It Was During the Summer
I had stronger feelings that I cared to discuss—even my friend knew this before I was willing to admit to the fact. Yes, she was attractive, but it was her humor and her willingness to say, “Yes, I’m flawed. But aren’t we all.” Vulnerability, it was something that I had an attraction towards, but not within myself. But I forget, people never stay the same. I remembered my father’s voice, “Always check, make sure nothing is missing and all that you wanted is still in order,” even though he was making a reference to an expensive purchase—not heavy-liking.
Blind, it’s what we call justice. It’s the eye we turn to when someone we care about does something ill that we don’t care to discuss. Sometimes it’s the ignorant not wanting to see the change. Sometimes it’s the sensitive not wanting to be hurt. It’s how I cope.
That day, I thought, it was a little of everything.
It was a wedding. I was in a tux—sophisticated and nervous; sweating, clammy, and weak in the knees, even though it wasn’t my day. I was sensitive to weighted days, I would always help others carry these burdens—it was my way of being kind. It was elegant, but I found myself watching the bride and groom, and the bridal party, in particular, a bride’s maid—people seem to look better in a church, I thought. Afterwards, there was a bus, then elaborate introductions, a delicious dinner with gratuitous toasting—there was dancing and late night anticipation. It was a wedding.
I finally danced with her, not because I worked up the nerve—but because she asked. We danced, and sometimes a dance is just that, and I kept that in mind. It was easier for me to think negatively 3 steps ahead, it toughened me for disappointment at 4 steps ahead—but it left me wide open for anything 2 steps or closer.
She came home with me, but she brought someone home with her. I didn’t know him. She said nothing and I had no nerve left to say anything. They went into my guest room and I went into my own room, and I thought about that quote of hers, “Yes, I’m flawed. But aren’t we all.” I agreed, but only as far as the first sentence. Not all things pertain to all of us, I thought.
Blind, it’s what we call justice. It’s the eye we turn to when someone we care about does something ill that we don’t care to discuss. Sometimes it’s the ignorant not wanting to see the change. Sometimes it’s the sensitive not wanting to be hurt. It’s how I cope.
That day, I thought, it was a little of everything.
It was a wedding. I was in a tux—sophisticated and nervous; sweating, clammy, and weak in the knees, even though it wasn’t my day. I was sensitive to weighted days, I would always help others carry these burdens—it was my way of being kind. It was elegant, but I found myself watching the bride and groom, and the bridal party, in particular, a bride’s maid—people seem to look better in a church, I thought. Afterwards, there was a bus, then elaborate introductions, a delicious dinner with gratuitous toasting—there was dancing and late night anticipation. It was a wedding.
I finally danced with her, not because I worked up the nerve—but because she asked. We danced, and sometimes a dance is just that, and I kept that in mind. It was easier for me to think negatively 3 steps ahead, it toughened me for disappointment at 4 steps ahead—but it left me wide open for anything 2 steps or closer.
She came home with me, but she brought someone home with her. I didn’t know him. She said nothing and I had no nerve left to say anything. They went into my guest room and I went into my own room, and I thought about that quote of hers, “Yes, I’m flawed. But aren’t we all.” I agreed, but only as far as the first sentence. Not all things pertain to all of us, I thought.
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on Thursday, April 21 at 4:01 PM.
