Begin at the end. It ended badly. I was completely unprepared-- for anything. My mind began whirling, I was choked with fear. I couldn't explain anything. I had to run away. The more I tried to explain myself, the worse it got. I could see her eyes go from soft warmth to hurt, hostile confusion. This made me even more afraid, which in turn further affected my ability to communicate, etc etc. Every time I saw her after that, she wouldn't even acknowledge me. That really, really hurt.
She used to be, and perhaps still is, the person who could make me laugh the most. I told her once that if it were just her and me in a room that was completely bare except for a pencil, say, or a table, within five minutes we would be using it to crack each other completely up. I didn't laugh so much around anyone else. She had a completely freewheeling sense of humor that picked you up and dragged you along for the ride. We would make puns, outrageous stories, read Craigslist personals ads in ridiculous voices and collapse giggling. We would put the Beatles on the stereo and see who could come up with the most outlandish dance moves. We didn't give a fuck.
She was brainy and well-read. I told her about David Foster Wallace, she told me about Dave Eggers. She loved David Bowie, Modest Mouse. She introduced me to Kanye West's "Gold Digger". We made each other mix CD's. Hers were fantastic, mine probably less so. Certain songs still make me think of her, of course... "Crimson in Clover", Iron and Wine's "Such Great Heights", "Stay (Just a Little Bit Longer)".
I remember a lot of rainy nights. I would get a call or a text, whatever, and drive over. A lot of times I would run, in long strides, up to the door, just wanting to get there as fast as I could. Her place was warm, heated by air from a grate in the floor. A lot of late nights and water beads on the windows and invented drinks in glazed cups. The soft light of her bedroom, some gauzy fabric over the lamp.
She was awfully patient, too. The first time I kissed her I was incredibly, unbelievably nervous, shaking like a leaf. She took it in stride. I, defensive creature, moved along at an incremental pace. She didn't mind. I took to sleeping, fully clothed, on her floor, then beside her, reassuring myself that it wasn't all that serious. Casual, really. Just happened to be sleeping here beside you... gee, what are the odds... (What a dork). As the nights wore on, I got more comfortable kissing her and touching her, content to do nothing else for what seemed like hours, and maybe was. I got familiar with the phenomenon of music going through my head. Sometimes I could hear David Bowie singing "Ziggy Stardust". Sometimes I would see weird visions flash through my head as we revolved around each other. I remember once seeing fields of mushrooms, all of them a different vibrant color.
The mornings were fantastic. We would take turns trying to heave ourselves out of bed, roused by a cell phone's alarm clock, and then the other would make a grab, a kiss on the neck, and we were delayed for another ten minutes. She sang silly, operatic versions of "Morning Has Broken" and "Folsom Prison Blues". I told her once that I thought the perfect day would be to wake up next to her, over and over. We made tea and curled up blearily on couches in the cool morning.
Hard not to live in the past when days like those are only a thought away. Even to look at pictures of where she is now makes me wriggle with happiness. I hope, I truly would love, if we could talk and be friends again someday. Maybe, maybe not. Move on.
That was sparkling beautiful.
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