Coming Home Again
Strangely, something possessed me to revisit my old home. Perhaps all this reminiscing created this urge to relive the environment. Perhaps I felt that I had ran away and blocked it out when I had left. Maybe I needed to return in order to face it. I haven't had time to process it really, so I'll write what I was thinking and the actions I took.
I started off at a local bar where I had a few drinks. I wanted to accentuate the emotions I felt so that it would be one large wake up call. As I walked east on University I tried to relive the memories that had taken me on this road before. The only one which came to mind was the day when she left for Orlando. It's true I had acted cool, but the reality was I got more and more nervous throughout the day. I know why she didn't come home. She was... scared of my reaction. I know I had certainly given her reason. No I wouldn't have hit her, or screamed at her, or any of that domestic violence stuff. But she had felt as uneasy going as I did standing by, watching her leave. I remember wandering the town waiting for her to come home. And her telling me over and over on the phone to just go home. As I walked University towards Central, I pictured myself biking towards our apartment. I felt as lost then as I had now. I think slowly, as I walked a path I had once been afraid of following, I began to remember.
Once it began, they did not slow down. The closer and closer I walked, I could feel the coldness and hollowness creep over me. Then the sadness kicked in. I remember when we would make our pitiful attempts to run together. I had bought for her a nice (and expensive!) pair of New Balance sneakers. She then bragged about how wonderful they were that I had to get a pair for myself. A... matching pair. I still wear those sneakers today, even though they're approaching their 2 year mark. We'd stay the same pace when we'd run together. I think she was always the better runner, but she kept a slow pace to not make me feel bad.
By the time I turned north on Central, the thoughts flooded back. I remember taking this path after the accident. After the car wreck, I remember calling her then my parents. As they both eventually made it to where I was, I went with her back to the apartment to get a change of clothes because I was completely drenched. I remember feeling anxious... this was the first day of our life together. Everything seemed so wonderful. While my parents waited for the AAA tow truck, I was half changed, and we were laying on the bed together. This was it, I had thought to myself. I don't think it could get much better than this. After I had first moved all my crap into the apartment, we were hungry. But I was ready! Our first meal was pasta. I had decided to make it because she had really enjoyed the pasta I had made over in California when she came to visit. She was never really big on pasta, but maybe the way that I made the sauce from scratch she liked. We didn't have time to eat there, so we brought it to the meeting we had to go to and ate there. Freedom had never tasted so good :) Of course you can imagine what we did that night to celebrate the beginning of our live together. I felt really tender when it came to our cooking memories. It was strange, but being able to cook for her always made me happy. Granted, sometimes things turned out terribly, but for the most part she always ate what I made. Maybe it's been why I've been so hesitant to cook for myself. It's such a weird feeling to just cook for myself.
By the time I rounded Promenade Way I was thrown off an emotional cliff. Such a silly thing really got to me. One of the first things I cooked for her was soup. I had no idea what I was doing, I just threw a bunch of green vegetables together to make it, namely Okra. She loved it! No soup past or present had ever been so good. I broke down as I walked to the memory of that. I literally just lost it in public. Luckily it was late, and I was alone. When I rounded off in front of the apartment complex I couldn't move very quickly. It felt like the air was so thick, my stride dropped down to a crawl. The lights in the apartment were like daylight! Even after almost three years, those same stupid light bulbs that I had bought for our apartment were still burning brightly. I remember a time when she got on my case about being so preoccupied with light bulbs. Such silly little things make the most lasting impressions. I walked the stairs like I had never left. Strange. It felt so natural. And even though I hadn't been there for a year and a half, it felt like it was routine to be walking those stairs. When I made it to the top I had to pause. Things looked different, but the air felt the same as if I had left it. I bent over the railing near my old unit, and just thought. I pictured the way it looked inside. I imagined us eating dinner. Studying. Bathing. Sleeping. Making Love. Each thought was a sweet sight to my sore mind's eyes. We used to sleep in each other's arms. Especially back in the dorms because the beds there were only twin size. Over the last maybe year or so, when we were in this strange relationship did she sleep with her back turned to me. Maybe it means something, but either way, I gave in to the musings of my imaginings. I remembered the passionate times in the large Roman Bath Tub we had. I remembered the sensual twines of lust and love on the living room floor. Pure, relentless, unadulterated passion. Even the simple acts of studying together in the same room. Or watching a movie on a little TV, eating Terra Chips or Sun Chips on the Futon. It was a simple and ordinary life that was somehow, extraordinary on its own.
