Let There Be Light

I came home last night to an im from the BND alerting me that he'd finally gotten around to responding to my email. This cheered me up a bit, as I'd been experiencing quite a bit of loneliness. I scanned the email quickly at first and then went over it again more carefully. And hold on a minute, what's that line....

"I miss things about the floor too, and things that i wouldn't have even expected to as much and i feel like i might have missed something i should have pusued and it would have been so easy to do so (and no, you do not know anything that i am refferring to there). "

1. I can't even imagine that he could think I wouldn't take it that way.
2. Boy knows I'm an English major. Proofreading would be nice.

I replied with a, "wtf, mate?" and got:

"And when I wrote that I was just thinking and writing and then once it was written I realized it may have been misleading so I cleared it up a little, but bot enough that you would know what I was talking about."

So here are the options I'm thinking of:

1. This was an admission gone awry and the parenthetical part was an attempt at sarcasm. (not very likely)
2. He was simply trying to get a reaction out of me. Jerk. (perhaps a bit more likely?)
3. He really was just being careless and insensitive. (most likely)

If option 3 really is the truth, that leaves me wondering just to what exactly he was referring. I have racked my brains and really do not know. It's probably some sort of robotics shit or some such.

I hated myself for the little jolt of golden hope that coursed through my veins upon reading those words in the first email. I am supposed to be getting over this, right? And the BND, knowing this, would be careless enough to say something like that? He had to have known how that would affect me. It's just cruel, really.

While I was reading that first email last night, the bulb popped out suddenly in the only lamp that was lit. I was plunged into semi-darkness, with only the glow from my inbox. I sighed, got up and took the bulb out and navigated my way through the dark to the kitchen. I flicked on the kitchen switch and looked at the bulb curiously. It looked unfamiliar, a different brand than I buy. And then I remembered. He gave me this bulb at school the last time I was plunged into sudden darkness.

Then, today, I was at the store when his favorite song came on over the radio.

Can you really get over something that didn't ever amount to anything?

That was then, this is now

Being at home (and unemployed) has left me with copious amounts of time to think. This is dangerous. It's a good thing I start work in June or else I'd probably be institutionalized come August.
So, during all this thinking, I started to reflect upon how I've changed over the past year. The old me was less neurotic, less jealous and paranoid, more focused and self-assured. The old me most certainly would not have Facebook-stalked my way through an entire relationship of wall posts. I am pathetic.
I don't know why I did it, the Facebook-stalking, I mean. I knew it would make me unhappy. Unhappy to see that they were happy. How utterly terrible is that?

I feel as if I was robbed of the happy part. The BND and I went straight from friends to the awkward "i like you" stage to bickering break-up without any of the good stuff in between. I want the "I-can't-wait-to-see-you-hey-I-miss-you-call-me-later" stage. I want the part where I wake up with a smile on my face. I want to know that someone is as happy to be with me as I am with them.

And all this, I think, has been the hardest part. Her lingering traces and evidence of his past affection serve to twist the knife. My inadequacies taunt me from the corners. Why isn't everything that I see enough? Have I imagined the emotional and intellectual connection that I thought I felt? The ties that bound us together turned out to be made of gossamer thread: hard to see and even harder to hold onto.

He told me once that with me he felt a new hesitation, one he didn't feel before he dated either of his exes. I should have known then that it wasn't going to happen.

I wish I hadn't stuck around to become the one who didn't measure up.

And that's the thing. The old me would not have cared about that. The old me would've said fuck that. I don't care how I measure... up or otherwise.

New me needs a life beyond the hypothetical and the wishes and the could have beens. I'll put that on the list of things I'm not going to accomplish this summer.


(P to the S, resolution: no more complaining about the same old stupid boy things. I will find new subjects to write about. Well, we'll see how long this lasts...)

Home Again

I'm back home sitting on my tiny twin bed, facing my "artwork" from 8th grade and my stuffed animals in the corner. Mom and Dad are sleeping across the hall and I have to get up for church in the morning. It's weird.



