Quicksilver
posted by Saint DesRosier at 9:45 AM
1 comments
Sunday, April 17, 2005
I'm going on a trip
Sunday, April 17, 2005
It’s another beautiful day. There have been so many lately that I have to caution myself that they are finite. I stay focused on the task of packing for my trip to Costa Rica, shopping for jungle clothes and calculating the exact amount of shampoo I will need. The anticipation is mixed with fear of the unknown, being lost and unable to speak, being alone and breaking down emotionally.
I don’t need to sit at the bottom of a volcano to experience that. I break down almost every day, several times on Saturdays and Sundays when I discover again that he has not called. “Stop thinking about him” Madonna orders firmly. She has encouraged me for a long time to get rid of him. She is one of only three people I know who have seen him. “He’s cute…” she’d said over and over after he left, until it started to frighten me. Beautiful men are hard to hold on to but I am incredibly fond of beauty.
It’s a balancing act to find a man who is not too beautiful. I thought Woody was one of those; a little to stringy and dark with his tiny eyes framed in gold eyeglasses and peering out from a face covered in hair. He’d kept that lean body and his hair, and when the beard came off he was transformed into an Italian god. It was the end of us. I remember just before he left, going to Monkey’s freshman orientation and watching all the women and the men stare at him. He was clearly too beautiful for me.
I didn’t know the peregrine was too beautiful, just too young. Still, when I noticed his bald spot and he told me he had 20 year-old stepdaughters, he seemed like a legitimate adult. There were parts of him that were beautiful, the triangular shape of his back and his perfect lips. But, there were times when he looked ugly to me, when his nose seemed to sharp and his eyes were circled in bruises. “Raccoon eyes”, he’d called them. But that’s why I loved him. It was his self-deprecation, the easy way he laughed, the way he complimented everything I did or said and the swimming-through-warm-clouds feeling I would get when he’d hold me and sway to the music. I miss all of that.
Jasmine came to run with me the other night. I had convinced myself that I could no longer run. “I’m scared” I told her before we started. “Dear God, of what, me? Hello, miss bum-leg here, besides what’s the worse that could happen we’ll just walk.”
“I’m scared that I won’t be able to do it.” I told her. After the first two minutes it felt excruciating. I told her I missed him. When she asked me what it was I liked about him, I talked for ten minutes before I noticed that it didn’t hurt anymore. At the end of thirty minutes I was thrilled at how good I felt. This was going to be my salvation.
Yesterday I spent the day shopping and trying on clothes. Then I carried all my plants out on the porch and kept remembering those beautiful summer nights we'd spent out there. Finally at six I decided to walk to the video store. As soon as I cut into the campus, away from the traffic, I started to run. It was excruciating until I reached the end of the library where I promised myself I could stop. It took me twenty minutes. I walked the rest of the way and then walked back. It was 7:30 when I walked back into the house. I sat down on the couch and cried.
Jasmine called to check on me. I told her there is nothing to be done. I am doing all that I can. I am going on a trip and I’m packing my boots.
It’s another beautiful day. There have been so many lately that I have to caution myself that they are finite. I stay focused on the task of packing for my trip to Costa Rica, shopping for jungle clothes and calculating the exact amount of shampoo I will need. The anticipation is mixed with fear of the unknown, being lost and unable to speak, being alone and breaking down emotionally.
I don’t need to sit at the bottom of a volcano to experience that. I break down almost every day, several times on Saturdays and Sundays when I discover again that he has not called. “Stop thinking about him” Madonna orders firmly. She has encouraged me for a long time to get rid of him. She is one of only three people I know who have seen him. “He’s cute…” she’d said over and over after he left, until it started to frighten me. Beautiful men are hard to hold on to but I am incredibly fond of beauty.
It’s a balancing act to find a man who is not too beautiful. I thought Woody was one of those; a little to stringy and dark with his tiny eyes framed in gold eyeglasses and peering out from a face covered in hair. He’d kept that lean body and his hair, and when the beard came off he was transformed into an Italian god. It was the end of us. I remember just before he left, going to Monkey’s freshman orientation and watching all the women and the men stare at him. He was clearly too beautiful for me.
I didn’t know the peregrine was too beautiful, just too young. Still, when I noticed his bald spot and he told me he had 20 year-old stepdaughters, he seemed like a legitimate adult. There were parts of him that were beautiful, the triangular shape of his back and his perfect lips. But, there were times when he looked ugly to me, when his nose seemed to sharp and his eyes were circled in bruises. “Raccoon eyes”, he’d called them. But that’s why I loved him. It was his self-deprecation, the easy way he laughed, the way he complimented everything I did or said and the swimming-through-warm-clouds feeling I would get when he’d hold me and sway to the music. I miss all of that.
Jasmine came to run with me the other night. I had convinced myself that I could no longer run. “I’m scared” I told her before we started. “Dear God, of what, me? Hello, miss bum-leg here, besides what’s the worse that could happen we’ll just walk.”
“I’m scared that I won’t be able to do it.” I told her. After the first two minutes it felt excruciating. I told her I missed him. When she asked me what it was I liked about him, I talked for ten minutes before I noticed that it didn’t hurt anymore. At the end of thirty minutes I was thrilled at how good I felt. This was going to be my salvation.
Yesterday I spent the day shopping and trying on clothes. Then I carried all my plants out on the porch and kept remembering those beautiful summer nights we'd spent out there. Finally at six I decided to walk to the video store. As soon as I cut into the campus, away from the traffic, I started to run. It was excruciating until I reached the end of the library where I promised myself I could stop. It took me twenty minutes. I walked the rest of the way and then walked back. It was 7:30 when I walked back into the house. I sat down on the couch and cried.
Jasmine called to check on me. I told her there is nothing to be done. I am doing all that I can. I am going on a trip and I’m packing my boots.
posted by Saint DesRosier at 9:23 AM
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