And then. They day that really tore us apart. Yes it was a build up of things. Yes we had lived together for a period of time when we were separated. But the final day, when I danced with death... I had wanted to die. I had a very Buddhist moment where it had become clear to me that to end my life was to escape this continual life of suffering. As I stood there in the present, I could see the ghost of me running out the front door with my pain pills in hand. I saw her running after the apparition of me out to the stairs. I saw her running back into the apartment because. I knew what was coming next. The ghost of me didn't. Don't do it I quietly told myself, knowing full well I was a simple spectator in the film of my memories.
I had to take a break because the recollection is too great. It pains me to even remember, remember thinking about it. I could see the blade of the knife tear through the flesh of her arm. The red strawberry gashes which rained the emotion that had so build up inside of her. I felt like I was stabbed in the stomach, like I know the other me was feeling as well. I knew I had felt a mix of anger and anguish. But me recollecting the event felt only pain and suffering. The blood made a distinct sound as it dripped on the pillow. THUNK, THUNK, THUNK. The other me grabbed the knife from her hand before a fourth incision could be made. Tears in both our eyes, I remember her cry out to me... "Is this what you wanted?! IS IT?!!" I turned away from the play that had unfolded before my eyes to sit on the edge of the steps. I thought of her today, and the scars she has that commemorate the event. I don't know if she's had to relive the moment, but the feeling of just being there when it happened... felt incredibly intense. I just sat on those steps, and cried.
After the Tsunami washed over me and settled a bit, I walked over to the pool area to collect myself. Why did the break-up affect me so much? I was on top of the world. I had everything. I had a wonderful place to live. I was at the top of my class... three majors in three years. I worked at Scripps Florida, the most prestigious biotech research facilities in the states. I was in love, living with my best friend. What more could any reasonable person ask for? Yeah... I know things don't last forever. But they were such simple pleasures in life. I never wanted anything grand. I just wanted to keep what I had. And maybe that's being selfish. Because she didn't have those things. She was working two part time jobs at places she didn't like, started to slip in school, and was uncertain about what the future held. It was just so... I don't know anymore. Maybe I'll sleep and think on it.
I started off at a local bar where I had a few drinks. I wanted to accentuate the emotions I felt so that it would be one large wake up call. As I walked east on University I tried to relive the memories that had taken me on this road before. The only one which came to mind was the day when she left for Orlando. It's true I had acted cool, but the reality was I got more and more nervous throughout the day. I know why she didn't come home. She was... scared of my reaction. I know I had certainly given her reason. No I wouldn't have hit her, or screamed at her, or any of that domestic violence stuff. But she had felt as uneasy going as I did standing by, watching her leave. I remember wandering the town waiting for her to come home. And her telling me over and over on the phone to just go home. As I walked University towards Central, I pictured myself biking towards our apartment. I felt as lost then as I had now. I think slowly, as I walked a path I had once been afraid of following, I began to remember.
Once it began, they did not slow down. The closer and closer I walked, I could feel the coldness and hollowness creep over me. Then the sadness kicked in. I remember when we would make our pitiful attempts to run together. I had bought for her a nice (and expensive!) pair of New Balance sneakers. She then bragged about how wonderful they were that I had to get a pair for myself. A... matching pair. I still wear those sneakers today, even though they're approaching their 2 year mark. We'd stay the same pace when we'd run together. I think she was always the better runner, but she kept a slow pace to not make me feel bad.
By the time I turned north on Central, the thoughts flooded back. I remember taking this path after the accident. After the car wreck, I remember calling her then my parents. As they both eventually made it to where I was, I went with her back to the apartment to get a change of clothes because I was completely drenched. I remember feeling anxious... this was the first day of our life together. Everything seemed so wonderful. While my parents waited for the AAA tow truck, I was half changed, and we were laying on the bed together. This was it, I had thought to myself. I don't think it could get much better than this. After I had first moved all my crap into the apartment, we were hungry. But I was ready! Our first meal was pasta. I had decided to make it because she had really enjoyed the pasta I had made over in California when she came to visit. She was never really big on pasta, but maybe the way that I made the sauce from scratch she liked. We didn't have time to eat there, so we brought it to the meeting we had to go to and ate there. Freedom had never tasted so good :) Of course you can imagine what we did that night to celebrate the beginning of our live together. I felt really tender when it came to our cooking memories. It was strange, but being able to cook for her always made me happy. Granted, sometimes things turned out terribly, but for the most part she always ate what I made. Maybe it's been why I've been so hesitant to cook for myself. It's such a weird feeling to just cook for myself.
