An Open Letter To the Number Three, Which Is a Magic Number

First, Let's recap.

Because Sometimes Apologies Are Needed (Part 1)

The sudden shock of eyes locked
the chill of raised flesh when realizing
much more will come between us
than of us.
Sense stretched taut,
snapping shut,
time will reveal the fault in our skin to skin,
day to days,
a tactile pain I see in your gait,
crooked smile and
reserved wave.
Your absence proves
repose so futile
as if thought could undo
what we thought so fleeting.


Because Sometimes Apologies are Needed (Part 2)

Forgive me Quinn. I am sorry.

and finally...
6.2.06 (1:38 AM)
Because Sometimes Apologies Are Needed (Part 3)

#1: I put too much faith in you. I hold you at arms length because I have no idea how else to treat you, because it takes so much time to turn that next leaf on that next layer and I never seem to have the patience. That you love this is inconsequential--I am being disingenuous to you and am oft known to treat our friendship like some kind of punch card--that being said I still think Davey was wrong; I think this slow process of whatever is happening inside my head and with my relationships with men is far more tearing (not teer-ing, tare-ing) than any kind of irrational heartbreak. Forgive me for ignoring you when you say that I am talented.

#2: I knew I could have you, so I did. It's really not much more complicated than that. Forgive me for ignoring you when you say that you miss me.

#3: I feel like I've said this so many times before, but trust that I meant it when I said "I can only say how you feel small inside my arms when I know that you are lonely and I know that I have missed you." Don't get me wrong--I still can't tell why exactly you keep me around you, whether all of what you say is some mindless double-talk to occasionally get my panties on your bedroom floor rather than where they belong when I'm in your bedroom--in my pants--but sometimes I swear that there is something that has kept you circulating in my...um...circle (It's late as I write this. Forgive my vocabulary) for so long. On Independence Day, it will have been a year since I woke up, rolled over, and found it to be my day off and you in my bed. Haven't we come to something better than all of that? Forgive me for ignoring you when you say that we have, and yet have not.

#4: We are not friends. That being said, we probably should have stayed that way in the first place. Forgive me for...you know what? I've already done this and I'm not doing it anymore. It's like yelling at someone in English who speaks Romanian.

#5: Hmm. Okay, start.

What I remember of the past year is this blur of terribly karmic events and all of my San Francisco straw-grasping in the wake of my best friends' waning health. Now she's better, and I've seen her with my own eyes and ran my finger over her scars and noted how much they look like mine from my infantile hernia surgery (I am suddenly realizing we need to add that to the twins list). She's fine, and where am I? Apparently up to my old tricks, or something that kind of means that but far less tricky. When I say something like "we're so much better than all of that now," I believe that. I mean it--I don't say things like that aimlessly and whenever I have had the [opportunity] to say that, there is something there that I value.
Too often since my last birthday I have found myself saying this exact same stuff to far too many people who had been my dear friends--and then? Well, then there is event and loneliness and some kind of deep-seated fear that that's all they ever wanted from me--that after all of this time and beers and phone calls and late night laughs and games of pool and renting movies and all of these things that make a platonic friendship work--that all of it was just a patient attempt to get me naked again. Is it really? Probably. But I would like to believe that this time I'm wrong. Badly. Almost to the point where I prefer you just lie to me. That's a terrible thing to say, I know.
You are my oldest (but not eldest) friend in San Francisco minus the the other Seattle ex-pats, and you are one of my dearest friends on the globe--and all of your apologies aren't keeping the tears from spilling over my lashes at work when I remember telling you that you're ruining everything and you responding that we had nothing to ruin, so no harm could be done. Nothing. None. All of that time and nothing. You wonder why I'm upset.
Sometimes one must make a split second decision when faced with a scenario that goes against everything you had previously believed--and what were my choices? Run? Right, that's not awkward at all. Or...maybe gain some small amount of solace in a "brief hormonal freedom".
Bingo. Too bad it didn't work.
Now? Are we "better than all of that"? Well, let me ask you this--do you have a pair of my panties? Yeah, so probably not. Watch--just watch. I will be forced by propriety to clip my tongue around you, to censor what I do and say as to assure we're not going down the same path again, and eventually I will be forced to forget the last few months of drinking Makers Mark and giggling and traipsing over to your apartment in my PJ's just to hang out with you for a while before I went to sleep. Why? Because as much as promises can be made, as much as deals are done and as many times as I can ask you if "we're okay now", it will come down to the proverbial "you have a pair of my panties."
And maybe if I had said all of these apologies properly long ago, the last dregs of karma's reach would not be lashing at my heels, and maybe I could have already learned this lesson well enough to make it a hard fast rule. Unfortunately I have not, but I'm trying to follow rule #12. Make amends.

Forgive me for ignoring you when you call me beautiful.

I love you.

(2:36 AM)

1 comment:

Sam said...

M, I hope this mess will end soon for you. It's so strange for me to be so far from you, and your life, and to know of all of these people that are in your life and to never have met any of them. None.

Oh, and also, for the record, all of our friendship was just a patent (not patient, paten-ted) attempt at me getting you naked. All of it.

Too bad I'm too cheap to just shell out $400.

Just kidding, of course. Maybe we should've gotten some ink while you were up here, just for the sting and having your hand in my hand, and the smiles afterward.

I love you.