Wandering Chaotic Irrelevancies

Today, my dad asks where I went last night, a sly grin on his face. “I drove up the mountain.” “Really?” Shocked, he can’t believe that’s really all I did.

What does it say about my life that my parents expectations are far more scandalous and exciting than what I actually do when I’m alone?

I drove up the mountain, because I like how the drive up feels longer than the drive down. I like how there are no other cars on the road but mine. I like the feeling of the air cooling ten degrees from the bottom to the top. I like the isolation and the feeling of escaping this town.

I parked at the lookout at the very top. I can see the city lights for towns hours away. I laid on the hood of my car and stared up at the night sky. The moon was not out and the stars glittered. It was breathtaking. I pondered my life feeling the breeze on my cheeks. I didn’t feel closed in. I felt at home there, surrounded by trees and stars and forest sounds. I saw deer run across the road and inhaled their freedom.

I thought of all the times I’d been up there, alone and with others. The secret moments that still pulse in that space. I thought of the tears shed there. I thought of the revelations reached there. I thought of the screams there, the unheard yelling as I emptied my heart. Just an hour spent there is enough to center me, release me, and calm my itching nerves. 

Dear boys of OkCupid,

Yes, I’m grouping you all together, because fuck you.

I’ve wondered if (hoped, really) it is “the grass is always greener” syndrome that caused you to vanish. We’d talk for hours through texts, discovering the vast oceans of common interests we shared. You were in awe of a girl who loved horror movies and vulgar podcasts, but still looked like me (not realizing the fucking stupidity of that sexist comment).

We’d make plans, either at your fervent behest or my quaking avidity. We’d have a good time. We’d laugh and talk and maybe make plans, often parting with a hug goodbye. Then you would just disappear, like a comforting fog giving way to a cold, starless night.

Every time. Every fucking time.

Why ask for my number? Why make plans for a second date? Why discuss all the possibilities of “us” if we don’t exist beyond the next thirty minutes?

I wonder if (hope, honestly) that you said to yourself as I walked away, “Wow, she’d be perfect, if only…”                she didn’t smoke like a train                         her waist was a bit slimmer          she wasn’t so quiet and shy                 she didn’t laugh like a cackling witch

                                    she wasn’t a mother

To be fair, I sat there ticking off traits I didn’t like about you too, but I didn’t evanesce. I gave you the benefit of the doubt that if I could overlook those small things I didn’t love that maybe something real could blossom. You didn’t and you never gave a reason for your disappearance. Do you know the toll that it takes on a person to be rejected that often? It was like I was being chiseled away, piece by piece until I was nothing but a stone mirage of my former self. 

Just a reason… just a text… something to guide me in my future instead of leaving me wondering what is wrong with me, what I did wrong, why I’m so unworthy of love. Without that blueprint of my failings, I’ve only one thing left to think: You liked me until you met me which means you liked me, but not the body I inhabit. I wasn’t worth overlooking my flaws. And with that, I go from inspiring midday “I’m thinking about you” texts and rushed dinner plans because you can’t wait to meet me, to nothing. A scrapbook memento in the collection of forget-me-nots you tuck between aged pages. 

Now, in the aftermath of your collective wake, I cannot even think of online dating. To go through that constant rejection again would destroy whatever confidence I’ve managed to collect since then. Now, I run so as not to be slashed by your razors of judgement. I disappear, to avoid the scars of your spurning. 

You solidified the belief that I would die alone and never find love. You ruined my sense of self and made me feel worthless. You scrubbed away at the pigments of my being, leaving me invisible, believing that my life would be a series of watching people walk away.

I am more than a body to send dirty pictures. I am more than a stroke to your ego. I am worth more than a halfhearted attempt at a connection. I can quake the foundation of your entire being, if only you gave me the chance.

I’m grateful, now, that you all disappeared. If I had loved you for a moment, I’d have to scrape away the layers of film our inevitable heartbreak would have left behind.

Sitting on the porch in the moonlight with a full pack of cigarettes and a heart overflowing with poetry. Nothing between me and the crisp night air but a sundress to skimpy to wear out of the house

Gift wrapped books

Soft blankets on bare skin

Orgasms

Getting caught in the rain and walking slowly as others rush around me to get inside

Waking up refreshed before the alarm goes off

Waking up to snow

Hitting the note perfectly, soaring above the music

Fog

Autumn, with the burning trees, scents of cinnamon, and Halloween decorations

Finding an unknown, but amazing horror movie

Good veins

Kara’s laugh, Kara’s smile, Kara’s terrible jokes… Kara.

That feeling of transcendence when I’m absorbed in a good book and the disorientation when I have to return to reality

The smell of old books

The smell of new books

Browsing aimlessly in a book store for hours

That feeling when you remember how much you love your friends

South Park inside jokes with my dad

First kisses

The feeling of Christmas

The perfect sushi roll

Hockey fights

Jim and Pam’s wedding

Crawling into bed after a particularly difficult shift

My head on his chest and his arm around me

Long drives

An unexpected day off

Falling hopelessly in love

Laughing until it hurts

Gwen snoring

Laughing with my family

Knowing that I’m not fighting alone

Falling asleep to the rain

Healthy patients leaving the COVID unit

Sharing stories with my cousins

New journals

Completely filled journals

Scrapbooks

I am not a delicate flower wilting softly in the summer sun cared for tended to

I’ve stood through hurricanes I’ve felt drunken fists on my face I’ve been dragged through the gutter more than once

FRAGILE is not printed on my skin

and I am not the leaves

helpless to your caress

heart fluttering in your breeze

you are not the lightning

and I am not the thunder

chasing your brilliant light

screaming my love for you

you are not the sunlight

and I am not the clouds

keeping you from shining

raining your warmth away

you are not everything

and I am not nothing

I am not nothing

Today, my dad asks where I went last night, a sly grin on his face. “I drove up the mountain.” “Really?” Shocked, he can’t believe that’s really all I did.

What does it say about my life that my parents expectations are far more scandalous and exciting than what I actually do when I’m alone?

I drove up the mountain, because I like how the drive up feels longer than the drive down. I like how there are no other cars on the road but mine. I like the feeling of the air cooling ten degrees from the bottom to the top. I like the isolation and the feeling of escaping this town.

I parked at the lookout at the very top. I can see the city lights for towns hours away. I laid on the hood of my car and stared up at the night sky. The moon was not out and the stars glittered. It was breathtaking. I pondered my life feeling the breeze on my cheeks. I didn’t feel closed in. I felt at home there, surrounded by trees and stars and forest sounds. I saw deer run across the road and inhaled their freedom.

I thought of all the times I’d been up there, alone and with others. The secret moments that still pulse in that space. I thought of the tears shed there. I thought of the revelations reached there. I thought of the screams there, the unheard yelling as I emptied my heart. Just an hour spent there is enough to center me, release me, and calm my itching nerves.