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Here's something else I found in that box. I remember writing it. I remember feeling it. The sadness doesn't fade.
Little girls dressed in leftovers from an MTV grunge photo shoot push past me in the �R� section of Newbury Comics, talking loudly about how pissed their moms are going to be. I don�t hear why, but I silently roll my eyes, feeling instant dislike for them boil up inside me. I look at their knit cap-covered heads and wonder if I sounded like that when I was 14.
Over the course of the afternoon, I battle with that instant dislike several times; for the salesgirl at the army navy store who tells me she doesn�t have the shoes I want in my size, for the overbearing man in Berks who wants to buy Docs just like mine for the silent girl at his side�girlfriend? Daughter? I have no idea, for the people who stop suddenly to talk in the middle of the sidewalk, causing me to have to run to catch up. He doesn�t appear to notice I�ve been left behind. The air is cold, maybe 20 degrees, and I am hungry. Finally, we go inside to get some food. When I start to hate our waiter because he tells me the pizza skins can�t be made without onions, I realize I�ve got too much frustration and anxiety trapped in my head. I am a human hand grenade, pin pulled, waiting for someone to hit me hard enough to cause the explosion.
Eating helps. Raising my blood sugar also raises my spirits. We head home to find everyone else gone. He finishes the joint he started smoking in Harvard Square and lays down next to me to watch Bugs Bunny. I lean my head against his shoulder. He puts his arm around me, tracing the edge of my face with his hand. I catch his finger between my teeth and hold it there. I can feel his heartbeat under my head. He pulls his hand away and leans over, brushing the hair away from my ear. �Hey,� he says softly, �do you wanna go upstairs?�
In his room, I sit down on his bed, nonchalantly straightening his covers as he turns on the stereo to play his newly purchased CD. He crosses the room and pushes me back on the bed, kissing me. Although he�s a good eight inches taller than me, I�ve found a way to fit against him and balance that. I�ve practiced a lot. He looks at me and smiles. �I want to pull myself inside you right now, to hold onto you so tightly that I get right inside, to occupy all of you.�
My earlier tension has disappeared, my brain consumed with one thought�how to most quickly and efficiently remove any clothing in the way and see what I can do about making that want of his become reality.
Something isn�t right, though. Once, he tells me he�s going to turn up the heat, and although he never actually leaves the room, he pulls away from me in an effort to go. Twice, he sits up to get a drink of water. Finally, he leans back down, rests his head on my stomach and goes to sleep. To SLEEP. 8:30 at night, my pheromones are all standing at attention and he wants to take a NAP? What can I say? My ego is bruised.
It�s not dislike that surfaces this time. This bitter concoction is made up of anger, frustration, disappointment and sadness. Soon, just the sadness remains. I try very hard to be quiet. I don�t want him to wake up and find me crying.
My head is spinning once again. I know that my unhappiness has one cause, and it�s about 6�3� and sleeping beside me. I know that love is not supposed to be this difficult. Once again, I look at him, so peaceful and oblivious, and wonder�is tomorrow the last morning I�ll wake up here? Is tonight the last night I�ll spend asleep in his arms? Am I fooling myself in believing there�s any chance this will work? Should I just admit that as much as he likes me, he�s never going to love me, and he doesn�t really want me as his girlfriend, although he won�t admit either of those things himself? Too many questions.
Our friends say to me, �Make him realize what he has. Don�t make it so easy for him. If he thinks he�s going to lose you, he�ll straighten out.� But I�m not ready for the possibility of his thinking he�s going to lose me and just letting me go.
I wish for a minute that I was a 14-year-old grunge princess myself, trying to look cool while buying CD�s with my allowance and babysitting money. My life was much easier then. At least, that�s how it looks from here.
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