|
| "I guess you and Peyton have something in common." Sam face was beat red as he grabbed the podium. I thought maybe he was taking a crack at making a joke into how I'm the size of an 8 year old or look like a little good -- but by the look on his face and Peyton's hunched body I knew something was wrong.
"What happened?"
"Patrick made her cry. He told her he had a big birthday cake for her then told her he didn't and laughed in her face."
I could feel my veins start to prickle. It was the hot, bubbling anger of a women scorned. But mostly, it was for this sad little girl. I crossed the bar over to the main dining room and sat next to Peyton.
"Are you okay Pey?"
"Yeah.." She trailed off. Someone had gotten her ice cream so it had taken the edge off most of the pain. It's funny how young women and older women alike use ice cream as a vice to numb the pain of being hurt by a boy.
"Give me a hug sweetie. Don't let him hurt your feelings he's a mean guy." Peyton wrapped her arms around my waist and buried her head in my stomach. It was odd to be bonding with a child over being hurt by a man. In different ways, but all the same his actions and words had cut us and disappointed us deeply.
I walked away from Peyton still feeling enraged. "He's such an asshole," I huffed to Matt as my eyes diced through Patrick as he stood cooly in the doorway with his arm reached above him to lean against the frame. "
"Let it go.." Matt eyed me firmly.
"But a little girl?" I could feel my face starting to wilt at the thought of him making a child cry. With what remorse?
"All he has in life going for him is that he's a jackass. You're a strong woman."
Hands on my hips, I thought of a grown man older then myself who makes children cry. Big girls, little girls; we were all objects to be used and rejected by him. How many tears have been shed on pretty faces for him? And out of those tears, how many were actually worth it? How many of mine were ever worth it?
In this sobering realization, I had a fleeting image of Dan whisking his nieces above his head as the squealed and giggled. They adore him; always ranking as their favorite uncle. Any time he's ever accidentally hurt them while rough-housing he's always been devastated; rushing to get them whatever their little hearts desire to make them happy.
The maturity level between two men exist on different spectrums; At twenty Dan would never do anything intentionally to ever hurt or upset a child while Patrick, at twenty-five, is still so mentally stunted that he cannot comprehend the emotions of others, especially the tender ones of a child. Dan is committed to every aspect of his life these days while Patrick can barely even make it to work without being over two hours late. My heart melts to my stomach when I think of how gentle Dan is with children and how loving he is with them. So witnessing a child be so torn and upset single handedly because of Patrick, I was disgusted. The seams were ripped open large enough for me to finally get a clear view of that is Patrick Murphy and suddenly it wasn't so appealing. His quick wit and humor suddenly faded away and I realized Patrick is someone I would never care about. He's inevitably someone I would never want to be with long term and more importantly, he's someone that hides his cold and nearly cruel disposition with an appealing facade. A two sided man that I could never build into my life or respect. Suddenly the sting of him parading girls in front of me, his bitter attitude and his spiteful actions were shone into a revealing light; this never had to do with me. This has to do with him, and who HE is. It wasn't that I was "used," or "not good enough," Patrick is just a selfish and uncaring individual. The weight of feeling disgusted and used was sucked out of me and I felt a wave of relief. I sighed, enjoying the cooling sensation that overwhelmed my body.
When Patrick handed me my things, I thought... "My god! There was so much I wanted to say to you. So many questions I had to ask you to validate the way you made me feel."
"I believe everything's in there," he handed me my things and I smiled.
"But they just don't matter anymore."
"Okay Thanks!" I spun on my heels towards Matt who's eyes shot up at my confident and happy demeanor. His face softened into a smirk when he realized it was genuine, not a cover up.
I flexed my shoulders back and tossed my things in my purse,
"So anyway, as I was saying..."
| | |
| "Group your questions together," (i'm told,)" what do you want to say...without seeming needing?"
"What do you want to know?"
I want to know about that night. Where my arms prickled with goosebumps from the low hum of the air conditioning. The twisted backroads of these small towns clustered together,
a smear of trees reflecting on the window pane
gnats twisting underneath the interior light.
