Things of a Personal Nature

Life is a bitch. She’s the coldest, hardest bitch there is. She goes far past that girl in high school, with her little clique hanging at her heels, trying their damnedest to convince themselves that they are her friend while she walks all over them, and who lures in a boyfriend who thinks that they are soul mates and will get married just as soon as they graduate, just to use as arm candy and a fuck toy until something better comes along. No, Life makes her look like the sweetest thing there could be. Life will sit you in a chair, and in front of you will be a table. On it, you will see the things you want most, that you want more than anything else. “Take them,” she says. So you reach out. All you have to do is grab them, they’re right there. And just as your hand is closing around the thing you’ve been waiting all this time for, she smashes it with a hammer. Then does the same to you, just for kicks.

What makes me feel this way? Well, I could give you a list of things. But, in all honesty, I those are all secondary. There is one thing that is, no question about it, which is always at the center of these kinds of problems for me: a girl. Nothing holds greater power over me; nothing else could take me to the heights of joy and the depths of despair. Nothing. At. All.
Now, as I sit here, writing this, I reach a point where I have to wonder how I want to proceed. Should I go in with a plan? Should I wing it, as I do so often with so many things? Not much of a question there. It’s going to be somewhere in between. I’ve already run through parts of this, prewritten them. Now, a bigger problem: who should I write about? I’ve got choices. Too many choices. I guess I’ll go with the most recent. Should I use names? They’ll be meaningless to anyone who doesn’t know me or the people I mention. If someone who does know me reads this, they would know who I was talking about with or without names. Well, for the sake of some semblance of anonymity, I shall omit names. Now, to address a question that may be running through your mind. Is this real? The events I will talk about really happened. The people I describe actually exist. But this is all through the filter of my memory, my emotions, and my late night melodramatic reflections on the past. In short, to me, right now, it is. Others involved may disagree, may see things a different way. I could not care less. This is my story, not theirs.

We met not much more than a year ago. “Oh no, another kid whining about how ‘love’ at first sight doesn’t work out.” You thought that just now, didn’t you? Well, that’s not exactly how it was. She transferred to my high school during my senior year. She was a sophomore. I know I said I wasn’t going to give names, but there’s going to be several people mentioned here, so I’ll need some way of identifying them beyond pronouns. Let’s call her C.

C. came right as I was giving up on my three year affair with J. Affair makes it sound illicit, exciting, and most of all consummated. Not really. Mostly it was just me making an ass of myself through lyrics (you may have read some), poems (maybe some of these too), and just general behavior associated with someone suffering from long-term unrequited feelings. J. and I had been close, but I fucked that up. We barely talked at this point. But, I was determined to continue pursuing what ever chance my mind felt existed with her. So in comes C., the new girl. I didn’t think much of her at first, and being not the most social person I didn’t have a reason to approach her with offers of friendship. But we had some classes together, so we naturally got acquainted.

Time passes, and with it does more of my hope for even being friends with J. I start listening to more emo music than usual. At one point, in a laughably stupid moment of my life, I set up my laptop blasting songs about lost love on a desk in a classroom, and listened as I lay on a couch. During class. The teacher didn’t care much. “Oh, he’s a senior, and it isn’t too big of a distraction.” But that’s actually a bit further ahead than I actually should be. But the real chronology of that year isn’t too good in my memory. But it’s a nice scene to give you.
Speaking of scene, C. was pretty damn close to being a scene girl. So we definitely had a connection in the music we liked. We actually went to a concert at one point. On her birthday, no less. Well, her, my sister, and I. And it was before I really had any feelings for her besides friendship. But it was an important event. Also, until recently, it was the best concert I’d ever been to.