The last week of school proved itself to be emotional. I was sick and stressed. I would wake up nauseous about the fact that I was on track to fail my math class (which I did). I was in an unpleasant haze, chock full of denial. Denial about my grades, denial about leaving my friends, and the biggest denial of all: the fact that I was leaving the BND.

I'm not sure what kind of conclusion we came to when all was said and done.

"I just hate to think that I had false hope all along," I told him.

"Well, I had real hope," he said.

"It's just... we are half a step away from a relationship!" I said, "Are you really that disinterested? Are you disinterested in what we have now?"

"No, no I am not," he replied, "Ok, let me put it this way. While the majority of me wants this, there's still a part of me that isn't ready for this. And if I'm not whole heartedly in this, it's not really anything, is it?"

It sucks to be the one who is whole heartedly in it. I mean, I've read Jane Austen and everything, but I had no idea how much unrequited love bites. At least there aren't any corsets involved.

The part of the last week of school that I hated most was the night the BND left. I kept him company through most of the afternoon while he packed and cleaned. When his mom arrived, he told me he'd come back and say bye before he left. By the time he got around to leaving, everyone was out on the balcony, crowded around his door, and there was really no un-awkward way for the two of us to say a proper goodbye. He knew it, I knew it. He said goodbye to everyone. He looked right at me as I tried not to break down.

I went into Katrina's room and heard everyone shout goodbye from the balcony. That's when I started to sob.

But, even in the absence of a satisfying conclusion, life went on. I packed up, said goodbye to all that, and came home.

So here I am, sitting in my tiny twin at home, left with a handful of credits and a broken heart. It doesn't even seem like everything that happened with the BND was real. It seems faraway, in a different plane of existence, lived by some alter-ego Laurel who could stay out until 2:30 in the morning and not be relentlessly questioned by her mother the subsequent afternoon.

School is like the crazy LOST island, where time moves differently.

We've got to go back, Kate.

Boy Next Door No More

No more. Well, in three days it'll be official, anyway. We are moving out. And I was feeling all sad and reluctant and nostalgic, but now I am so ready. I need to get away for a while, clear my head.

The other day, he told me that he was repulsed-- nay repelled-- wait, make that disinterested by relationships. After three months of leading me along and holding out hope, that's what I hear. Oh, sigh. Good thing nothing he can say will surprise me anymore.

And he tells me not to expect to hear from him over the summer because He Is Not Good At That. At this point, if I'm not even worth a modicum of effort, I'd rather not hear from him anyway. (That was a tough-minded, self-deluding kind of lie. Of course I want to hear from him! It's my pride that doesn't care for him.)

We got room assignments for next year. I got put in an all girls dorm. Says the BND, "Well, maybe you'll live next door to your girlfriend next year." Ha-fucking-ha.

Although, truth be told, the other team isn't looking so bad.

Greatest Hits

The end of the semester is approaching faster than you can say, "FINALS!" and everyone is stressing majorly. For me, stress is secondary to nostalgia. I always do this. I miss things in advance. I'm already viewing the halls of this busted old dorm with misty eyes. I will miss the little family that our hall evolved into. And the thing that gets me the most: leaving this residence hall means the Boy Next Door will no longer be Next Door, technically. Even living a two minute walk apart will seem like long distance compared to this. I've been revisiting old memories more than ever lately and have started compiling a sort of Sports Center highlights of our complicated, fucked-up, mostly hypothetical relationship. In no particular order...

1. Late Night Chats- There have been so, so many of these. Thinking back, my favorites were at the beginning, before I fucked things up and complicated everything. Honestly, I have never been able to talk so easily with anyone. The hours passed extremely quickly and we stayed up far too late for people with 8 a.m. classes. Oh, the good old days.