The jolt of your car shifting, as we drove everywhere
and no where in particular ..
just to speak, just to feel the airy light feeling of summer romance
a misty mirage of passion infused under a bed of stars.
The dull ache of loosing Dan, rumbling in my stomach like rocks tumbling in a metal can.
The terrified, but terribly inquisitive nature of exploring someone totally new. Of conversations that lasted till my eyes couldn't stay open much longer; the black sky torn in half by pink. The happy, sweet air laughter when I tilted my head back against the seat to laugh.
I want to know about the city lights, or your hands on my hips. Or the way you reached across the table to feel my hand. Or the prickling of the carpet underneath our backs as we rolled on the floor. Talking, laughing. Do you always do this with the women you just hook upwith? How was I - how could I - be inclined to believe something sincerely otherwise? My head on your shoulder, my genuine smile -- Did you ever feel a pang of guilt? Or the acidy flex of your stomach when you know you told a good lie. The, "You're perfect"'s the "You're beautiful"'s or the sweet croons of wondering where I came from, and how could this be so wonderful -- Did it ever pain you to glance into my eyes and see the glisten of hope, from a young women with a fragile heart and know it was in false context? The nights where I'd curl into your passenger seat, snug in a sweater sleeping peacefully and soundly with a false sense of security. My hair falling around the places where your hand moved to shift the car. The intense stare of a hardened woman, softening and melting by each perfectly phrased word you spoke; did you find a sense of pleasure in these things? In the way I'd throw my shoulders back with perfect grace, tilt my head, and smile at you as you leaned your head against the jam of the door. How my fingers would brush yours in passing and I slip you a smooth glance. Did those touches burn you, or tempt you as they did me? I'm sure you could never forget the nights I'd push my thumbs into the corners of my eyes because the tears of genuine humiliation and pain were fighting so fast to push through. Have you ever felt responsible? Did you ever break a little knowing that I was standing, watching you go, with my little knees crumbling beneath me and my hand pressed to my cheek like a slapped child? Did you ever feel pain when you glanced into my eyes and knew that I finally realized...
I'd been fooled.
How do you feel when you stare at me from across the room. Your face stricken of a smile and I weakly attempt to give you one thats simply filled with heart-ache and humiliation. Do you feel better- your jaw tense and unmoving as you turn away... only to watch me spin on my heels, hands tugging at my hair, the shift of my shoulders heaving the weight of a terrible, sickening feeling of being used.
But when I'm with Dan, these things escape me, I must confess. In the warm depths of his love, I forget the feelings of feelings of disgust and regret. Under the light of Dan's eyes I glow and sparkle. His chest is my safe place, his arms are my sanctuary. With one look at Dan i'm startled. Shocked at the perfect curves of his face and mouth. The intensity of which I fall into him and the warm, satisfied feeling of my stomach. His name still sweet to taste, the way I know my face changes when I speak of him. How my gestures soften and intensify all the same. The ever bold and knowing distant look in my eyes; the look of seeing Dan as a whole... a long stretch of years twisting behind my eyes into places in the far future. The comfortable feeling that encases and soothes me at the sheer thought of our love, his love, my Dan.
But when those stonewash eyes grab me, from the corners of the places you skulk at work; I'm sucked into the dark feeling of being ashamed and needing answers to the details of the way you treated me.
Closure for nights, places, events, songs and names...
