I've got wheels, and you wanna go for a ride.
It's really that simple. I have something you want. You have something I want.
Jason calls and says that he's missing something, what is it, what is it, he's thirty now and is missing something and doesn't want to miss it anymore. Can he come up? Can I find time? No, he's not going to be bringing anyone because there's no one but that's neither here nor there because he has a feeling that what he's missing is not something he's had before.
Not something he's had before. Jay. So fucking stupid. Years and years and what do we have? He has never called me by my full name. He's sent me a letter in which he addressed it Cori Cordelia cordelia CORDELIA but he's never called me by it. We all call him Jay but he signs them all Jason. Sometimes with a middle initial. Sometimes no closing, just a trail of words ending in a question mark. And I am always left with a question mark.
He once told me that he was thinking of getting married. I said I didn't know you were seeing someone. He said I'm not. I said Well, when you find someone, will I be invited? And he said that I would already be there. And then he left to hike the Appalachian Trail and I didn't hear his voice for months but I got a postcard every week, and every week there was a drawing of a different tree and it said I thought of you here.
He called and said I want to come see you, and the kids. I feel like I don't know them at all. I said You don't know them at all, and wouldn't recognize them if you saw them. He said That's something that has to change, and then he left for Brazil and was gone half a year. I got phone calls that I couldn't hear and letters that rambled and gifts that I set down and stared at. Who does he think I am? I wonder, often, who he thinks I am. I'm not a rock. He breaks my heart.
He breaks my heart, every time he calls me, every time I see him. He holds my face and talks and talks but has never kissed me. He holds my wrist when we walk but has never held my hand. He has slept with his head in my lap but never on my chest and I swear to God he's trying to kill me. He says Remember that I'm always thinking of you and that I care about you more than anyone. And I say nothing to him. I don't hold his wrists. I don't sleep in his lap. I don't tell him how important he is and do you know why? Because I do not.
But I have something that he wants. He doesn't tell me what it is, and I don't ask. I don't want to know because the awareness would make me different. Jay scares me. Jay makes me look at myself and my surroundings and my situation and actions. Jay keeps me from doing a lot of things, and I do things with him in mind. He doesn't know. Because he has something I want, and I know what it is. I want him to stay just the way he is, forever. I want him to always be just out of my reach. I want him to continue to live the life that I would have lived, had I done things differently. I want him to be that mirror in which I see what I lack and make adjustments. I want him to be what I hope for, what I long for, those days and weeks when I think there is nothing left and I tell myself that Jason is left, I could still have Jason. I could still have Jason and all I would have to do is say it, say Jason, yes, I would love for you to come to me, alone. And be who you are, and have always been, which is only you.
I had never seen a firefly. I had always wanted to, for years, years and years. Something so simple. An insect. Phosphorescence. Wings and a flutter and a flash of light. I'd never seen one and I was obsessed with them, how they'd look and sound and feel. I wrote essays, imagining what fireflies must be like.
But then I would think, one day I'm going to see one, and all this will be gone. And that's a little of what happened. I went to Detroit, to visit Tiger Stadium. Detroit is a terrible, ugly, hateful city that lights up at night with the fires of a thousand projects and the lights of a thousand buildings and the glow of a hundred thousand million fireflies. I was standing in this park watching the ships and the sun was going down and I became aware of them one at a time, until there were so many that I could not distinguish their light from that of the others. But that first one, that first firefly, and I was hopelessly entranced. Watched it, and watched it, and watched it and said There. That is a firefly. It is real and I have seen it and held it in my hands. An insect. Phosphorescence. Wings and a flutter and a flash of light and now I know what the enchantment is.
Now I know what the enchantment is. Now I know, and it is concrete in my mind because I've seen it and held it and while I have the memory of that first firefly, and the swell of light when they all flew together, I have lost the wonder of not knowing. I have never written another word about fireflies until this instant. I have not spent one moment in wonder, questioning, hoping and dreaming. Because I have had it, and I know it, and I no longer feel that pull.
Jason is that pull, for me. Jason is the moon. Jason is a compass and I never, ever want to have him because I don't want that to go away. Because eventually, he would stop holding my hand, but he may never stop holding my wrist. At some point, he would not long for the comfort of my chest, but he may always come home to my lap. I can't accompany him to Brazil or the mountains, but he may always be thinking of me and maybe, maybe, I'm that pull for him. Because clearly I have something he wants. And that makes me the luckiest girl, on any side.
Jason calls and says that he's missing something, what is it, what is it, he's thirty now and is missing something and doesn't want to miss it anymore. Can he come up? Can I find time? No, he's not going to be bringing anyone because there's no one but that's neither here nor there because he has a feeling that what he's missing is not something he's had before.
Not something he's had before. Jay. So fucking stupid. Years and years and what do we have? He has never called me by my full name. He's sent me a letter in which he addressed it Cori Cordelia cordelia CORDELIA but he's never called me by it. We all call him Jay but he signs them all Jason. Sometimes with a middle initial. Sometimes no closing, just a trail of words ending in a question mark. And I am always left with a question mark.
He once told me that he was thinking of getting married. I said I didn't know you were seeing someone. He said I'm not. I said Well, when you find someone, will I be invited? And he said that I would already be there. And then he left to hike the Appalachian Trail and I didn't hear his voice for months but I got a postcard every week, and every week there was a drawing of a different tree and it said I thought of you here.
He called and said I want to come see you, and the kids. I feel like I don't know them at all. I said You don't know them at all, and wouldn't recognize them if you saw them. He said That's something that has to change, and then he left for Brazil and was gone half a year. I got phone calls that I couldn't hear and letters that rambled and gifts that I set down and stared at. Who does he think I am? I wonder, often, who he thinks I am. I'm not a rock. He breaks my heart.
