Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Class 8 – write to music – Beethoven 7th symphony

Class 8 – write to music – Beethoven 7th symphony

  • Sounds like a journal entry
  • Or approach it like you are the outsider looking at these two people
  • Have to fictionalize it
  • What this did to me and how the longing comes up
  • Do it as it is a therapy session, and have to change a few things – come in and out of it with the conversation with the therapy, then looking back.

I remember the last time I saw we spoke.  I stood outside my house, the sky a dingy gray, the front lawn covered with piles of wet snow.  You sat in your truck, parked on the wrong side of the road and asked me when I was leaving.

That caught me off guard.  How did you know that I was leaving?  I wanted you to wonder and worry that I wasn’t constantly calling your house, leaving messages, or have to think about where you would go that night because you didn’t want to run into me.  Damn you.  Why did you have to do this to us?

Our young lives were planned out and I was getting ready to start on my journey.  My December graduation was quickly approaching and I didn’t think twice about it, because I knew you would soon be joining me, and we could pack ourselves up and move to Arizona.  At the time I really wasn’t worried about the future, I had you and that’s all that I needed.  But that night when you called to tell me you needed time.  The walls of assuredness came crashing down.  I was in the process of studying for my hardest final and here you were ending my life.  You selfish bastard.  Who cares if you’ve been unhappy for months!  Maybe had you said something we wouldn’t be here now? 

My mind wasn’t working at that moment.  I just understood you said you needed time, technically you hadn’t broken up with me, but come on, saying you need time was like the kiss of death, you should’ve just said that it was over, sure it would’ve been hard for you to say, but man up.  It didn’t really matter though, because I took it as the worst, that we were over, I guess.  Because somewhere in the back of my mind I just wanted to know why, which you never told me.  You said you didn’t love me, but why then did you ask my friends about me when we happened to be at the same pub?  Why ask if I’m doing ok? Why bother wanting to know who I was dancing with if you didn’t love me. 

This whole part of my life stills seems like yesterday to me sometimes, even though it will have been 10 years next month.  Whoa, 10 years since I’d thought my world fell apart and that it would never be the same.  I have been mulling things over all this time and wonder how you are.  When I drive thru your small town, I drive down familiar streets in the hopes of “accidentally” running into you.  What do you look like?  Would you recognize me?  Would you have regrets?  I have none.  I left and that’s what was right for me, at the time.  Had I stayed I would have felt the longing of not being with you and I would have condemned myself to my own hell.  Do you think of me? 

There are a few images of you that have stayed with me all these years.  First, the day you lied to me to my face and said everything would be all right.  I had come to see you at your work, as I did all the time, because I sensed there was something wrong.  As I approached the secretary’s desk, I could feel her uneasiness, as she had to look up and speak to me.  Then she let me go and get you in the warehouse.  She had, in all the times before, called you to the front.  This time she was allowing me through the swinging doors.  You were clean-shaven, your hair neatly in place.  You were wearing the red and green flannel you mom had got you for your birthday and you just stood there leaning against the counter talking to me like nothing.  Nothing!  I never felt the tenseness that hours later you would be calling to tell me you didn’t love me.  I still think you’re a coward.  Was I really too much too bear?  Why? 

I think this when my fight or flight instincts have come from.  Because that night it was all about panic now, think later.  After I hung up the phone as you urged me to study for my last final, I called my best friend Shannon.   My world was ending and I needed to latch onto something else so I wouldn’t drown in this sea of sorrow I could feel coming.  Shannon and I had been oddly close high school though we never dated, but I loved him in my own special way and you pushed me to him.  I called him, but that’s a whole other story.

The second image I think of is that night at that club on Ashmund, the Backdoor, where all the Canadians hung out.  You were leaning against the bar, that green and white plaid shirt on, your silver tab button fly Levi’s.  You spoke with my friend and asked who the guys were I was talking with.  She lied of course, and told you some outlandish story.  They were only some guys I had gone to elementary and high school with that happen to be home for the holidays and they were surprised to see me.  There was nothing romantic there, though I played it off like there was because I could see you watching me.  I had imagined you had found some girl at your school to hang out with and now the two of you were walking around the mall together, a place where I wouldn’t see you.  But I never knew.  

I marvel at my life now and what I have become.  Sometimes I catch myself thinking of you and just wanting to pick up the phone and call one of those crazy TV. talk shows that is looking for people in search of “old sweet hearts”.  Instead I strive everyday to become a better person so that someday you’ll read about me in some tabloid and think longingly  “that could’ve been me”.

So images of snow covered houses and mounds that are as big as a house still haunt me.  Maybe that’s why I would rather spend the day at the beach or on the water than in the freezing cold snow. 

This piece has gone on too long, and the things that I’ve wanted to write about you are not even coming to mind.  It’s just a quiet sadness I have when I think of you.  I use to be able to smile, but not anymore.  Weird.  I used to wish that you would “bump” into me when I was home, but the thought of that frightens me.  I think I would be dead in my tracks if I saw you now.  Although I’ve let go of some of the anger, there is still a lot brewing beneath the surface.  This was 10 years ago, why do you still haunt my dreams.  Of course it was the you from 10 years ago, still young and fresh.  Not the weathered you I picture and hope you are now.  For my memories of you times has stopped.  They have stopped on that one-day in the sorority house when we were driving everyone nuts getting ready for the party that night and we were talking crazy over exposed self-portraits.  I see our gray and black GMC driving down the road.  I see you the first time we met.  I see you that day when you came to tell me that your mom saw me on my “date”, with some forgettable guy that I was just using to get over you.  I just wanted to know I was pretty, because you made me feel like the worst person in the world.  I was and still am selfish.  It is only me.  Maybe that was your way of helping me out.  I just wish I knew why.  Still these 10 years later I still want to know.