2. Haircuts- The BND has this thing about haircuts: he refuses to pay for them. He has really dark, dense, curls that get a little out of control as soon as they start to grow longer. He asked me in early fall if I would cut his hair and even though I'd never cut any one's hair in my life, I said sure. We set up a chair on the balcony outside his room and I started cutting away. I was nervous... what if I screwed up? I joked and made contemplative faces as his hair fell away. He closed his eyes and I recognized that he was getting that drunken, tingly feeling that happens when someone touches your scalp. The second time was much like the first, except for the fact that by this time I was fully aware of my feelings for him. It was an unusually warm day and the sun was streaming onto the balcony. I was more aware of how close I was to him, how he was reacting to my touch.

3. Breakfast- It was a morning after some particularly wrenching conversation that lasted into very early hours. Both of us slept too late to make it to the dining hall. I told him I was going to make eggs for brunch and offered to share. He met me in the kitchen and sat in the corner, looking emotionally shell-shocked. I chattered on, pretending that I hadn't just heard him pour his heart out hours before. He went through the motions of breakfast. Afterwords, I set about cleaning up. He took his plate to the sink and washed it, meticulously as always. I stood beside him with a pan and plate in my hand and he silently put a hand out and started to wash them, too. I touched his arm in thanks. It was such a small moment, one that he probably doesn't even remember, but to me it encapsulates the feeling that comes with being so emotionally open with someone else. It hinted to me just how much can be said without words.

4. The Incident with Two Different Shoes- The aforementioned "fucking things up". It was just one of those days, you know? A day when everything you've been feeling has been confirmed and reinforced and the stars seem to be aligning just so. And every fiber in my body was humming, saying, "Just tell him". Unfortunately, the fibers of my being forgot to leave out, "But don't tell him over aim."
Me: Still awake?
Him: Yeah. Why?
Me: Oh, nothing.
Me: Ok, actually not nothing. I like you. A lot.

And on I rambled, terrified that I was smashing our little glass friendship to pieces.

Him: Shit. The night before a physics test? Seriously?

Yeah, it went down like that. The little screen was telling me that he was typing, but I couldn't handle sitting in front of the screen where I confessed those words. So I put on the first two shoes my feet could find-- which happened to be one mary jane and one sneaker-- and went to his room.

"Hey, I'm really sorry," I said breathlessly, "That was stupid... I shouldn't have done that.."

He jumped down from his lofted bed, and the rest, as they say, is history.

It's one of the braver things I've done and I stand by it, even though it did not quite have the outcome I intended. I think I probably should have taken the hint when he tried to talk me out of it that night.

"I like you, too," he said, "It's just that... I'm odd."

Odd doesn't even begin to cover it, chief. But I like you still.

So here's to a first year of college that's gone by way too fast. And here's to another year of memories with or without the Boy Who Will No Longer Be Next Door.