He breaks my heart, every time he calls me, every time I see him. He holds my face and talks and talks but has never kissed me. He holds my wrist when we walk but has never held my hand. He has slept with his head in my lap but never on my chest and I swear to God he's trying to kill me. He says Remember that I'm always thinking of you and that I care about you more than anyone. And I say nothing to him. I don't hold his wrists. I don't sleep in his lap. I don't tell him how important he is and do you know why? Because I do not.
But I have something that he wants. He doesn't tell me what it is, and I don't ask. I don't want to know because the awareness would make me different. Jay scares me. Jay makes me look at myself and my surroundings and my situation and actions. Jay keeps me from doing a lot of things, and I do things with him in mind. He doesn't know. Because he has something I want, and I know what it is. I want him to stay just the way he is, forever. I want him to always be just out of my reach. I want him to continue to live the life that I would have lived, had I done things differently. I want him to be that mirror in which I see what I lack and make adjustments. I want him to be what I hope for, what I long for, those days and weeks when I think there is nothing left and I tell myself that Jason is left, I could still have Jason. I could still have Jason and all I would have to do is say it, say Jason, yes, I would love for you to come to me, alone. And be who you are, and have always been, which is only you.
I had never seen a firefly. I had always wanted to, for years, years and years. Something so simple. An insect. Phosphorescence. Wings and a flutter and a flash of light. I'd never seen one and I was obsessed with them, how they'd look and sound and feel. I wrote essays, imagining what fireflies must be like.
But then I would think, one day I'm going to see one, and all this will be gone. And that's a little of what happened. I went to Detroit, to visit Tiger Stadium. Detroit is a terrible, ugly, hateful city that lights up at night with the fires of a thousand projects and the lights of a thousand buildings and the glow of a hundred thousand million fireflies. I was standing in this park watching the ships and the sun was going down and I became aware of them one at a time, until there were so many that I could not distinguish their light from that of the others. But that first one, that first firefly, and I was hopelessly entranced. Watched it, and watched it, and watched it and said There. That is a firefly. It is real and I have seen it and held it in my hands. An insect. Phosphorescence. Wings and a flutter and a flash of light and now I know what the enchantment is.
Now I know what the enchantment is. Now I know, and it is concrete in my mind because I've seen it and held it and while I have the memory of that first firefly, and the swell of light when they all flew together, I have lost the wonder of not knowing. I have never written another word about fireflies until this instant. I have not spent one moment in wonder, questioning, hoping and dreaming. Because I have had it, and I know it, and I no longer feel that pull.
Jason is that pull, for me. Jason is the moon. Jason is a compass and I never, ever want to have him because I don't want that to go away. Because eventually, he would stop holding my hand, but he may never stop holding my wrist. At some point, he would not long for the comfort of my chest, but he may always come home to my lap. I can't accompany him to Brazil or the mountains, but he may always be thinking of me and maybe, maybe, I'm that pull for him. Because clearly I have something he wants. And that makes me the luckiest girl, on any side.
posted by machine central at 8:40 PM
2 Comments:
I know a guy named Vincent. I feel him pull me and he's been pulling me for 6 years. I finally told him a year ago through an e-mail *smacks myself* that I had had a huge crush on him. I mean, I wrote bad songs, bad poetry. I confessed everything. And he didn't respond. Then, out of the blue, a year later, he invited me to join MySpace and I was like, "What the fuck? Why are you doing this to me?" He doesn't know that I still and always will have a thing for him. Not that Zane isn't lovely and great and all, but Vincent came before Zane, before, when I was a different girl with a different life. When I joined MySpace finally, after holding out for a couple months, I would see his icon and it killed me. I went through all his pictures, suscribed to his blog and bulletins...everything. Just so I could get a taste of this man who may or may not know me, who may or may not care. I often wonder what's wrong with me, who this man is that holds such sway over me. If he came to visit me in Oregon, I would be nervous and frightened. I haven't been under enchantment in quite a while. I forget what it does to your logic, your better sense. If he came to visit me, that would be the biggest test of all in my relationship with Zane.
And one more thing because I'm a masochistic moron that likes to push the envelope: he posted this bulletin, something he RARELY does, and it was one of those ones that you fill out. Like a big questionnaire to prove how much you paid attention during the time you spent with this person. In the 6 years I've known Vincent, I've barely hung out with him and mostly in the company of friends and not by myself. There was one YAMBO instance. I was 19 and I went with him to his house. I slept over in his bed. Nothing happened between us. I didn't understand why. I mean, FUCK, plenty of guys would have wanted to get into my pants if they had that opportunity. But not a move. Nothing. Tension, the hot white kind that burns holes in your vision. Nothing else.
So, like the moron I am, I answer all these personal "Who am I?" questions and give very, very long descriptions. I say very, very personal things, things I've observed, things that lesser men would be afraid to share. I tell him that his biggest failure is his inability to open up to people, that even when he's opening up, he isn't really and it's more like slowly divulging hardly-known facts but not giving the how or why. I am brutal. I am honest. I am utterly and completely sure that this will either A) cause him to never speak to me again because of the insanely honest-down-to-the-bone answers or B) bring us closer together as friends. I don't know why I do this, take terrible risks. I don't know what he is expecting. If he knew me at all, then he'd know that I'm not just a pretty girl, that I have a fabulous brain and that I am confident and vulnerable at the same time. Like a child. I sent him back these answers to a questionnaire that was originally only meant for trite fun. I stuck in these deep answers. He's supposed to mail one to me, too. I don't know if he will. I don't know if I will move him enough to show the same brutal honesty and observation that I have given him. I'll let you know how it goes.
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