Now, on to a big point in the story: theatre. I was a big thing for me (and still is, though a bit lessor than it had been in high school), and was another thing we shared. She worked tech for our special ensemble class’ show. That is when we got to be really good friends. And, somewhere in there, at a point that I couldn’t tell you for sure, when I started to develop feelings for her beyond the platonic. Long nights and hard work shared will bring people together. And then, after that show was over, we had another one. This time, C. was acting in it too. She played my daughter. Well, that felt somewhat awkward, but not as much as my growing feelings for her coming up while I still had some left for J. Some left? Ok, I’ll be honest: I was still completely fallen for her. Which is what made the next part of this story so eventful.

Prom was coming. My high school was small (private school, don’t hate me), so all high school students are allowed to attend prom. But, I wasn’t one for dances, especially not formal ones. And prom is as formal as it gets. But, seeing as it was my senior year, I thought, “Hell, I might as well go.” So then I started thinking about who to ask. The answer seemed obvious: J. However, there was something keeping me from asking. I wasn’t sure what, I just knew that there was a catch in my mind that wouldn’t let me proceed. Nerves seemed the best explanation. I don’t do well with initiating such things as asking someone to go to a dance as my date. Especially not prom. I don’t do particularly well when on the receiving end either, though. Suffice it to say that relationship related things are not my strong suit. Not that I even have much experience with them.

Well, so I’m trying to get the nerves to ask J. to prom, or figure out what’s holding me back at least. This school, everyone wants to know everyone’s business. So they ask, “Who are you going to ask to prom?” I generally avoid these questions, as the usual answer is “I’m not asking anyone. I’m not even going. I have no social life, what did you expect me to say?” But one person, A., was quite persistent with his questioning. I actually gave vague answers to him, like “oh, I’ve got someone in mind.” But I wouldn’t tell. I thought it was to keep my feelings close to my chest, but looking back it probably had to do more with my internal conflict over who to ask. Well, either way, he wanted an answer, and he asked every day. Then he started to ask more general questions. “Is she from your grade?” “Nope.” “Junior?” “No.” “Freshman?” “That’s creepy.” “So my grade?” “Yeah, your grade.” “Ahh. So you’re going to ask C.” I stop what I’m doing and look at him, slightly confused. OF all the girls he could have guessed, why did he guess her first? And why did it give me such a strange feeling when he did?
I asked him why he would guess her first, and he avoided the question with non-answers. “You like similar music, so why not?” “What’s that got to do with it?” “Oh, I don’t know.” So it’s that evening, at rehearsal dinner. C. and I are sitting next to each other, and she asks “So, are you going to ask J. to prom?” Somewhere in here, I had told her I liked J., but I don’t really remember much about that. All I know is it happened. And I tell her yes, I think I am going to. She tells me I should, as soon as I can. Then I make a joke about what A. said before, about how he thought I was going to ask her. I don’t know if this is what really happened, or if this is simply my mind rewriting my past to fit with what I would like, but the way she responded seemed… odd. Almost like she put too much effort into laughing at it, and her reply of “oh, why would he think that?” (or something to that effect) seemed deflecting. Again, this is one of those points that may be a product of my mind that others would disagree with. But it is my story and that is how I heard her response. And that’s when I realized: she was the reason I was so reluctant to ask J.

Well, prom was still a ways away, and I was focused on the play. It was a bit more awkward, now that I was fully aware I had feelings for C., but it wasn’t too bad until… the kiss scenes. C.’s character falls in love with a man, who happened to be played by one of my absolute best friends. And in several scenes, they kiss. In most previous shows, kisses had not been real. Well, here, they were. Their lips touched, and held. And it was then that I started feeling something else: hate. I hated the director, for having them actually kiss. I hated him for not casting me as the lead (also because this was my last chance, and I never had before). I hated my friend, for having done the kiss. I hated C., for enjoying it. And I hated myself, for having these feelings.

Tangent time. Ok, so in six years of acting, I never once played the lead. I won’t pretend to be an amazing actor, but I’m not bad either. Not that it really mattered. We may have auditioned for the roles, but the shows were already cast. I’d be challenged to find one example of a role that wasn’t type casted, except of course I would always play the big, “used car salesman” characters. That wasn’t typecasting, but it was close enough for other reasons. The closest I ever got to lead was The Cowardly Lion, which I only got because of finally getting my type casting time in. And I was one of the few high school guys who auditioned anyways.

