:: 2004 18 February :: 2.19 am
:: Mood: waiting
:: Music: Dar Williams, the beauty of the rain
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There are very few things that can make me as introspective as listening to folk music late at night in a dark dorm room. It transports me far away from musical tattoo identity. Anger that all but swallows pain, the hum of hair-in-the-wind happiest-days-of-our-lives , silent heartbreak harmony, all which really are similar to the way we try to see Bright Eyes as a mirror. And that’s not something he’s trying to be; we should all know ourselves better than anyone else does. I recognize my hypocrisy; and … I find myself missing Nikol and Parker all the same.
Today I stood on tables with pink confetti and imagined that the world was everywhere. I tried to cancel out our widespread vertigo with tea; it’s a long road to unbroken but we tend to enjoy the view. Ben and I lay on the snowy ground near the library and followed unspoken rules.
Valentine’s Day does not particularly like me, it hasn’t worked out well once in the past 15 years, nor did it present any spectacular happenings this year. It made me lonely in a strange way. Ben was there; but there are times when touch does not reassure me. As I said to Emmet, I think I’m just a horribly unskilled pessimist. No matter how many times I insist I am prepared up the wazoo for a worst-case scenario, I find myself feeling as small and disappointed as ever. And that I do not examine the big picture, perhaps because I am deathly afraid of it. If I’d taken just a look, I might have seen those flowers for Julia. I might have seen them. And that’s what hurt the most, only knowing how my mind has been so convoluted recently that I didn’t know how simple it would be to feel the fall. How it falls…
After we watched Cabin Fever and hid from each other, I fell asleep on the art room floor listening to the Pi soundtrack. Douglas the freshman woke me up to announce that he “likes” me, to which I responded something like “Go. The fuck. Away.” and I fell back into my trance of not remembering.
I was awakened by Emmet, in a baseball cap, and the prospect of Sheetz. We discovered Reese’s Extreme (this is not an actual name. it just makes sense, and it would go very well with sarcastic finger waving) – generic peanut putter cups with stuff on top. Mini M&Ms, a chocolate chip cookie, an Oreo. It was remarkable. Emmet mixed Orange Cream with Blue Raspberry. I think that says something. Casino night was not impressive. I basically ruined Emmet’s entire night, driving around Hudson and talking about everything, but mostly Ben.
Ben’s job makes me doubt his sincerity.
I am in love with the world on February 15th every year. When the sun rises, I feel kissed and caressed like an orange juice scented soap commercial. Warmth equals love; it is a quiet reflection resting my head on the car seat and sinking into breakfast time like foam. And there is something about Ben that reminds me of fathers, in a completely non-incestuous and innocent way. He brings back the smell of shoe polish and Sunday morning scrambled eggs, the red and white flicker of a bobber on the pond and the thrill of hiding in the laundry basket wearing footie pajamas.
We are all young; we are all looking at the closed doors and thrown away futures… There is a picture of Now on a swing, in midair, wide eyed and smiling; in that moment he has the entire world at his fingertips. I am in love with this picture.
I don’t understand what is happening to Ben and Julia. Maybe that isn’t the right preposition. All that I have seen is distress in a black tee shirt with wet hair and a paper towel mummy mask. I have tried to estimate some unbiased thoughts; and I have come to the conclusion that there are no such things.
I want to be with Ben.
