Posts Tagged ‘confusion’

The Rev. (& Love)

Tuesday, August 25th, 2009

“Going to Union Pool with three girls is like bringing sand to the beach,” Chris said.

We were on our way to see Reverend Vince Anderson and His Love Choir.  I hadn’t been since their Monday night residency changed from the now non-existent Black Betty to Union Pool.  Mitchell and I used to go every Monday, and I mean every Monday.  For us, the Rev.’s Monday night shows (which most of the regulars refer to as “church”) are enjoyable for many reasons.  The quality of the music, the dancing, the stories that the Rev. tells, the genuine message of positivity and… love.

Last night while the Rev. was playing “I Had a Ring in My Pocket, She Had Leaving on Her Mind”, Mitch and I drunkenly slow danced. This is common for us during that song and the Rev.’s cover of “Dancing Queen” (one of my favorites).  We proceeded to have a booze-induced conversation about our possible marriage to one another.  It’s not too bad of a plan – we both have the same priorities when it comes to the gift registry (sandwich press, daiquiri machine, and deep fryer).  We both take pleasure in drinking, dancing, and Tori.  And we love each other.  Even last night Mitch told me, “You are an asshole, but I love you.”

Still, I don’t really understand being in love.  I’ve seen it on television shows and movies, and it appears pretty delightful and at times even exciting.  Enough movies have taught me that if I just walk around the city with a stack of papers, a gorgeous man is sure to bump into me and knock the papers out of my hand.  He’ll help me pick them up, and then as we both awkwardly stand and look into each others’ eyes, BAM! we’re in love.  Cue the music and the montage of scenes depicting a lifetime of happiness together.  It’s obviously my fault that I’m not in love since I could surely find the time to walk around with a stack of papers, but I don’t.  Maybe I just want it to be easier than that.  Don’t get me wrong – it should not lack intensity and occasional ferment.  The random storm causes an inspiring disquiet; it reminds me that I’m human.

So, in an effort to know love, I looked it up on Dictionary.com.  There are a LOT of definitions.  Here are a few:

- a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
- sexual passion or desire.
- a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart.
- to have love or affection for another person; be in love.
- in love: infused with or feeling deep affection or passion
- in love with: feeling deep affection or passion for a person

I’m still confused.  It’d be better defined as “undefinable”.  In my mind, words are not capable of doing such a thing justice.  I know that I really like someone when I can’t explain why, but I don’t think I have ever been in love.  Maybe for there to really be love there has to be reciprocation.  Otherwise isn’t it just one person longing for another?  And what if it is reciprocated but never spoken – does it exist?  It seems like that would just revert to pining, since neither person knows how the other feels unless they say it.  Sure either half can interpret the other half’s actions as love, but that could be a case of straight self-deception.  Being “in love” to me implies that you are being loved back.  If this is the case, because we cannot read minds and because so many of us refrain from verbalizing our feelings, we could be in love right now and not even know it.

I find it all very, very puzzling.

I can write letters, too.

Tuesday, July 28th, 2009

One of my biggest fears is commitment.

Besides recently, the last time I thought I might be able to tolerate someone enough to be in a relationship with them was the summer of 2007.

I met him at the bar by my house. I liked him and he liked me. It was easy.

One time when I was at his apartment, I noticed a shoebox by his bed full of letters. I didn’t read them, but I did notice that the return address was from a girl in his hometown. This was a bit curious to me. With all of the technology we have today, someone is still handwriting letters to him? And I assumed that he responded in the same manner. There was a young girl I had seen on his MySpace page while posting a comment. I thought maybe that was his pen-pal, a little cousin or something.

So the days went by and we existed quite happily. Then the time came for his band to go on tour. They were going to be gone for a week and a half, and they were going to pass through their hometown. The time apart could be good, I considered.

The band played a show to kick off the tour a few nights before they left. I met a lot of his friends. He came up to me at one point and said, “My friend asked me if you were my girlfriend.”

“Aw. We don’t have to talk about that now, right before you go on tour,” I told him. And so we didn’t, which was fine. Everything remained as it was – wonderful.

The plan was for him to get back from tour, and the next day leave with me to go visit my family. While he was gone, I received scattered text messages and phone calls assuring me that the shows were successful and that I was missed.

On the evening of their return, I was at the bar when he called and said that he was too tired to come and see me, and he was too exhausted to go visit my family the next day. The disappointment was consuming, but I told him that I understood and that I would see him when I returned three days later.

The day I got back, we decided to reunite at the party of a mutual friend. When I got there, he seemed strange. I figured that it was all in my head, that it was because we hadn’t seen each other in two weeks, and that once we were alone together everything would fall back into place.

We drank. He drank a lot. We went to a rooftop. He put his arms around me. He fell down the stairs. We went back to my apartment and he got sick. He sat on my sofa and I gave him the gift I got for him when I was away. We got into bed and turned out the lights.

That’s when he said, “I have to tell you something.”

Now? I thought. “Okay,” I said.

“When I was home,” he started, “one of my friends and I realized we were in love with each other.”

I remember going numb. I remember telling him that I was happy for him, happy he found someone to love. I remember him saying he was sorry. I remember telling him he should leave.

The girl ended up being the girl who wrote the letters. She was also the girl from his MySpace page. She was 19-years old. She came to visit him a few weeks later, and he took her on the same double date with his brother and his brother’s girlfriend that he had taken me on.

He moved back home to be with her by the end of 2007.

When I told him how I felt, my honesty was answered by him saying he didn’t know what he wanted. And silence. He assured me that he cared.

We don’t talk anymore.

litebrite

For Kyle

Friday, July 24th, 2009

I was at the bar by my house the other night, and I met a boy named Matt.  We were having a lovely conversation, and then…

“I have to leave.  I’m going to my friend Mike’s house for dinner,” I said.

“Why don’t you ditch your friend Mike and come to my apartment and make out with me?” Matt suggested.

“Does that really work on girls?  I just met you an hour ago.  I don’t make out with boys that I just met an hour ago,” I replied.

He looked shocked.  “Really?  You’re a prude.  I’ve given head to people I just met an hour ago.”

“Oh, well that’s really nice of you.  I don’t consider myself a prude.  But I’m still not going home with you,” I told him.

“You’re so cute,” he said.

“Thanks.”