Status: NaNoWriMo - 21,112 words.
Exits and Entrances
cady grisham.
I swipe purple eyeliner under my eyes, making them look brighter than usual, while simultaneously slipping on the same silver heels I wore to the party I first got to know you, Tommy.
Tonight will be my first party without you by my side, without you making sure I wasn’t getting “too drunk” or “too close” to another guy. I’m not sure how I feel about that, really. I mean, I miss having you always by my side and protecting me (because Caroline sure as hell won’t), but I’m glad you aren’t controlling me anymore either. I loved you, Tommy, there was no denying that. I still love you, in fact.
But I can’t have someone standing over me all the time.
My eyes, heavily made up and becoming itchy, darted to my dark eggplant colored walls, finally laying to rest on the array of pictures across the back wall, beneath the Christmas lights I had delicately strung up atop.
Was that another reason we broke up? Because we controlled each other too much? We fought a lot, because I didn’t like you smoking and you didn’t like me drinking, but did that make us a bad couple?
I hate this, Tommy. I hate looking back on everything we went through and everything we did together and wondering where we went wrong. I hate finding the cracks in our relationship that shouldn’t be there, and most of all, I hate spending all my time wishing things were different when in fact, things would have ended the same way they began.
Apart.
Think about it, Tommy. How many high school relationships do you know that make it past that? Slim to none, really, Tommy. My parents are quite a slim exception, really. But I wanted us to be that couple, that one in a million shot. And I thought we really could, too. I loved you like the sky loves the moon and you ... well, I thought that you loved me like the moon loved the sky.
Is that just a perception of my imagination? Part of me wants to know, and another wants me to just let go and move on.
I can’t let go, Tommy. Something is keeping me here, right where you left me, and not letting me move on. Is it a lack of closure, like when my cousin was sent to Iraq and simply went missing? I knew I would have felt better knowing that he was 100% gone, and having something to bury to finally have closure on it, to finally know where everything stood and being able to move on.
With you, Tommy, I don’t know where we stand, nor where everything was standing when you simply took off and left.
I hadn’t gotten angry before, like I’m supposed to. I’m supposed to have two weeks maximum of intense grieving before moving into anger, getting everything straight, before finally moving on and accepting the fact that it’s over.
I can’t get there. I can’t get angry.
When I think of what you did, Tommy, I get angry, but not in the right way. I get angry in the sense that I’m angry with myself. Which I know is totally wrong, because I know this isn’t my fault. It wasn’t a scene of not loving you enough or not giving you everything you wanted (except one thing I’d never give up), it was just your stupidity. But when I think of what you did, I’m more disappointed than angry, because again, I picked the boy who would break my heart into a thousand and one pieces and just walk away, leaving someone else to pick up the pieces.
A loud and sharp doorbell brings me back to reality, and in some sense, back into safety.
Tonight will be my first party without you by my side, without you making sure I wasn’t getting “too drunk” or “too close” to another guy. I’m not sure how I feel about that, really. I mean, I miss having you always by my side and protecting me (because Caroline sure as hell won’t), but I’m glad you aren’t controlling me anymore either. I loved you, Tommy, there was no denying that. I still love you, in fact.
But I can’t have someone standing over me all the time.
My eyes, heavily made up and becoming itchy, darted to my dark eggplant colored walls, finally laying to rest on the array of pictures across the back wall, beneath the Christmas lights I had delicately strung up atop.
Was that another reason we broke up? Because we controlled each other too much? We fought a lot, because I didn’t like you smoking and you didn’t like me drinking, but did that make us a bad couple?
I hate this, Tommy. I hate looking back on everything we went through and everything we did together and wondering where we went wrong. I hate finding the cracks in our relationship that shouldn’t be there, and most of all, I hate spending all my time wishing things were different when in fact, things would have ended the same way they began.
Apart.
Think about it, Tommy. How many high school relationships do you know that make it past that? Slim to none, really, Tommy. My parents are quite a slim exception, really. But I wanted us to be that couple, that one in a million shot. And I thought we really could, too. I loved you like the sky loves the moon and you ... well, I thought that you loved me like the moon loved the sky.
Is that just a perception of my imagination? Part of me wants to know, and another wants me to just let go and move on.
I can’t let go, Tommy. Something is keeping me here, right where you left me, and not letting me move on. Is it a lack of closure, like when my cousin was sent to Iraq and simply went missing? I knew I would have felt better knowing that he was 100% gone, and having something to bury to finally have closure on it, to finally know where everything stood and being able to move on.
With you, Tommy, I don’t know where we stand, nor where everything was standing when you simply took off and left.
I hadn’t gotten angry before, like I’m supposed to. I’m supposed to have two weeks maximum of intense grieving before moving into anger, getting everything straight, before finally moving on and accepting the fact that it’s over.
I can’t get there. I can’t get angry.
When I think of what you did, Tommy, I get angry, but not in the right way. I get angry in the sense that I’m angry with myself. Which I know is totally wrong, because I know this isn’t my fault. It wasn’t a scene of not loving you enough or not giving you everything you wanted (except one thing I’d never give up), it was just your stupidity. But when I think of what you did, I’m more disappointed than angry, because again, I picked the boy who would break my heart into a thousand and one pieces and just walk away, leaving someone else to pick up the pieces.
A loud and sharp doorbell brings me back to reality, and in some sense, back into safety.