September 7th, 2002 - 12.21 am
I wrote this a while back as a memory/free association experiment:
I think at first she's trying to blend in to the wall. Her tall willowy frame is folded, her knees are held to her chest and her head is resting on her knees. Her whole body is shuddering silently and everyone around her seems to ignore her, pretend she isn't even there, in a hurry to get where they're going. Not me. I watch for a moment, uncertain as to what my next move should be. Six months ago I would have run to her and gathered her in my armsand begged her to tell me what was wrong. But now. . . something's different. We don't talk, we argue. She's angry with me and for that I'm angry with her. What's funny is, I don't know why she's angry with me and therefore I don't know why I'm angry with her. Friends tell us we're being stupid, but I'm stubborn and she's proud and we're struggling to find each other again. I don't know what to do. So for a moment, I just watch.Long, fine, brown hair falls beside all thing arms and the graceful fingers of a piano player and flautist clutch each other, as though those hands are keeping the rest of the body from falling apart. I know she's crying, something she never does. Pain is masked by anger, a quick sharp wit and sometimes silence. I sort of wish she was shouting at me now. The tears I can't see are scarier. I take a deep breath and move from my silent position.
When I sit down beside her, and put my hand on her shoulder, she looks up. She sees me through red eyes which are usually the color of soft firelight. The face that is usually so calm is red, tear streaked and hot to touch. My fingers move to brush her hair off of her sticky face, and her hand comes up to catch mine. Her head goes back down on her knees, and I think "I've done no good. I should have just left well enough alone. When I move to get up and leave her hand catches mine again and won't let go. I settle back down and put an arm around here. That was all it took. Her head finds a place on my shoulder and I whisper "What's wrong?"
She responds "Why did you stop asking?"
Oh. That's it. I've been trying so hard to stay out of her way, not to annoy her and she'd always told me that when I ask what's wrong, I'm being over-protective and nosey. That's not true. She hadn't always said that. Just lately. So, I did stop asking. I couldn't imagine my life without her and I just wanted for her to look not mad, not to be mad at me for things to go back to the where they had always been. So I didn't ask. And I suppose it looked like I'd stopped caring. I wanted to tell her that she was my sanity, my best friend, I didn't have anyone to talk on the phone withor to work with me in the dark room or to gripe about the early mornings with. No one to tell me that I was being too egotistical, no one to watch Dawson's Creek with. I had other friends, but it wasn't the same. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, how much I missed her. But I didn't know how. I was at a loss.
"I um . . I don't. . I don't know. I didn't want you to be mad at me. . .I thought you . . .I'm sorry."
She didn't say anything, but she didn't let go of my hand, either.
**********
I don't know why, but I was thinking of that day. I think that was the real start of my friendship with L. We were, of course, so close when Tia died, but this day was when I saw that she needed me sometimes too.
I don't know how much of this I'm allowed to talk about, but long story short, L has broken up with her boyfriend, B and she is sad. Sad seems like to simple a word, and heartbroken seems hokey, but I think I could actually see her heart breaking. She is doing the right thing. This is the best thing for her and for B. But she hurts and I wish, like I did that day, that I could make it all better with a few words and a forhead kiss. But I can't. I won't say a word against B, no matter what I think about him, my best friend loved him with all of her heart and she's lost that, and she had the courage to do something for herself and him that was so hard. I'm proud of her, and I want to help and I don't know how. She came to Denny's shaking and crying tonight and I felt so blabbery, so useless, but I was shaking. All I could do to stop my teeth from chattering was talk and so I did and was utterly useless. I stopped by her apartment on the way home and was utterly useless, I just made her cry more. I wish I knew how to help her. I wish I could heal this.
But I know I can't. I know no matter how many times I tell her I love her, no matter what, this is her going it alone. I can seep inside the pain with her, because it's not my pain.
So this starts a long road. Away from the past, back to something else. I hope I can be a good walking stick. (That may be the weirdest thing I've ever said.)
