Make with the details already.

When Wood first got here on Thursday, he met me at my store and I introduced him to my co-workers. Jokingly, he asked me if they approved. I replied, "Wood, I'm not friends with Sam anymore. They don't have to approve."


The truth is, yes. I want all of your approval. I pretty much always want all of my friends to love each other, but I am glad that you in particular, and I quote: "Love, LOVE LOVE the boy".
He's pretty great, right? I know. I really do, and it's right about now that I wish I didn't.
You know, I usually do that whole Ally-Sheedy-trainwreck-drunkenly-draped-on-jock-chic thing really well, but this time it just doesn't feel right at all. Being around him makes me feel deeply imperfect--and before you make with all the "You're great Miranda!" and "You're awesome!", you should know in advance that that's not really the issue.

I know I'm great, and I know that I'm fun and awesome and that I aspire to be even better, but I also know what I'm not capable of, and all of the things that other people seem to get that I don't. I just don't get it, and when his chest is rising and falling under my palm and I am awake drawing invisible lines in the stubble on his chin like connect the dots and I'm wondering if this is even real or just something I've invented in my head as a distraction from all of those things that I don't get. I don't even get why I would even entertain the thought of emotion as invention save that I would like it to be and why the fuck do I want it not to be real?

I hate myself right now. I hate me because we were in the elevator when he was leaving and I turned and I hugged him, and he asked me point blank if I was sad. Just like that, like: "Are you sad?" And I hate myself because I tried for several seconds to wrap my mouth around an artful white lie and all that came out was just yes. Point blank. Just like that, like: "Yes." Not even a sing-song "yeah" but the kind with a firm 's' at the end and a period that follows when one speaks in single word sentances. I'm so stupid for telling him the truth, for always having at least one less secret than he, for being a constant one step behind, the one that doesn't know what to say and yet somehow just barely manages to constantly say the wrong thing.

I guess it's just that I know that at the end of the day, I am the one that's not approved of, and Lisa, I hate myself the most for being jealous of the approval he commands.

You don't have to sit on that one long to know how fucked up that is.

My sheets still smell like him and I don't have the will to change them, as if I would if I didn't even have the will to tell him not to come in the first place like I should have.

Please. Please. Say something to make this better.

1 comment:

lisa said...

Chatch, the very fact you COULDN'T think of a lie and simply said "Yes," not "yeah," not "um hm," not "maybe" is exactly why this is great. You could be yourself, honest, no pretense. And yeah, maybe it feels a little out of your element. That's why you want the approval, because you care about him that much. I've seen you talk about other guys. You could give a rat's ass what they think. Well, that's not true. You care if you've hurt or upset them. But they don't upset you. This is why I LOVE the boy: I've seen a Miranda that's sweet, and affectionate, and girly when she is with him and I LOVE that Miranda. Downside to caring that much? Caring that much. That blows, I know. But it's also what makes it great. It means you get vulnerable. I think he approves more than you think, my dear. Trust me, we spoke at Amber. Don't change the sheets, not yet anyway. Roll yourself up in them, breath him in. And when you feel really vulnerable, call me. We'll go to Baker Beach and burn the motherfuckers. Unless they have REALLY high threadcount 'cause I just won't allow good sheets to go to waste. I love you!