Chewing On Glass Presents… I Remember You…

I Remember You

“Meghan is that you?” She turns as though my voice is familiar and yet somehow distant.  We lock eyes, “No one’s pronounced my names right in years.” She stands in front of me after all these years later. “I’m sure they haven’t. I’m sure you made sure they got it right in the end though,” I say to her. She gives off a fake friendly laugh. A chuckle really if you should be so lame. She follows it up with a smile, “You’d be right, but then you always were won’t you?” I don’t smile because it wouldn’t be who I am in the face of the past. “I missed you too,” I lie because that is who I am. It’s been so many years by choice and vast amounts of distance. Why she is even here in front of me is puzzling on its own, but here she stands none the less. Though in a way this all is just petty. Her need for childish attention drove us apart. Made us two very different people and in the end made us nothing more than friends of the past. How we related in the first place is beyond me. Even now after all these years I still don’t really miss her. I still don’t really care, but being human of course I do in some sense.

“How have you been? How was California?” I ask her. She thinks I care. I can tell by her surprised look that she thinks that I have been keep tabs on her. “California was good. A long time ago, but it was good. Super expensive in the end so I had to get out of there,” she keeps her answers vague and short. It seems so out of place for her to be here. I can’t tell if she’s sure she wants to see me or why she would want to. I’m past history. A foot note in her life as she is in mine. The last time we spoke we didn’t because I walked out. Walked out of her life as if she didn’t matter and in a way she didn’t. I didn’t feel guilty then because I thought I never see her again. Yet as she stands before me I can’t say the same thing. Guilty feelings about how things ended so many years ago in Washington. “It is crazy to see you here of all places,” she finally breaks the silence growing between us. “Never thought you would move to Texas,” she adds. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I’d live here either. Haven’t been here too long though. Did a spell in New York for a while and then ended up here,” I answer. “New York is where your mother is from right?” She remembers and I node my head. “Yeah, my wife’s family is from here,” I tell her like I tell everyone. A constant denial that I would move here by any other choice. “So you live here?” She asks me like a detective trying to get the facts straight. “Yep,” I say confused to this line of questioning.

“A bit of a cliché don’t you think? Ever think of someplace to go without training wheels?” Lighter, can of gasoline, and check mate. Her true colors begin to shine in the mid afternoon sun. No one likes to think they can’t do it on their own. No one likes to feel as though they need mommy and daddy to support them. No one likes this idea especially not her. “My wife’s idea,” I say as though I had no say in the matter. A half-truth repeated so many times in my head, but really what was I to do? “I’m sure it was. She still leading you around like you are an alpha male, but really you are nothing more than a puppy on a very short leash?” She always knew the best ways to make it hurt. Her words could be like poison or a bed of nails. A talent really that few of us can pull off as well as her. A talent only possessed by demons and devils, but a talent none the less. “I am my own man,” I say even if it comes out hollow. I stand by the words in my head. “She doesn’t influence me to do anything I don’t already want to do.” She smiles as my statement, “Spoken like a true married man. A little bit Stockholm syndrome rehearsed, but I’m sure they are all your own words in the end.” She thinks she has me against some sort of theoretical ropes. This is always how she, how we talked to each other. A match of wits always trying to out maneuver each other. “You never did approve of relationships much,” I say bouncing off the ropes. “You got me there,” she puts her guard up. Ready for anything I take my swing. “Is that because you are a lesbian or because of something else?”

“This many years and now you want to get personal?” She asks me deflecting my question. She is right though it has been many years. Many years of a lot of things being left unsaid, unanswered, or unspoken that drove a wedge between us so long ago. “I was only asking considering,” I begin to say. “Considering what?” She questions in an almost hostile tone. Maybe my verbal punch did more damage than I thought? “Considering you are always on the move. Never staying anywhere long enough to be a part of anything,” I say to her. Giving away the fact that I have been keeping tabs on her. From a distance and never reaching out, but paying attention none the less. She looks solemn to my response, “Long enough to know anybody. What about you? Always moving yourself.” She turns around on me. “Time and money are two very different things. Yet they go together as if they are meant to be,” I respond. “Deep, you been working on that for a while now?” She asks me. For the first time I smile, “No, I’m a writer now. It comes naturally.” She lets off another hollowed laugh, “Any self-obsessed asshole can be a writer so, I’m not surprised.” A talent or a curse I can’t decide anymore. A talent or a curse. “Well it’s my dream so thanks,” I respond slightly wounded. “Are you really hurt or are you just playing the part?” She asks with venom dripping from her teeth.

