(no subject)
At the age of fourteen I first expirienced the cold clamy flesh on flesh intent of the restless soul. The first time I expirienced the horrid buety and terror of it all. Hindsight is 20/20 they say, but the here and the now isn't always so clear. The there and the now was like that. I wasn't living in Iowa, I lived the summers in MA, which was fun up to a point. Looking back on the good friends and my first and only girlfriend, sounds a pleasant thought. But no, all things turn sour in life, and such is the case of Woods Hole. My good friend Matt, lived in Boston during the year, and every time I saw him after he got back he was more and more "gangsta.'" And my friend Hannah only got more and more sweet. So naturally I had to at least ask her out, which I did and was amazed when she said yes. Later that summer, maybe a month, maybe a day, maybe a week, time then had no measure, it was all just so melancholy, looking back of course. One night, it just happened, they say no is just a word, it's easy to say, but it's not. It's panic, it's terror, it's want, it's nothing you ever need but something you always want. It's a dead un-dead, that the way I can describe the feeling of it, the dead un-dead. How hard is it to say no? It's much more difficult than saying yes. It's strange, the propinquity of sounds to one another, but how very far away their definitions are. Everything changed for me that night, my world was twisted sickly as I was shown a glimpse into adult sexuality, a horrible type of "rite of passage" and an expirience to sour all future relations. I couldn't say no for fear of losing her, but I didn't want to say yes either, I was torn, and for the next couple of weeks I lived in a constant numb. Until one day she sat me down and spat in my face. My friend Matt, the "gangsta" came back, and "wooed" her. The fact of the matter is, I was both crushed and happy, I didn't have to deal with our nightly visits anymore, but I didn't have her anymore either. Kind of a diamond edged sword, buetiful and deadly. I had to warn Matt, I had to warn him about what would happen to him now. But he wouldn't listen, she became more to him than I could be, and on a final attempt to save my friend, he shot me. He had just snorted crack cocain and owned a 9mm gun (all this from his Boston life) and he was delirious, but nontheless he shot me. The bullet grazed my, but the fact is, it cut deeper into my soul than it did my skin, much deeper. I left the sadder but wiser man, with a horrid expirience under my belt, and a friend lost. I haven't talked to Matt since that night in Woods Hole, and I haven't talked to Hannah even longer. I say this because I want record of such things that happened, not for sympathy, or for discussion. I just don't want to forget what makes me, me.