But back to my story. So that is getting me more upset and more into emo music, and we’re almost to me laying on that couch in class. The show’s over, prom is not that far off, and I still hadn’t asked J. … or C. C. tells me to do it. Right then. Right after class. And I almost said, “You know, I would, but I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go with her anymore. That race is run, and I lost. I lost a long time ago. I’ve known that, and I know what’s been holding me back from asking her all this time. You. I can’t ask her, because I want to go with you.” Not that anything I could have actually said would have been so eloquent. Regardless, I wanted to say it. But I didn’t. I went looking for J. I was going to ask her. And she fucking left early that day.

All my built up drive was expended. I lost my nerve. Days passed, and finally I got it in me to try again. But I was afraid she might already have a date. In an effort to avoid anything more awkward than necessary, I thought I’d ask her best friend if she did. Well, I’m not going in to this right now, but remember what I said about life way back at the beginning? This girl, J.’s best friend, gave life a run for the title of Queen Bitch with what happened. But again, I am not getting into that. Partly because I don’t know the whole story, and partly because fuck her.

So now here I am, listening to emo songs in class, lying on a couch. I want to die, but that’s too hard. So I decide to drink my consciousness away. But I’m too much of a good boy, so I don’t. Then I decide to just get high out of my mind. Again, can’t do it. I fuck up being a fuck up. Thanks life. You make me hate you, then keep me from doing anything about it.
So, I’m talking to C., and I want to ask her. I want so bad to ask her. And then she mentions that she got asked by someone, and said yes. Now, not to be mean, but the guy who asked her isn’t exactly well liked by… well, anyone. I actually don’t mind him, but still, I just never would have thought that they would be going together.

So now I’m just destroyed. I give the world the finger, and ignore it. Fuck it all, I’m going to do what I want, and what I want is to watch TV at home, play videogames, be antisocial, and listen to emotional music that I can so totally relate to right at the moment. And prom? I’m not going to that. I haven’t before, and I’m certainly not going now, alone. Remember that guy I mentioned before, A.? Well, he changed things.

We were talking, and he asked if I was going to prom even though I wasn’t going with J. (I’d told him about that whole mess before) I said no, and he told me I should. Just because I wasn’t going with her, didn’t mean I couldn’t be there with her. And he was right. So, I got a tux, and bought my ticket. I went to prom, stag. And fuck did that suck at first. I was the only one alone. I was the third wheel with my best friend and his date (I didn’t drive at the time, and he offered to drive me), the awkward guy sitting in the one chair at the end of the table at the dinner, and to top it all off C. and her date sat at the same end. But, then I started getting more comfortable. Then it was fun. My best friend and I as a joke went up and slow danced to the music the band was playing. And it was a good meal. Then, we went to the actual dance.

Most of my time was spent awkwardly drinking crappy Arnold Palmer from a fountain that I kept secretly wishing would get spiked with some vodka. Didn’t happen though. Everyone was saving the drinking for afterwards. So, no liquid courage to help me out, when the first (and, being my school, the first of two) slow dance started up I just said to myself, “dude, go for it.” I walked up to J., and said, “Hey, wanna dance?” She said yes, and we walked out to the floor. On the way there, I saw the runner up in the Queen Bitch contest. Looked her right in the eye, holding J.’s hand as we walked out to dance. And I smiled at her. She looked as if she was about to come over and kill me. Maybe I just misread her face, but honestly I would swear that she was pissed off to the extreme.

So we danced, and we talked while we danced, and then in a great in the most sarcastic sense of the word moment, one of the rubber bands on her braces broke. Not exactly the best feeling in the world. And then, it was over. I thanked her for the dance, and she went to change her rubber bands. People were congratulating me on having the balls to ask her to dance, but something didn’t feel right. And you know what it was? The most memorable thing about it was her breaking rubber band. I felt nothing. I don’t even remember what song we danced to. It finally happened. I was over J.

