schweblog

Somewhere between this weekend and today, I had my birthday. It was spent stumbling through a cramped series of events. After a shitty hair appointment with rather displeasing results, I went to school and bumbled through the usual drudgery. Disappointed and upset with the state of the entire day and lonely, I relegated myself to the couch and settled down with a beer. Probably the worst birthday ever. Probably. Until…

I get a phone call. And she wants me to come over. And it is raining–I love it when it rains. I love to drive in the rain…for those few moments in the vehicle, I am mysterious and quiet, a man with purpose and a glint in his eyes and pure driving ability. You turn up Bach and the high notes pierce your ears while the rain beats in time on your windsheild.

You get there and you walk in and you are soaking by the time you’re both in the door. It’s cold for a moment until you shake the moisture out of your hair. Happy birthday. Cheers. We sit quiet for a moment and listen to the patter of rain and the distant thunder. There is something right about this moment. Take this moment and use it…the fates are putting it in your lap. Use it. I don’t use it. Instead, I fumble around awkwardly until I gain my bearings. Damn this alcohol…I thought I talked better when I was drinking just a little bit.

The conversation carries on. It’s good–don’t get me wrong–it’s pretty good. But there is something missing. I think it’s the fact that she is not in my arms, that we are not touching: not necessarily having sex, but just maintaining contact. Sparks between our skin while we stick together, unmoving and sweaty–that’s what we need. She is over there. And I am over here. Distance. Lots of it. And, no matter how much I set my mind to it, I can’t direct the conversation to the point where I can stand up and, on my way across the room, regale her with a monologue…

A monologue about us. About this and that and where we belong in the world at this very moment. About the unimportance of the past and the futility of worrying about the future. That now–right now–there will be perfection in the world for both of us in this cramped apartment if we could break down our pride and bashfulness and just go for it.

By the time I am across the room, our eyes will have been locked and our minds made up. We cannot fight this. There is nothing to fight. We slip into a perfect embrace and we are together. The stars are aligned. The rain is outside. There is me and you and nothing more necessary.

Instead, I get up to go. The timing isn’t right and the mood not set. I understand this. Best not rush it. I am a patient man. I leave, knowing full well that there will be a moment when this facade can no longer continue…it is fast approaching. Secretly, in the car on the way home–the rain much harder this time, much more passionate–I wish to myself that she would call me. I would answer and she would pause, “Jesse. It is raining and thundering. I think you need to come over.”

Filed under: love by Jesse