my darling j,
it’s fall again, and i’m thinking of you. it’s amazing to me that, after all these years, i still think of you when the leaves change, and it gets darker earlier. why is that? it’s not like fall ever held any significance for us. i met you in the summer. neither of us have birthdays in the fall. you used to really hate halloween.
i do love the fall. and this tree outside my kitchen is a fabulous marker of time. every day, when i look out the window, for just that split second it looks like it’s on fire. i am forever doing a double take. i can’t remember it looking that awesome last year.
same day, different angle.
my hands are cold, and it’s raining outside. while i love the rain, it depresses me in a way i can’t describe to most people i know. it’s not a constant state of depression, like i’m going to stab myself with a knitting needle, but… it’s an ache. like when you nick your finger with a knife. just a throb, right behind your conscious mind.
i wonder… do you ever think about people you were close to, maybe ten or more years ago, that you don’t see anymore? you move, they move, families happen. life sticks a wedge between you and this person. and it just happens, not because of malevolence or anything like that. and you catch yourself, every so often, wondering what they’re doing now, and curious if they ever think of you. maybe that’s just me. i always wonder what kind of impact or impression i make, or have made, or am making. what’s my mark, that sort of thing. a lot of my friends pass yarn shops and think of me. that’s a mark, i guess.
i think of that time at sal’s when i think about you. remember when we were all in that study group, and we had that session at sal’s? and his dad had let out those llamas before i got there, so they could graze? do llamas graze? hm… whatever. they were out and about their llama business. and when i pulled up, in my ford pinto, they kind of gave me the bum rush? and sal came out when he heard me yelling and honking? and you made him get on the riding lawn mower, to frighten them into another part of the property? all so i could get out of the car and get into the house. and that one llama really hated me.
it wasn’t the first time i met you, but it was one of the first times we hung out together.
i heard that one oingo boingo song on the radio the other morning. you know the one i mean. i remember you singing that when i bleached your hair. i think that was the worst hair choice you ever made. but i’m glad you made it.
so much about our relationship isn’t clear to me. i don’t really care that we lacked definiton. but when i think of you in the fall, i do wish that i had some rough outlines to put us in. you know what i mean? like, when you think of an ex-boyfriend/ girlfriend/ husband/ wife/ whatever, you know that your relationship with them has clear and finite lines. they may not be obvious at the time, but at some future point you can look back and see them. who were we? who was i? how did we fit? and does it matter now? yes, no and maybe. that’s all i have.
well, that and this.
do you know how hard that ring is to photograph? on my hand, it was impossible. the camera was shaky, then my hand was shaky. so, better on the panic attack front but still not back to a steady hand. anyway… i remember the conversation. how you said once, someone should give you the moon and the stars. i said, throw a ring from saturn in there, and i’ll never want anything else. it sounds so silly now. but dude, we were young. everything is deep and meaningful when you’re 19.
and even though i didn’t get all of this in the photograph, i do love how this ring has the moon, some stars, the sun, and freakin’ saturn pictured. i don’t know how many different shops you went to, in order to find this. i’m not sure that really matters. your sister said that, when you saw it, you knew it was what you wanted. and you knew i would love it, and it would fit. that moon – his nose looks weird. and he looks sad.
i also think of that guy you used to hang out with all the time, leighton. i wonder if he’s even still alive. maybe that’s just me. he seemed like the kind of guy that had too much… something… to live past 30. of course, maybe his fire burned out a long time ago. maybe he has an office job and tries to remember what happened. or maybe, he’s living out henry miller’s life, in france. i do remember that he loved teasing you about me.
i bring up leighton because i think that you and him would have turned out the same. that’s not a bad thing.
i don’t mind saying it – i miss you terribly. every so often, when i’m still half asleep, i swear i can feel you next to me. the warm weight of you. then i open my eyes fully, and it’s just the other side of the bed. i have noticed that, on these occasions, the kitten is not sleeping on the other pillow, as she usually does. she is curled up against my leg, which is where she is when it’s more than me on (or in) the bed. i’ve seen enough to believe in such things as ghosts, and i know that you probaly check in on me from time to time. it’s embarassing to think about, considering how often i talk to myself. i hope you don’t think i’ve gone around the bend.
yesterday, when i woke up, i swear you were in the other room. seriously. i know the house was empty, but i thought i heard you whistling. of course you weren’t. of course i was imagining things. it was just a combination of outside noises, the dryer, and my own sleepy self. but… maybe you were whistling.
when things are not going well, i think about your smile. actually, i think about a lot of things. i’ve been living on borrowed time since 1999 (round one with cancer. i whooped its sorry ass). so, even bad days are good days. they’re the bitter that reminds you that so much else is sweet. i do wish you were here. i know you would know what i mean. i know you would be proud of me. i mean, i’m pretty sure you are proud of me. i’m not a rock star or anything, but… well.
i need to go now. it’s getting late, and i have things to finish before the sun comes up again. trying to talk to you always makes me feel raw on the inside. like i’ve been scrubbed with a brillo pad. i’m trying not to cry. just know, i miss you everyday. i think of you maybe more than i should. maybe i’ll get to see you again, who knows.
bye for now. remember that i love you.
*once upon a time, about a thousand years ago, i knew a guy, j. we went to the same high school, had some of the same friends. our relation to each other was never entirely clear. he graduated a year ahead of me, and went abroad for a while. when j came back, i was spending the summer as a camp counselor at a sleep-away sort of camp (shush, i used to be a good influence on young ones). he had purchased a motorcycle upon his return to the states, and insisted on riding it everywhere, despite his complete lack of experience. he drove up the highway to the camp on a really windy and rainy day, to pick me up for one of my camp breaks. i don’t think he ever knew what hit him. the highway patrol later told us that he must have swerved for some reason, and the semi didn’t have time to react. it all happened so very fast, it is hoped that j didn’t feel much pain. one of the things they were able to recover was his jacket. it was pretty mangled, but it was how they identified him, and found a number to reach me at. they also found the ring i mentioned earlier. his older sister told me j had meant to give me the ring, but no one is really sure what his intentions were. while i don’t wear it everyday, it – and he – are never far from my mind.
i didn’t go to j’s funeral. i felt responsible for his passing, and i couldn’t bear the accusing looks i thought i would receive from his family. i did go to the memorial service about a month later. his family doesn’t hate me.
