July 13, 2008

pratfalls can be fun, encores can be fatal

Simone says that the way things happen in my life is just like a movie. But instead of a definitive ending or any sort of conclusion, things sort of taper off into a state of bland normalcy in which we can only mutter over tea and coffee, "well wasn't that something."

I wouldn't disagree with her. But I think the genre is too... French. Nothing really turns out great at the end of French films. But everyone looks fabulous. Even when they are crying-- especially when they are crying. Especially in the morning. Which is what counts, really.

Both these things are false in my case.

I felt it again, that pit in my stomach that tells me that what is happening at the moment will keep me up at night. It will make me doubt everything I've come to terms with, or thought I had. That the "deep inner strength" I know I have probably would've been better spent elsewhere, on myself, on someone else, on something that doesn't just question its own existence. It will make me wonder if it is inherently true- do you always want a thing just because it's unavailable? Or did it just make me realize what I had been trying to move past all this time wasn't what I expected. It made me realize that what he told me on the night we sat on his mattress, drinking lukewarm green tea, I don't know how much he meant it or how true it remains, but I know that I believed him then and I'm starting to think I always have. Even though I distract myself from it, even though I choose not to subscribe, it remains looming behind my eyelids and every time I wake up alone. I am afraid that it will betray my instinct.
Last night. Just watching the way she was looking at him was enough.

B and I whispered throughout the din. She said she really likes me. That she thinks I'm a really incredible person and she loves everything I do. That maybe we could not conceptualize the good that is to come right now, but we've got it coming. I knew I always liked that girl. And truthfully, she's a lot stronger than me. With her petite figure framed in adorable frocks and porcelain doll features, maybe you wouldn't spot it on sight but she's a force.
I don't know if it's true, how approval from other females is always more satisfying and legit, but it doesn't feel bad at all.

The comedy comes in swift beats of irony and misconception. I noticed a tall drink of Eastern European water making eyes at me throughout the entire time we were there. Simone kept saying how familiar he looks but she couldn't place him. After enough silly eyeing matches back and forth, he felt it safe to approach and said the one thing that confirmed our wildest suspicions.

I had been having an eye-tennis match with my cousin's ex-boyfriend, from 4 years ago. Ugh. He said he was so embarrassed, he thought I was her, that he couldn't believe how much she'd changed. Like, because he recognized Simone the other Asian girl with her MUST be her sister. Right. He didn't even remember who I was. Then again, neither did I.

I woke up in her apartment absurdly early with the thought that I should keep track of my dreams because some of them turn out to be slightly prophetic, on top of confusing and strange.
I went back to sleep. And when I woke up again things were sunny and bright in her bottom-of-a-well window. We had brunch in a lovely cafe in her Brooklyn neighborhood and things felt pretty good. We both agreed that we were definitely going to be alright.

But even though I may have consciously put myself in the awkward position, I'm still baffled. He called me by my pet name. I don't know if this is a grain of salt situation.

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