andy you're a star

in nobody's eyes
in nobody's eyes but mine


There is a version of the movie in which she does end up with him. And why not, he deserves her. He loves her. He...loves her. Does he love her more than the other one loves her? Who knows. Because the other one seems like a pretty good guy, you know. I never know who to root for. I just want everyone to be happy. It is helpful, though, to have a clear hero, a white hat, telling you what to think. Cause really, the other one really does seem all right. But he could go anywhere, do anything, and there are flocks of her that he would be just as happy with. Not so for the hero, the should be hero, for him there is only her. And for that, I want him to win. I really, really do.

There is the movie in which the hero has lost the girl he loves (she, of course, has no idea) to a movie star heart throb hunkahunka. And as he is pouring his sorrow to the bartender that loves him (he, of course, has no idea) she tells him to go after her. He says I cannot compete, he is (name of movie star). And she says Don't you know that everyone is (name of movie star)? She is (name of movie star) for you, and you are (name of movie star) for me. In this case, that clarity, that honesty, I want her to win. Even though she is clearly not the hero, even though very few relationships could survive that kind of devotion, that kind of single mindedness, I still want her to win.

There is the not movie in which the girl spends years and years lost, aimless, a kite with no string and a ship with no anchor. Into all of this mess comes the hero, the boy, the guy you really really pull for but know that the girl will never see it, will never come around because she can't see past herself and what is happening around her, all day every day and will never understand that what he's saying and doing is her, herher. It is all her. And you want to smash her face in because why will she not listen? Is she really that stupid? He loves her! He adores her! He brings her the sun and cools the lava and he saves her from giant invading spiders from the center of the Earth and when she is pregnant with someone else's baby he loves that baby, he loves that belly and he protects it like his own and he is there, every second, before and during and after, up until the second that she goes away with someone else. Even then he is there, protecting himself now, but still there.

This is the trouble. Why can we never be in the same place at the same time?

So now I have spent the last two years smitten with and swearing off a guitar playing bartender, knowing perfectly well what would happen if that was the movie. Smitten, with the guy that really is a good guy, that really is just doing his thing and living his life but who could be doing and living anywhere anything anyone at anytime, because it comes that easy for him. And I am thinking about the hero. And wishing, every second, that I could end up with the hero. The skinny, giggly, holy shit I love that man and I would give my right arm for him, I would give both my arms, I have never in my whole life felt anything like I feel for him. Even during the most extreme fits of hero worship with the musician, he was never the hero. He cannot be, because he is his own hero. And he does not motivate me to find the hero within myself, not the way that the real one does. He is (name of movie star) for me, and maybe that is not healthy, that devotion, that drive, but I think that we have earned that by now, haven't we? Have we not earned that? Isn't it okay, now, to dispense with the rest of it, the what and the how and the this makes no sense, and just accept that these are our people and these are the things we want, and even if we never get them it is all right to wish for them and let them motivate and let the thought of it comfort you, even if they do not?

By now I have exhausted every possible way to fuck things up. If I set out to fuck up every relationship I had, I could not have been more effective. I'm like a super ninja spy warrior, destroying things by remote, I do not need to be anywhere in the vicinity or even, sometimes, even be involved in order to fuck things up. But if there is one thing that I can do, it is take care of the things that matter. And what matters to me, currently, is that no one without my blood in their veins has ever mattered more to me than that man, either as a friend or counsel or thing that keeps me up at night, and he is coming. He is going to come here, and I am going to see him for the first time in seven years. He is my oldest friend. He is my childrens' godfather. If he knew what a mess I had made of things he would be alarmed, but he would still come and he would fix it. This is why I do not tell him what a mess I make of things, which makes me wonder. I wonder why I don't tell. Is it because I do not want him to take on that role, that of provider and savior and, well, hero? Is it because I want to impress him? Is it because I want him to respect me as the capable, productive, all seeing all dancing crap of the universe that I am not? Or is it because I think that maybe, as long as he still thinks that I am so great, then maybe one day I will think that I am so great too?

Except that all of the things that I think I am hiding, he already knows. It is entirely possible that I am already great.