“The part I guess,” we lock eyes and neither of us have much left to say. There should be a million things to keep us talking for hours, but in the end none of them really matter. Too many empty silences in this broken down conversation. Too many I could give a damn ideas and thoughts. If I cared enough. If she cared enough. We could let them all go and be civil. I don’t care to bring up the past, but here it stands before me. Right in front of me as though a distant memory of the past and the present have collided. The silence between us is deafening and yet neither of us can walk away. Drawn together by some cosmic need to stand in this very place. Locking eyes and staring into each other’s soul looking for anything that could resemble what we are looking for in this situation. I find nothing, but there is something that tells me she hasn’t reached the same conclusion. “I have AIDS,” she says with actual sincerity. “That’s why I have been moving so much. Not getting to know anyone. I want to protect myself from letting anyone new in. While taking in everything that I can before it is all said and done with. Making the rounds so to speak. Making my way around this world to figure out my place all along,” she lays out all of her cards before me.

“But you are a lesbian, statistically this isn’t even possible. Well it is but more unlikely,” I try to rationalize out loud. “Just because I’m gay,” she breaks down. Her tears trickle out one by one before becoming streams on her face. “No one wants to be gay. We lie and say we do with our parades and our words, but in reality we just want to be normal,” she cries. “Being gay is normal,” I say as I extend my hand to her shoulder. She pushes my hand away, “No, no it is not. Being gay is not normal. We make it seem that way because we want it to be normal. I only wanted to be normal. Be seen as normal by everyone. So I gave it a shot. Found a man at a bar and played the part of the normal woman. Guess what I didn’t think to ask? Guess what didn’t cross my mind as I laid there trying to be who I was supposed to be?” I don’t answer her questions. I only listen. “I lost, I lost it all, and now. Now I’m just trying to do it all before I’m all gone,” she chokes out. Too much emotion. I’m not good with all of this. Being silent is what I am good at. Distant and far is the only approach I know. “Sorry,” I say as though the word could ever wash away all of her troubles. That the word could solve anything at all.

“I don’t need your sympathy,” she spits back into my face. “I was only trying.” But she cuts me off. “Only trying to what? Care? I know that you don’t care or give a damn about anyone or anything. You like to be distant. You like to be away from people. It lets you think that you are better than everyone else,” her voice echoes in a loop. “This is different,” I want to say but she’s not listening. “I should have never told you and you wouldn’t have never known. It was great to see you again,” she says before storming away from me. There I stood not knowing what to do. There I stood in my past as the present spun me up in a giant web. I never saw her again. Only in my dreams of our last conversation. So many things I should have done differently, but in the end all I will have are these memories, this horrid dream of her.

I walk down from the podium and make my way down the aisle until I find my seat. The long hard benches that make up the church. Solemn and crying as my words still dance in front of me. The mask is off the monster and I don’t like what I see. What I’ve always seen. The reasons I am the way I am. “Would anyone else like to say a few words about the departed?” echoing through the hollowness of my soul.

This is actually a story from my forth coming novel… I would have put up an image of the book cover… but I am still trying to figure that out… I have a title… but I am not really ready to reveal that at the moment either… Unless I already did… haha… I have been busy working on that… and other things…

So… why am I posting this story if I am not ready to share anything surrounding it?… I actually found this story in my random files to save… it was originally going to be just for the website… but it fit in nicely with my ideas for my next novel… though I have no idea where yet… I write very much backwards and forwards… I also over write… I’m sure a lot of us do… whether it makes it in the book or not is a question for the future…

So this story… what is real… and what is fiction… I’d say 50/50… but it doesn’t matter because in the end… after it is all said and done… it could be 100% false or 100% true… and still work… sounds easy enough… nothing easy ever really is though… I actually based this on a few people I know… a few things I went through… a few conversations I actually had…

I like this story because as we transition into a better society… there will still be a lot of questions about what is right… what is normal… that was the part of the story that stood out to me… that I liked… Meghan had doubts that she was normal… and she was… perfectly normal for who she was… but sometimes society and those close to us have a way of making us feel like we aren’t… even the strongest person can succumb to the pressure being exerted all them… I’m not going to sit here and preach… not my place in this world… I’m not even going to say you have to “love” everyone just because… but you don’t have to hate them either… something to think about if you haven’t already…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

2 thoughts on “Chewing On Glass Presents… I Remember You…”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s