Reflection from October 21st, 2008 @ Age 27
RE: THE JOY AND PAIN OF LOVE EVERLASTING.
I wonder if Bobby knew that the only reason I wanted him was because I was desperate. I wonder if he knew my interest would wane when good times finally bestow me. I wonder if he knew because I don’t think I even did at the time. I mean I knew I was desperate and I knew I wanted him, but I don’t think I necessarily knew that I wanted him because I was desperate. It seems so obvious, doesn’t it? That I should have known—but that’s the thing. I’m always missing the obvious. I’m so smart but I’m still constantly having trouble seeing what’s right in front of me. I guess that’s just part of being me.
I looked “David Joseph Magoon” up online again today and a new website came up. It had different folders you could click into, but nothing was inside of them. It must be new and in the works. I hope they add a pictures section; that would be kind of nice. Anyways, I saw on this website Dave’s picture from the obituary, that smile, and I saw a link for this speech a bunch of his friends got together to write, and I remembered all over again the passionate fervor with which I hated him. I seem often to only remember the good things about him, and forget all of the reasons why I hated him. I hated him because he couldn’t understand what it was like to live a life without privilege. I hated him because his life was so easy, so comfortable. I hated him because he always just barely had time to spend with me; his schedule was always jam packed and I was “lucky” to have the rare moments of time we spent together. I hated him because in his wake I never felt I was good enough to steal his time away from everyone else. Everyone else. There were so many people in his life. I hated him because his social existence came joyfully and with ease—such a bare contrast from my own. I hated him with just as much passion as I did love him. Always did.
I realize now that the reason I disliked his mother so is because she didn’t think that I was good enough for her son; a perfectly legitimate reason if I don’t say so myself. I realize a lot of things lately—like Dave must have broken his neck in the fall. Otherwise he would have broken an arm maybe, his legs or some ribs, but there’s no other way a person could die from a three story fall. It must have been his neck. If it was merely his limbs that were marred they could have hid them under a suit and had an open casket. He must have broken his neck.
I don’t know why but I’ve been thinking often of him lately. I remember his sister saying, “you guys would have the most beautiful children,” and I remember him saying in response, “only if they looked like their mother.” I wanted to be the mother of his children. I wanted to love him ’til the day that I died. I told him so though and he abstained. A decade would have been such perfect timing though—our ten year high school reunion. We could have reunited and he could have been all I’ve ever wanted and more. Except he couldn’t have been because that would be a fairytale come true, and if anyone knows that fairytales don’t come true, it would be me. No, he never could have been the one that I needed. But is there a chance anyone else can? It’s hard to believe when you’ve been alone for so long, that someone could be waiting out there, just dying to meet you. Waiting and hoping and wishing for you. It’s hard to believe in such childish fairytales, but my balloon of hope will not sink. I cannot help hoping that I’ll meet that perfect someone someday. Someone smarter and more attractive and more gentle and more loving and more affectionate and more caring than anyone that’s come before.
I remember one time Dave and I were sitting on a couch at his parent’s house, and I was holding a rolled up newspaper in my hands. I told him if he could pry that paper out of my hands I would take a shower with him. Well don’t you know he pulled and twisted and jerked that damn paper out of my hands—and all the while all he had to do was ask me to hand it over. I would most gladly have obliged. What he didn’t realize is that he hurt me, he hurt my wrist maneuvering that paper out from under my grasp, and I’ll never forget thinking, “this isn’t gentle.” This isn’t what I want—some sort of violent and unforgiving type of love. I want a gentle and kind and obliging kind of love. He never could have been the man I wanted him to be. But the question still stands…is there any man who could be?
I don’t often feel so, but tonight I feel beautiful. So much so I don’t want to shower and wash it all away. I want to shine bright and be beautiful for the world around me. What better way to live than to shine on beautiful for others?