||[Nov. 19th, 2009|08:50 pm]
Tonight is the ten year anniversary. Usually, I would write in my physical journal about this, as I've been doing for the past few years, but I wanted this properly dated.|
November nineteenth. Around eight o clock PM.
I was going to the Wilton-Lyndebourgho Cooperative Junior-Senior High Harvest Ball. I'd gotten a special blue velvet tube dress with a little pouch on a sparklily cord around the waist, so I could carry my ticket.
I was going because I wanted to see Mark Wrona. I liked his eyelashes. He didn't show up but that is not an important part of the story.
So I got there, and this being a middle school dance there was a great deal of pop music and very little dancing. Well, I never have been much of one to choose dignity over fun, partially because I knew making that choice scared people.
They were playing Larger Than Life. As I was out in the middle of the floor, breaking it down and shaking my groove thing, or at least as much of a groove thing as a twelve year old girl has, when I realized that I wasn't alone on the dance floor.
There was a boy.
He was in a suit with the collar open so that the lapels made me think of disco suits, and he had short black hair with gold highlights. Even in ninety-nine, who highlighted their hair? I danced slightly closer to him, enjoying the fact that I wasn't alone. That someone else was dancing. That someone didn't care.
He caught my eye, and his face was caught in this bemused expression that I didn't yet know was so very... well, him-ish.
He raised a hand towards me and made a queryitive little closing motion with his hand. I wouldn't have been able to tell you it at the time, but looking back on that moment, it was like his fingers were closing around my heart.
I danced with him all night. I slow danced, I'm not even sure if I had ever done that before.
I forget so much. So much important stuff. But that I remember.
Then, on Monday, after I remembered that night fondly, someone decided that they wanted to ask him out for me, and I didn't find out about it until the terrified boy had a huge buffer of emotional support to back him up as he turned me down. I was too embarrassed to talk to him for a year.
Which is unfortunate, since I was in love with him. But then again, I was twelve, and I was confident that any sort of love-like emotions I could have convinced myself I was feeling would go away soon enough if I just ignored them, and then I could talk to him and be his friend, which I really looked forward to since he showed every sign of being a really cool kid.
That was ten years ago. That was Tom.
I think maybe I should rethink this "not talk about my emotions and hope they go away bit."
As I said when I was about sixteen, unrequited love sucks royal hairy monkey balls.
Alot has changed. I've watched him go through girlfriends and usually reacting badly. I've spent so much time looking at them and trying to figure out how to be like them, how I could ever with a lifetime of effort be worthy of his attention. I knew I would never deserved his love. At least not until I at very least liked myself.
When I met his most recent girlfriend, I stood ready to compare myself to her. I was ready for her to be prettier than me, smarter than me, better than me in every way.
And then she turned out to be Shannon. Boy, was that anti-climatic.
It was fucking weird as I tried to build her up in my head as this wonderful person completely and totally worthy of the love of the most wonderful person I ever met. I focused on her best qualities and wrote off what bothered me about her as jealousy, and convince myself that she was the only logical person for Tom to love.
And then she was Shannon.
There's nothing wrong with Shannon. I think that's it.
She isn't ugly, or really stupid and she certainly isn't crazy, she's easily the happiest person I've ever met, and she isn't stuck up or rude or mean or bad to Tom or anything.
That's it. She wasn't anything.
She isn't pretty, she isn't smart, she is sane enough as to go out the other side. She's so boring it's scary. It drove me nuts for months, after I finally realized that I didn't like her because I didn't like her, not because Tom loved her, but because she was so fucking dull she terrified me. Talking to her was like talking to a cocker spaniel. She's always happy to see you, but she doesn't have anything to say.
For the first time since I'd met him, Tom was not doing better than me. This of course was made difficult by the fact I am a just-cute nutjob with a bucket of other issues. I felt so free. I was working to be better in every way. I was practicing sword and dance and getting my voice into a range I didn't hate, and trying so hard not to be crazy.
For the first time since middle school, there was a question of doubt. By the time he was finished dallying with Ms. Boring, could I be sane enough to admit that I was in love and for the first time in my life, just try to do the stupid "I like you and want to be around you" thing. I guess that's called dating. All I needed to do was wait.
And then, he proposed to her.
That was a month ago, now. This has been the worst month of my life. I have cried myself to sleep every night since. I've gotten really sick of it.
I made it to ten years. I would be more impressed if it was a conscious choice.
However, living ten years, dealing with all the normal shit, and being in love with someone who you knew from pretty early on wouldn't have you and not killing yourself... well, it's harder than it looks. And I've been told it doesn't look easy.
It could have been worse. It could have been someone other than Tom.
He has had so many opportunities to be a dick about this. But he hasn't. He's tried so hard to be my friend. He has been my friend. I don't think I could have made it this far without a friend like him.
I love him.
It's been an interesting ten years, Tommy. See you in another ten.
Really. I do love you. A great deal.