By the time I rounded Promenade Way I was thrown off an emotional cliff. Such a silly thing really got to me. One of the first things I cooked for her was soup. I had no idea what I was doing, I just threw a bunch of green vegetables together to make it, namely Okra. She loved it! No soup past or present had ever been so good. I broke down as I walked to the memory of that. I literally just lost it in public. Luckily it was late, and I was alone. When I rounded off in front of the apartment complex I couldn't move very quickly. It felt like the air was so thick, my stride dropped down to a crawl. The lights in the apartment were like daylight! Even after almost three years, those same stupid light bulbs that I had bought for our apartment were still burning brightly. I remember a time when she got on my case about being so preoccupied with light bulbs. Such silly little things make the most lasting impressions. I walked the stairs like I had never left. Strange. It felt so natural. And even though I hadn't been there for a year and a half, it felt like it was routine to be walking those stairs. When I made it to the top I had to pause. Things looked different, but the air felt the same as if I had left it. I bent over the railing near my old unit, and just thought. I pictured the way it looked inside. I imagined us eating dinner. Studying. Bathing. Sleeping. Making Love. Each thought was a sweet sight to my sore mind's eyes. We used to sleep in each other's arms. Especially back in the dorms because the beds there were only twin size. Over the last maybe year or so, when we were in this strange relationship did she sleep with her back turned to me. Maybe it means something, but either way, I gave in to the musings of my imaginings. I remembered the passionate times in the large Roman Bath Tub we had. I remembered the sensual twines of lust and love on the living room floor. Pure, relentless, unadulterated passion. Even the simple acts of studying together in the same room. Or watching a movie on a little TV, eating Terra Chips or Sun Chips on the Futon. It was a simple and ordinary life that was somehow, extraordinary on its own.
And then. They day that really tore us apart. Yes it was a build up of things. Yes we had lived together for a period of time when we were separated. But the final day, when I danced with death... I had wanted to die. I had a very Buddhist moment where it had become clear to me that to end my life was to escape this continual life of suffering. As I stood there in the present, I could see the ghost of me running out the front door with my pain pills in hand. I saw her running after the apparition of me out to the stairs. I saw her running back into the apartment because. I knew what was coming next. The ghost of me didn't. Don't do it I quietly told myself, knowing full well I was a simple spectator in the film of my memories.
I had to take a break because the recollection is too great. It pains me to even remember, remember thinking about it. I could see the blade of the knife tear through the flesh of her arm. The red strawberry gashes which rained the emotion that had so build up inside of her. I felt like I was stabbed in the stomach, like I know the other me was feeling as well. I knew I had felt a mix of anger and anguish. But me recollecting the event felt only pain and suffering. The blood made a distinct sound as it dripped on the pillow. THUNK, THUNK, THUNK. The other me grabbed the knife from her hand before a fourth incision could be made. Tears in both our eyes, I remember her cry out to me... "Is this what you wanted?! IS IT?!!" I turned away from the play that had unfolded before my eyes to sit on the edge of the steps. I thought of her today, and the scars she has that commemorate the event. I don't know if she's had to relive the moment, but the feeling of just being there when it happened... felt incredibly intense. I just sat on those steps, and cried.
After the Tsunami washed over me and settled a bit, I walked over to the pool area to collect myself. Why did the break-up affect me so much? I was on top of the world. I had everything. I had a wonderful place to live. I was at the top of my class... three majors in three years. I worked at Scripps Florida, the most prestigious biotech research facilities in the states. I was in love, living with my best friend. What more could any reasonable person ask for? Yeah... I know things don't last forever. But they were such simple pleasures in life. I never wanted anything grand. I just wanted to keep what I had. And maybe that's being selfish. Because she didn't have those things. She was working two part time jobs at places she didn't like, started to slip in school, and was uncertain about what the future held. It was just so... I don't know anymore. Maybe I'll sleep and think on it.