Saturday, January 3, 2009

I've been preoccupied with the concept of socialization lately. I say this because I remember his excessive use of the term "heteronormative." I think he mainly liked the way it sounded (I'm guilty of this as well), but it's consuming and intriguing to think about. If I had not learned to prance around in absurd amounts of pink tulle or nurture plastic dolls with painted smiles, would I be much different? Probably. It all seems very odd and surreal to me. Perhaps that's because I've been feeling disconnected from the physical state of existence yet utterly encompassed by the mental.

I have the strangest encounters with people. They happen once, and then I can't shake them from my mind for decades.

He came to my house. I made pancakes while he prepared fruit and he asked why my back was turned. I was very conscious of my movements; I felt as if they were raindrops asking for permission to fall. He had a peculiar way about him. He was silent, mostly, and excruciatingly serious. The spaces between his teeth seemed almost intentional, like they filtered out any customary language so that nothing less than profound ever permeated the air. Later, I found myself wrapped in a blanket. He lay behind me, breathing heavily. He was so thin. I surmised that, like the spaces in his teeth, his frailty was also calculated. I did not feel anything for him, as much as I wanted to. I touched my hand to his cheek. He looked at me with frantic eyes, urging me to take action, and I started to get nervous. "Do you ever smile?" I asked, and his expression softened. "Sometimes," he replied. It was starting to snow. We walked outside and I kept taking small steps because I liked the sound my heels made when they struck pavement. He smoked a cigarette and observed my backyard. It was a bleak day, and everything reminded me of weathered literature. We stood there for a while, not saying anything. I kept thinking about the day I woke up to watch the sun rise. And how much has changed since that day. And whether that's good or bad. After I led him to the highway, I started crying. Not because we weren't right for one another, but because he came to me with questions.

And there is nothing more devastating and discouraging than never having the answers.

2 comments:

HiQKid (Alex) said...

I don't know why I find this account so... fascinating. It's beautiful, and I can't say why.

I've been a bit worried about socialization myself. My existence is an odd one. With few friends and... a troublesome family, I have very little to do and very few places to be that are not alone.

I hate it. And... well, I guess this reminds me of that.

I mean, it's sad. This story makes me so sad. But on the other hand it's like... You know, I'd rather have a chance to be near someone. To spend my time with someone. Even if it's sad. Because I can't stand being alone anymore.

And I get so upset sometimes, it kills me... And then I get mad at myself for feeling the way I do.

I don't know why I'm writing this here. It's probably not the appropriate place for it. But... I think, maybe, you'll understand this. And it's most definitely sparked by what you wrote. It isn't a comment, so much, as it is a response direct from my heart but filtered through my brain.

It is truth, and emotion.

Ian said...

beautiful. you are my favorite writer and my best friend.