that maybe should have never existed. | | |
| 
It's a blessing that Dan has somewhere decided that Patrick is a "Don't ask-Don't Tell," situation. How could I relive my horror of falling for someone who was so much like me, quickly realizing he was more or less a drunk, and still feeling the mortified by the ways I feel used and failed? It's truly humiliating, and to be honest -- it still hurts. I anticipated that they's feelings would quickly vanish now that Dan and I are on the uprise -- but Patrick and I did have something. We shared a lot, and for the better half of the last month I spent it with him. We had a common bond and thing's we shared with each other. I'm ashamed that it hurts so badly, but more importantly it makes me feel guilty for Dan's sake. I feel guilty that I get a twinge of sadness when I see Patrick's status updates as he's going to the bar -- I was second to the bar, I was second to everything. Not only did he never call me but he refuses to acknowledge my phone calls in an attempt to get my things. It makes me feel sick and sad.... I can't explain why. I'm just happy that Dan, very well aware of the situation between Patrick and I, has never brought it up. I suppose he understands that It was inevitable that I would date while we were apart -- and more over, that I wouldn't have been dating if he hadn't taken his share in our breakup. Perhaps to him, what's done is done and I've forgiven him far too many times for him to be angry over me seeing someone else. I can't decide what Dan would be most upset about, that I'm hurt or that Patrick hurt me. I tend to think it would be the later. Dan's love for me exceeds most things to a far deeper empathetic level that I almost think if there was any room for anger; it would be towards Patrick for making me feel used and lowly. Dan is strange like that, in most ways. Always sympathizing like playing devils advocate -- he's the heart for the underdog and the shoulder to weigh the dark things that hurt us inside. Shallow notions of "She's hurt by another man and it hurts me that she's still hurt by it," fall aside to, "Another man hurt her, and it hurts me that he's hurt by her." It's a self-less kind of empathy that disregards personal convictions and concepts. It's probably one of the things I love most about Dan and admire. I am the former, often, and Dan is always the later. I've missed his tall, lanky body. His leaned muscle chest and strong arms.
"You're impossibly handsome," I can't help but slip out as he saunters towards me with his shirt off. I love the quirks of his grins, the comfortable lull of our conversation; two people who know each other well. I love the crook of his neck and the way he holds the side of my head when he kisses me. And his family! Oh, I missed his family. My hand's shook as I approached the backyard where everyone was getting ready for Kaylee's birthday party but the second I was greeted by hugs and excited chatter, the baby being passed into my arms, I felt -- home. All of the tall Cunningham's cracking jokes about my height, Peg's home cooked meals, even being referenced to "Aunt Maddi." I don't now if I could have ever had those family dynamics with Patrick that I crave. At least, not the way I love the boisterous Cunningham's and their family gatherings. Their warmth and closeness. When I think of Dan, I'm almost fearful of the magnitude of our love. I'm shy of how deeply and sincerely he loves me; the ways in which he speaks it so boldly. I sometimes even feel undeserving. Dan and I are bounded through much deeper things; it goes further beyond time and experience -- it surpasses emotional needs and scoffs at monotony. It's a fusion, of two very different people. Two people with heavy hearts and solid green eyes with the commonality that either of us, both of us, live constantly surrounding one another. It's strange and intimidating, wonderful and amazing. Incredible, is the look in Dan's eyes that I haven't seen in so long, or never saw. His contagious smile, his light happy laughter that fills my car with the rich scent of coffee. Fall has changed so quickly for me; from Patrick back to the deserving places of Dan's arms. It's bitter sweet, with it's rich oak's and crumbling leaves of gold and red. Reflective and pensive, the future is unfolding fast -- snapping in front before my eyes. Perhaps the end of the summer was a taste of the "What if-" What my life would be like without Dan, without the creature comforts i'm accustomed to like the warm Cunningham family, or simple afternoons on the bay spent in silence enjoying one another's presence -- he fishing, I reading my poetry. We're different, in many ways again it seems -- but after dating the male equivalent to me, it seems better. Better that when i'm around Dan I'm like a toddler, grasping and learning new things. And him staring with his head tilted, eyes filled with intense curiosity as I show him the pieces of my world.
At the end of the day, I'm not sure what I'm doing, where I'm going -- but what I do know is when I wanted Dan, God gave him to me. And when I needed Dan, God brought his sweet happy voice over the telephone before I even realized that was what I needed.
The sweet mysteries, of divine intervention. | | |
|
I haven't laughed that hard in so long.
"I didn't know you could do that!" Dan smirked as I flung the bowling ball down the alley to hit a perfect strike.
