love, esther ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- over it all memories make who you are, and what you feel, and how you react to things later when they happen. to me, memories are more than your personality, because it depicts and predicts your future. your nuances, behavior patterns, reactions. there is this grey's episode, where meredith wakes up with a feeling, and she ends up with her hand on a live bomb, the stench of death surely in the air. by dramatic tv standards, it's a great episode--she lives, the bomb squad guy dies, and she has this great epic, life-changing moment to reflect on, and for the audience, for them to relate and reflect upon, too. she says, she has her hand on this bomb, and she knows she's going to die, but she doesn't and can't remember the last time they were happy together, the last time they kissed. at the end of the episode, derek and meredith relive the moment. i relived mine too, wondering if i was truly really over it all or not, and what it meant. i remember watching this episode once before, probably about 3 or 4 days after he and i broke up officially, 3 or 4 days after we stopped talking. august something. late august. our last kiss was the last day of july, and i was leaving lancaster to drive home after a long and exhaustive wildwood weekend. i was sitting in the old car, leaned out my window on a particularly sunny, but not really hot day, and he leaned in and just kissed me, and ironically, like derek said, it wasn't a special kiss, but more like one where that's how it is for the rest of your life. except, i remember driving down frederick, and turning onto college, thinking, wow, that's probably the last one. it wasn't good, it wasn't going good, and i knew it. i knew it when he called and said he split his knee open and needed stitches, and was passive aggressive about it and didn't call me until 2 days after to tell me, because chris was there, and that was all that mattered to him. that is what i call subject placement. he placed me below. texted me in the hospital to yell at me and tell me he was having a bad day, and 2 days later, told me it was because he needed stitches. i knew it when we got to wildwood and he was standoffish and wanted me to baby him. i knew it when i got sick of that real fast, and didn't want to do that, and wanted to hang out with other people. i knew it when i didn't want to pay for his lobster and found it a nuisance, and ran through a lot of the most recent purchases, as if money meant something. and i definitely knew it at the end. when i was the passive aggressive one, when my car stopped on the highway, and i felt like i really was going to die, tragic car accident on major highway while speeding when the battery, engine, and car alternator all died. i texted everyone to high hell when the car died, not me, and i left him out. and that's when i stopped caring. i started to think of the other memories of him that i actually carry with me--not the ones that i get reminded of when something rolls around, but the ones that really tug at my heart strings and that i am reminded of fairly often. i remember the color and texture of his puke 4 days into the relationship when he drank 2 magnums of yellow tail wine and got sick at 622. i remember being upset about it, because i had never met these people, his friends ever before that, and i knew in the pit of my stomach that they were judging me. i specifically remember monica's face, this look of disdain, and i remember never ever getting along with her ever, after that. i remember throwing a picture of us on the ground and wishing i was the one 6 feet under, and leaving my cell phone behind, to walk to my quiet spot and just reflect on how ridiculous the whole situation and relationship was. he yelled at me and begrudged me for days because of the broken glass and what it all meant. i remember waiting, sitting on the cold, leather couch while he stood me up for the 3rd time in that week, one of my friends was there to comfort me that time. he said i shouldn't do that to myself, and i remember feeling especially amorous to him. and now, he and i don't even talk although he still talks to the one that stood me up. i remember him kicking me out of his house, his bachelor pad, because he said i don't belong. he paused the game that i bought him for his gaming system that i lent him the money for, put down the controller that was a gift from me, and walked to the door in a sweater that i put on my credit card, and pointed out to the street. then i realized that all the memories that stick are all bad, and that the heart strings that continue to tug are ones of guilt for knowing this wasn't going anywhere and continuing it. that i'm filled with guilt, even 8 months later, because in a way, i might have ruined his life, and killed a part of him. because who i am now is so much different, much more stable and happy, and because i know that he killed a part of me too, because i let him. maybe what i need to get over is the guilt, not the person i used to be and how she felt. 12:44 am - Friday, Apr. 17, 2009 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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