So the rest of prom passed. The year passed. I graduated. I left C. behind, and never told her anything about what I felt. We still talked a few times. I saw her in some plays. But we didn’t have any real time together. And I miss her. A lot. She misses me too, and sometimes I just hope to God that it’s the same way that I miss her. I saw her a couple times in the past few weeks. Once at a kind of open mic night thing back at the high school, and once in a play there.

When I got to the open mic night, she signed me up to perform. I really wasn’t prepared or anything, but she just wrote my name down and said “you’ll think of something to do.” So, when I went up to read a poem (The Exquisite Art Of Drowning, I have it posted here), and gave my awkward hello speech before hand, in which I literally started with “hello everybody,” everyone just laughed at it. Except not C. She said hi back to me. That threw me off. But I did my poem, and left the stage. Later, two guys sang a song for J., dedicated to her in the name of her boyfriend who couldn’t be there. And then they kissed her hands. I thought that was bad. I had gotten over her and shit, and then her life was, rubbing her back in my face. Well, I ignored it. So, the open mic night was done, and I wanted to have some emotional goodbye thing with C. But she was busy, and some friends and I were going to get ice cream. So I just left. I tagged her on some thing on Facebook, thanking her for signing me up to perform. We talked about how we miss each other. Then the day was over.

Now, to the play. Let me start of by saying it was the greatest show I’ve ever seen performed there. It was incredible. But, there is also a scene where J. kisses someone. Wanna know something great about it? She is kissing C.’s ex boyfriend. And C. is also in the play. So much awkward right there. And again, life is reminding me of J. She won’t me forget her. Ok, I also have this thing about after performances. I leave as soon as possible. There’s a bunch of people there that I don’t know, or don’t think I know, or just don’t want to talk to, and they are in the way of the people I do know and do want to talk to. So I just go and make some Facebook thing about it, and tag the cast. Well, not tonight. I wanted to talk to the cast in person, tell them how amazing they were. And I talked to all of them. But not J. I couldn’t. I saw her, I walked towards her, and the I stopped and went to talk to someone else. Why? Because I wanted to scream. I wanted to stand up on the stage myself, and shout to anyone who would listen “J.! I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY FOR ALL THAT STUPID SHIT I DID AND SAID! I’M NOT OVER YOU! I’M STILL FALLEN!”

So I block her from my mind. I find C., and we embrace, though it wasn’t as close as I would have liked. She had makeup on, and didn’t want to get it on my shirt. I wouldn’t have cared if it was going to permanently stain my skin. I tell her how great it was, she thanks me, we talk briefly, and she goes to change. And again, I just want to scream. And that makes me feel worse, because I already wanted to scream for someone else that night. So I leave.

I recently dyed my hair red. I’ve wanted to for a while, but I finally pushed enough to get my mom to pay for it. Why did I want red? Well, I tell everyone it was just something I wanted to try. Or I tell them it’s because I saw myself with a red wig on once, and liked the look. Both are true, but I think there may be more to it. C. has red hair. I think a part of my mind wanted it so that I would be reminded of her every time I look in the mirror. Every time my hair falls in front of my eyes. Every time I find stray hairs fallen on my pillow. Maybe it makes me feel closer to her. I don’t know.

Well, I’ve said pretty much everything I set out to say. Maybe a bit more in some places. I doubt that anyone will read this whole thing. I doubt I would. It’s like a teen novel, but played out in real life a condensed into a few pages of absurd ramblings. As for the future for me and C. (and even J.)? Well, I’ve stopped (for the moment) writing songs about J., and I actually got one about C. done (I don’t care if you think it’s creepy, it’s what I do). But really I don’t know where anything is going. I wish I did. Knowing what will come would be such a blessing. But this is reality. There’s no knowing the future, and it’s fucking scary. And that’s the bitch that is life.