I smirked back and titled my head a little.
The funny part about this evening was, I don't ever remember Dan I ever really talking until then. It was always comfortable silences, or small relationship chatter. But never really sit in my car, under the steady rain and talk about everything. Dan was never really one to speak so fluid and openly -- and now suddenly he is. Suddenly he's everything I had asked for, but settled for not being. His eye's so perky and bright when he talks about recovery. "I never have to feel the way I felt before ever again. My life is mine, to do whatever I want with and live beyond my furthest dreams. It's amazing, I get so excited thinking about it." Dan is born again, and his excitement palpable. It makes me feel guilty that I'm so sick and sad inside, "I'm going to be better, I can't be better for you if I can't be good for me."
Statements like that used to offend Dan, he'd irrationally stir into a frustrated mood but this time, he was perceptive and understanding to what I said. "You have to make yourself happy before you can ever really make me happy. That's most important, I know what makes you happy but thats for me. If you don't know what makes you happy then you need to find out." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear leaning his head back on the headrest and beamed that sweet childish grin. Who is this man staring at me? Dan with ambitions, commitment and goals? I've never been loved by a totally sober Dan before, and surprisingly -- he still loves me, he still understands me. He loves the deepest depths of me and can articulate it without having to drink first. The reality of how amazing it is hasn't entirely set in yet -- for mostly right now, it's shock. Shock that I can turn to Dan and say, "I'm not ready to get back together, I have to work on me." And he can reciprocate and agree with that sentiment with helpful, insightful views. He can willingly take the steps and motions needed to repairing our relationship, "After work and time," Is what he says. It's those deep, coffee conversations I don't want to leave. It's the way he stares at me so intently and lets me speak till i'm winded -- always listening. It's how he's always laughing and grinning at my jokes. I almost feel a little shy and unworthy that he's so stellar in every aspect and has exceeded my expectations -- yet, again. It's the ways that Dan loves me entirely that I understand is so once in a life time, I can't imagine ever being loved that way again. Experiencing love again? Yes, but to the degree that Dan does? It's so rare, so extrodinary! And again, I'm the sick one now. So consumed in these dark feelings that I can't understand. They're not sad thoughts or rememberence of terrible things-- just this lonely, isolated feeling. Most days, it idles quietly but it never entirely leaves. I speak to God in soft sentences, apologies and regrets. Questions, and thanks --
Thank you for making Dan better, I'm grateful for my wonderful job and how successful I'm becoming in my writing. I know these trials, although bad as they may have been, were a blessing in disguise -- they're the reason why I have a gift for writing. This wonderful, beautiful gift I could never survive without. I hate to ask for help, but I can't understand these voids inside of me? These aching, never-filling pot holes. What is this sensation i'm experiencing? I hate that it's preventing me from being totally happy -- I want help. I know how to ask for it, but I don't know how to accept it.
| | |
| I sat comfortably and upright, like I was interviewing for a job.
"So tell me what's going on.."
"Are you -- breaking this off?" Patrick raised his eye brows and my lips pursed.
"I don't know. Things are not good, something is different. You know it, I know it. And I feel like you know its not working too but you don't want to be the one to say it --"
Patrick folded his arms across his chest and slouched down. "Closed off," I thought " I won't get anything else in."
"Don't close off.."
"I already did." He grumbled and I sighed.
"Can you at least keep and open mind for what I'm about to say?"
"I Guess. I don't know what you want me to do."
"Things are different -- you went from wanting to hang out with me every single day for almost a month," was it a sudden twinge of sadness I felt? The strange, hot sensation when bits and pieces of us singing along to The Beatles as we drove all night long and dancing to Michael Jackson after staying up all night long. Laying on my floor giggling like children -- perhaps I really had built a genuine bond with Patrick. Maybe this really did hurt. "And you've consistently broken plans with me to go out with your friends or stay in to play playstation. How do you think that makes me feel? I mean -- honestly, tell me whats going on."
"Nothing. I'm just like that, i'm here then i'm not."