Storms and Saturday

My weekends at Chapel Hill are usually filled by sleeping late, eating a huge brunch at Ram's, pledging to do work and failing, topped off by going to a performance, concert, movie or some such at night.
Friday, my friends K, A, and I went to Jack Sprat's to listen to a local band, The Nothing Noise. They're in the vein of The Arcade Fire, all diverse and whatnot, a seemingly loose collective. They've got a regular-looking guitarist/vocalist with a sort of scar on his lip, a female vocalist/violinist, a black guy on bass, an Andy Warhol look-a-like on trumpet, a fratish guy on glockenspiel (seriously), and a wiry, childish drummer. In short, they're kind of awesome to the college scene. So we stood and listened, amidst the sullen indie kids and the drunk Frat Pack. The door was open, blowing in cool spring night air and cigarette smoke. The music was pretty enough to make me appreciate life a little more. Someone spilled beer on my foot. It was fun.
Tonight K, C, the Boy Next Door (BND from here on out), and I went to our oldest a Capella group's spring concert. The Clef Hangers, as they are called, are an all-male group and somewhat of a sensation on campus. I think this is due in large part to the fact that Chapel Hill girls are often deprived of seeing so many males in one place. Anyway, the concert was unanimously declared awesome by our group. And really, I can't disagree. I mean... sixteen talented guys in tuxedos. Sigh.
I felt all pretty tonight, though I was showing what was probably way too much cleavage. The BND was looking pretty nice as well, in a polo as opposed to a ratty t shirt. I was feeling all chatty and lively, chriping on about the beautiful full moon and lightning. But alas, he has been very stoic and distant as of late. He is the type of person who needs to be quiet and alone to recharge. I know this about him, but sometimes I mistake this for Something Is Wrong. He subsequently gets irritated at me for thinking Something Is Wrong, and I feel bad for pestering him. By now I should know better and just leave him alone, it's just that he's been really stressed lately and I thought I'd give him the opportunity to talk about it if he needed to.
He's been quite difficult lately. He has a very sarcastic nature, which I like most of the time. But the past few days, it's been a constant barrage of cut-downs. The thing that bothers me most is when he'll say things jokingly that have a distinct note of truth to them. These things shake my confidence and since I'm already in the position of never knowing where I stand with him, it just makes me oversensitive and angsty.
We talked earlier this week about relationship things. So many long and circuitous talks. He told me that he thought the pressures of dating me would send him into a mental collapse. I thought this seemed a tad melodramatic. I mean... I'm probably not classified as "low maintenance", but I'm no Sybil. I sent him a super-long email along the lines of, "I'm awesome, you're awesome. What're we waiting for chief?"
Here's an excerpt of his response:
"I am so sorry, I really am that I cannot step up and be the person that you both think I am and want me to be. You are probably right that the pressure isn't that much and the changes wouldn't be all that earth-shattering, but I'm sorry."
That is a kind of heartbreaking thing to hear.
And since then he's been all moody and mean, with the insults and so forth. But, rest assured. The way he's feeling now has nothing to do with me. He made that very clear. Don't take it personally, he says. It's not just Laurel that he can't devote himself to now. It's also things like frisbee practice and robotics club meetings. Boy has so many issues, from self-esteem, to mom and dad, to majoring in math. My heart certainly picked a difficult one. So take comfort in the fact that at least I still take precedence over ultimate frisbee. I scoffed at that at the time, but actually, knowing how much the BND loves ultimate, it's kind of a compliment. Is it time to call this settling?
I can't quit caring about him, at least not for now. Really, I'd love it if I never had to stop caring about him. But he is making it hard on me, I'm making it hard on myself.
Monday, I told him that I feel like I've done all I can as far as this relationship goes.
"I have done all I can do, too," he said, "It's just that your 'all' is more."

It doesn't bother me that it's more, I just want it to be enough.

Enough

I woke up and stepped into the suite bathroom this morning. I took a look at myself in the mirror, saw my pale, make-up smudged face, my wild hair, and I told myself, "Hey. I'm enough."



Wait... where have I heard this feel-good nonsense lately?



A hallmate of mine was reading "The Rules", a guidebook for meeting and marrying Mr. Right and I curiously skimmed it the other day. The budding feminist in me bristled and ranted about it to anyone who would listen for the next hour or so. It's archaic! Women should be allowed to talk and think and be themselves and their worth should not be determined by whether or not they're married! And on I went...



And yet... here it is from "The Rules" website:



"Take care of yourself, take a bubble bath and build up your soul with positive slogans like "I am a beautiful woman. I am enough."



So there I was this morning, building up my soul with a positive slogan. I stepped into the shower, taking care of myself, and thought about everything from this past year...



... the nights when we talked for hours that dissolved into minutes, the incident with the two different shoes, the inside jokes, the birthdays, cards, emails, ims, the speaking in code, the glances exchanged at dinner, and every little moment that's meant anything...



That is what I can give. It's enough for me and it will be enough for someone, even if it isn't the boy next door.