weights

My desk at work is cluttered with papers (especially embarrassing in this day and age when all of our files are electronic) and nick knacks i have been given over the years, like an over sized coffee mug painted by The Land when she was three years old, a small Darth Vader ceramic figurine with a hollow head for holding candy.

Today i went to re-arrange Darth, as he was becoming crowded by the lamp and one other item: a glass paper weight in the shape of a heart. ExA gave it to me, most likely for Valentine's Day. Her gifts were perfectly executed demonstrations of the holiday or event.

i have shed so many items that she had given me, i wondered how this had survived this long. It went into the top drawer of the desk, always the first step before permanently disposing of something, kind of like a limbo for items whose value i am not quite sure about. As the drawer closed, i was surprised to find myself tearing up.

This evening, a co-worker was driving me back to my car and asked why i was thinking about moving to Vermont. i hesitate telling anybody, but i said it; it was too late in the day to lie.

She, like so many, cannot believe how much my heart still belongs to her.

friendship graveyard

i had a very good friend from the time i was 17 until 32. We had become friends when my sister told me about this shy kid who was writing poems to her friend. Writing poetry was my calling in those days, so i eagerly sought him out. That, and his sense of humor, drew us into a friendship that lasted almost fifteen years.

We spent the summer after my senior year (his junior) seeing St. Elmo's Fire over and over, trying to dress like Kevin McCarthy, driving around and pining for girls who didn't understand us. If i wasn't working or sleeping, i was with him. Many of my memories of that time are jokes of his that, to this day, make me laugh out loud. In 1987, we drove to NYC just to see where John Lennon was shot; there are black & white photos of us right outside the building.

The friendship suffered when in 1992 i cheated on Daisy. He saw me as being like one of the jocks we detested, and told me so. He moved to Seattle the next year, not so much because of this but because he was getting into a rut- not dating, sitting at home most of the time. It was the first sign of his struggle with what is most likely depression.

He had returned to RI by the time i met ExA and was my best man when we married- i was happy to ask him, of all my friends. Six months after we married, he broke off contact with me; however, he stayed in touch with ExA, much to my anger, as it appeared to be manipulative.

Eventually, he stopped contacting her as well. Over the years, i had a dream every few months where we were friends again, dreams almost like those you would have of an ex lover: they leave you empty upon awakening, as you realize what is true, what transpired.

When ExA and i separated, i found out in a roundabout way that he had contacted her again. This angered and saddened me so much that the dreams stopped.

i occasionally wonder about him, but it is without fondness. When i run into his parents, they are guarded when i ask how he is; i ask as i have been programmed to ask, not because i care.