"But, honestly..how is that," I sighed, with each passing second he was growing more distant. "Fair? I mean, I tried very hard to open up to you -- that's not easy for me, and it was worse because you completely disregarded it. I feel like there is this wall between you and I and I don't want to keep you at arms length but you've pushed me far enough away to the point where ---"
"What wall? I didn't push you away." He snapped defensively. I knew talking wasn't going to saturate in his brain, but I had to say it.
"Patrick, all you've done has pushed me to the border where I'm an outsider looking into this life you have. And to be honest, It's getting really lonely. Just tell me what changed in a month -- please."
"Nothing. I'm just like this.. I can't explain it. This is me."
"This has nothing to do with WHO you are, this has to do with HOW you treat me! How would you feel? This shouldn't be this hard."
"I'd be the same. Just do whatever makes you happy -- but I'm not going to fight with you here. I'll call you tomorrow."
I walked away in the opposite direction so I wasn't the one left sitting, but I could feel the faintest sting -- like cold, bitter wind against my cheek -- the distant feeling of being slapped in the mouth. Slapped naked of my dignity and pride. I remembered him singing "Oh! Darling," and feeling smitten, I remember the warm end of summer peaking on Fall feeling, staying up all night long. The hurt was starting to fester, my eyes strained to fight the tears back. How could you Patrick? Stand there at the bar-- right now, joking and laughing like no part of this conversation ever occurred -- like I'm invisible.. when you'd text me all night begging me not to hurt you? That you were falling for me fast? That I was beautiful? Why spew lies and continue to cultivate them? Why leave me standing in my work clothes feeling like a fool. What did you accomplish? How did it feel when your spine collapsed and walked away from me -- just further solidifying in my mind that you, Patrick, will never work for me. I'm ashamed, deeply, ashamed. Humiliated even --- so much so I want to crawl out of my skin into a different body. Dan, who treated my body with such tenderness, wonderment and love. I feel like a dirty fuck toy, and I suddenly don't want to be me anymore..
It's then I realize that I hate me, I can't not be in a relationship because I don't want JUST me. I don't want to be alone in this horrible body with the terrible things I've done or feel -- with the skin that Jordan bruised, the lips Dan kissed goodnight, the body I let my share of ungrateful men take their share of -- because I'm lonely and want to feel pretty. The body that Patrick more or less made feel like a glorified booty-call with emotions and a pseudo title -- my god I want out of my skin so bad I realize, I can't breathe. I'm heaving in cold air. I can't be with me, I don't WANT me. I don't want they way it feels when I lie there alone and feel hopeless. I don't want the way it feels when men like Patrick who had their piece of me make me feel worthless and dirty. I don't want it when it feels the way it does when I'm watching Dan from my driver window walk away. I don't want it the way it's so needy for love, for some validation of feeling. My lungs are on fire --everything is exploding inside of me --I hate that i'll be stuck with it tomorrow and the sick, depressed feeling that will overwhelm me when I realize that Patrick hasn't called and probably never will. The hopeless, desperate feeling i'm so accustomed to. It's shameful. I won't be able to stand another second in this, to truly feel disgusted and used at someone else's expense. I'm angry at Dan for doing this to us. For us breaking up and for me prowling lonely and lost for men to help me cope. Maybe I wouldn't feel so foul, maybe I'd still intimately be with one person who I felt comfortable giving myself. Maybe I wouldn't feel so naucious at the thought of Patrick moving through the dark and me accepting it so easily, as a fact of life, as a obligation to please -- because above not loving myself I am only capable of making others happy. What makes me happy? I have no clue. I scratch at my arms and rub my eyes, everything in me thuds like a hard bass that vibrates violently throughout my body. I'm angry at Patrick for not having any feelings towards this, for being so selfish. I hate them both for abandoning me, but even more, I hate my self for caring that much. I hate that I'm this pathetic.
In my car, i won't cry even though I know I can now. I won't cry, because for the sake of my sanity I can't give anyone that satisfaction. I need just this shred of strength, just this bit. | | |
|
