For October 23rd
I wrote this in my journal around last October 23rd, when Mikkel and I were about the start dating again, after almost 5 years of us hardly speaking to each other post-freshman year of high school. October 23rd was actually our anniversary back as freshmen- as we finally told each other we liked each other at some event thingy up in Anthem under the stars. So, even though it’s not the exact day we got back together, October 23rd’s close enough so we decided that’s when our anniversary is ☺️. So, in the spirit of a year with my favorite human + creating a new personal record (last time was only 8 months so woot woot 😂)- here’s a little piece I wrote back last year when we were falling for each other all over again. Enjoy.
They know far more than they probably should. Him, about her activities and thoughts. Her, about his likes and struggles. They wander halls, stores, and dirt roads, close but not quite. Together, but not like that. She won’t admit how much she avoids looking at his hands, or his lips, or his… everything. His smiling, laughing, singing, swaying, crying, thinking, asking, wondering, talking, joking, looking, selecting. He’s across from her at a table, beside her in a line, before her in the home goods section, behind her at the water’s edge, far from her at the view, next to her in the car, and nearly with her at the clothes rack.
She rushes to be farther while looking at shirts, fights her urge to play for closeness, wonders if this is her new norm with him, debates what to do when she so desperately wants to hold his hand and tell him it’ll be okay, she loves him, but not quite like that. She’s desperate for him to stay, to follow, to be beside her, yet concerned about how close he is. How close he’s standing. How close his arm is to brushing her’s. How close his voice is in her ears as she teases him and his tone tickles her entirety, his whisper a rustling in the excitable leaves of her heart.
Yet he’s oblivious. Entirely. He was like calling her redness heat, her rushedness uncertainty, her reservations thoughtfulness. If he even noticed the symptoms at all. How much her brain was reconciling the man in front of her with the boy she chased down library hallways, dancing and joking until she could get close enough to him to discover his mysteries. How easy it was to become who she was then, with the same goals in mind but with the confidence of the new version of herself.
Even his inane joking didn’t kill it. His puns were death, his woman impression was subpar, his tones were wild, his singing was hilarious- but even as she teased him, her being giggled at their absurdity. Truly, she didn’t mind. She wanted to sing with him, to bury her face in her hands over his dorkdom, to laugh off whatever was happening beside her and call it adorable. Even if she didn’t grasp all that was happening as she did that. All the boundaries that were easing, the parts that were melting, the places that were opening. And don’t even begin on the heartstrings. When his tone changed, she did hers, mirroring the softness she had become.
She loved his consistency, his kindness, his gentleness, his laughter, his dedication, his care, his comfort, his presence, his openness. His ability to pour out, even if it wasn’t always perfect. His witted responses, smirks, walks, and all the rest of it, only to make her giggle and pretend she didn’t watch him move like he did. Not at all. She wasn’t rushing over his nonsense, hysterical over his cleverness, or enamored by his entirety. What was it about the voice that got her? The softness, the variety, the way it danced everywhere, adjusting to every sort of delivery and possibility. The way it rang and played in her ear, soothing and toying and laughing and holding.
She didn’t care that maybe they looked weird- just the two of them, out late, perched atop a park table and looking out at the sky. In those moments, the ones where he just existed beside her, the moments where this was somehow the new normal even though months earlier she couldn’t have fathomed it- it was so easy for her to just forget everything, and honestly, she sometimes did. He just was. Like gravity. Unexplainable. No history. No science. No phenomenon. No calculation. Just a force that was and existed and continued onward. That was significant and important and meaningful and yet just was. He was a jacket and glasses behind her, hearing her sighs and watching her back rise and fall as she breathed. Who’d rather lay down and look at stars than gaze at the city lights surrounding him. They’d hobble back to the car together, him increasingly concerned but always pliant to her refusal for help. He was used to trading who caught the door, who grabbed who’s drink, who was the one comforting the hurting. She doubted his ability to even carry her, remembering failed attempts he no doubt had forgotten. But that was him then to be fair, now he may be a bit better off.
He was cute. And so kind. And so sweet and soft. That’s most of what she thought. Most of what she imagined when she looked at him. She didn’t mind the barren room, the wrecked feet- because it was all to do with him- this force she didn’t want rid of. A friend. A given. A normal. A thing that wasn’t going to just go away. A part of the cycle of everything. She loved him- not like typical- but like she did, fierce and constant and real and normal. She loved him across IHOP tables, as she read green letters scrolling song titles, along paths, through wash sludge, and amidst aisles and department store lighting. It was silent. It was. It just was.
And, she treasured it, in her own way. Treasured the texts, the words, the moments, the times, the adventures. Not as if there were momentary or fleeting or escaping, but just as they were. She just took it in and sat with it. Saw how it was a mirror, a gateway, and a treasure all at the same time. Only occasionally did she think of the magnitude or the reversal this all was. How his name hadn’t been on the tip of her memory for ages and now it was what popped in the most. How he’d cemented this role that she doubted he’d shake. Maybe one day he’d drop off. Become less important. Life would change. But not yet. And maybe not ever. Until then, she’d just stay here- with him- wherever they were- and try not to forget the presence beside her that wasn’t and now was. Try not to take for granted all that had gotten her here.
