did.
My dad would say, “Tough, life’s not fair,” in a very comforting, philosophical tone. My mom would begin ranting about what a vile, horrid creature he was, how she’s sure he would have killed me eventually. (Somehow keeping me home from prom was a step toward preventing that.)
In some ways, they were both right. What they’re forgetting is the mark it made when I realized how hard it was to separate my life from his. I had to find things to do when he was with my friends, I had to reorganize my life around him, so that in avoiding him I was constantly thinking about him.
Making that conscious effort was heartwrenching at times. But as much as I felt like I was punishing myself, the effort I made reinforced what I was beginning to understand, that I could decide whether I wanted to see him or not. And every time I chose not to, every time I chose to avoid him even when my friends were with him, it made up for a different time, a time when he chose what I did.
In the end, junior prom wasn’t as fun as senior prom. I only went to one of them, but that’s what I hear.
A mirror of past abuse
8 February 2008
Filed under Uncategorized
Tags: abuse, dating, friendship, relationships, therapy, trust, verbal abuse
I’d been waiting for this phone call for more than a year, but when my best friend from senior year in high school finally dialed my number, I wondered why she was calling.
I was working, busy as always, and I figured she wanted an impersonal favor — her sorority had an event coming up that she wanted to put in the newspaper or could I tell her how late the bookstore was open. Instead, she wanted to talk to me. She managed to ask whether I could grab coffee with her before her voice began to falter.
Then I remembered that I’d been waiting for her to call.
She wanted to talk about Jackson. Just writing that name makes my eyes squint in anger, makes the saliva in my mouth build up with the urge to spit. I dated him for a year when I was a junior in high school. He was smart, funny, we’d been friends in Orchestra for a couple of years and he seemed like a great guy. As a boyfriend, he turned out to be manipulative and abusive. He dragged me away from everyone who cared about me, tore my life apart and shattered my self esteem.
She had lived across the street from him since she was in elementary school. She knew him well and I felt like it was difficult for her to fully understood what happened and how he hurt me.
Now she’s been through it too, and I hate it that she understands what I felt like. I hate that she’s lost and broken. And the hate that I had directed at him — which has lessoned to a strong distrust over the years — is beginning to boil all over again.
I don’t know what I’m going to say to her when I meet her for coffee in 10 minutes. But I do know that she called me, which means she has at least admitted that he’s hurting her. I hope the courage that helped her make that call can also help her get through this.
The curse of relationships
As I watch my blog stats dwindle, and the number of views per day for my site drop from 49 to 16 and then down to 8, I wonder whether the bliss of finding what I want is worth it.
As soon as I leave that singlehood status, not only do I lose topics to write about, I lose my urge to write and sometimes I think, my ability. Perhaps, I tell myself, I can put myself in the shoes of those around me, work through their struggles, imagine their exasperation with the lopsided, sick world of attempted dating.
But when I try, the terrible emotion of amused pity rises within me, and I know that cannot do the subject justice. I wish I could pursue those topics of unrequited love, of kisses that want to mean something but don’t, of the lasting effect a smile/wink combination can have if it comes from the right person…
Right now I’m not strong enough to force my mind back into that situation, but I’m determined to overcome that roadblock. Hopefully the muse of singlehood will come to my aid and push away my insecure pity. Until then, bear with me as I try to readjust to the quill.
