i will tell you a secret

i wasn't going to tell anyone about what i did one evening last week. after i left my friend's place after dinner the night before i left town i kind of went the wrong way and then kind of went the wrong way again and then realized i was kind of heading towards david's place so i did that horrible crazy stalkerish thing that gives you that rush of guilt and self recrimination and excitement all mixed together: i decided to drive past his house.

and first of all you have to understand that i have never driven past his house. when i got my car i was a little worried about it so i told myself that i could not do that until after his birthday because at that point it was over a month away and i thought by then i wouldn't really want to anymore. ah foolish optimism, ever my enemy.

there were lights on inside his house, livingroom and kitchen at least. and there were nicer curtains on the front window, and a plant in the window. a plant? david used to say his house was ghetto fabulous without the fabulous part (it was true) and i was always offering to help him with it. and i felt angry then because how did things end up like this, with him having nice curtains and a plant. i mean how do you just totally devastate someone who loves you more than anything and then go out and get a plant? i am disturbed by that. i comfort myself by imagining someone throwing a rock through his window and breaking that plant. not that i'd advocate such an action...but email me for his address if you like.

i digress.

before i saw the lights on in his house i had thought maybe he was in italy because he hadn't written back to my birthday email but then i thought no he's here and just not writing me back for some reason. and then i thought maybe he is gone and some girl is there in his house and then i just started shaking and shaking and i got home and felt sick and tried to call him but it rang directly to voicemail and i left a message but then ended up telling him not to call me back and so now i don't know where he is or whether he got any of these stupid little attempts at communication.

and i'm trying not to care, not to wonder. because really it doesn't matter and i know that. because i don't truly want him back anymore, because i know reaching out for him is just a habit. thinking of him with someone else still makes me crazy but i am not sure if that's because i don't want anyone else to have him, or because i don't want him to have anyone else. it's a subtle but important difference.

i do know that driving by his house made me feel worse and not better.
and i intend not to do those kinds of things anymore.

while i was in minnesota i had a dream with him in it, we were standing in a hallway talking and he was leaning back against the wall and somehow we were on eye level although in real life he is much taller than i am. and lots of things were going on around us but i don't really remember what exactly; the part that sticks with me is the way his eyes looked so far away and dispassionate. he kept breaking eye contact, looking down and to the left.

my friend heather wrote this:

"also i had a little moment today where i realized that no matter how happy i am (and i am) there are a few little soft spots on my ever pumping heart. and they're hard to find, but if by some chance a finger that is poking around were to slip into just the right spot. it would sink right in to the sore areas. and i think that's probably good. if we healed up perfectly, we'd be a little too thickened with scar tissue."

and i think that's wise and sad and true.