Minnesota Goodbyes

Entry #6

I am in class. People probably think I'm taking notes, and I'm letting them. My eyes flick up occasionally, and I scrawl whatever is on the board into the margins. You've noticed, I'm sure. That Venn diagram staring up at you right now? A mark of deception. It's camouflage, really. People glancing at my notebook will see little doodles and diagrams and think notes. Nothing more.

I'm quite clever, right?

Clair thought it sometimes. That I was clever or witty. Something like that, anyway. Maybe I was. I don't think I am anymore.

No, I'm consumed with memory, and it blots out anything else. The words appear in scraps and fragments in mind, and I'm possessed to write them down. Perhaps you're possessed to read them.

After class, which I'm not paying attention to anyway, I'm going to meander towards my favorite coffee shop. I won't tell you which one, in case you decide to look for me. (We can never meet, of course.) But anyhow, I'll get there and take in the bustle around the small tables and gleaming counter-top and dessert display case. I'll weave my way past the shelves overflowing with used books (ten percent off if they have a green sticker!) and slide into the booth in the wayback. Then I'll take this out again and scribble down notes about her while I sip green tea until it gets cold.

I can't talk about her now though. There are too many people around who have a tiny thread of connection with me. ("What was the answer to number four? Did we have a quiz Friday?") I don't want to break here in front of them.

So I won't.

Nick called me up last night, like he could sense the restlessness crackling off me. Sometimes I think he knows when I am getting in deep, drowning in my own consciousness. Though maybe that's giving him too much credit.

When I finally picked up my phone after his third call, I let the line hang silent between us with all the things I couldn't say.

"Hey, M., I haven't seen you around lately." There was faux concern in his voice. (I'm worried you'll go off the deep end and how it will affect me. What will people think of me if I'm friends with a psycho? That's how Nick is.)

"Oh. I've been busy." A lie. Well, maybe not, but I've only been busy reliving the past and staring at my bedroom walls and tearing down all the photos from them. They kept peering out at me with glassy eyes and frozen smiles. There was nothing in them. Moments caught and spun in amber, isolating me more as I studied them. They had to go.

Nick didn't realize I was thinking about eyes glossed over and false smiles. He just heard my hesitation.

"Busy?" A question like he didn't believe me.

I don't really like Nick.

I don't think it used to be like this, but everything feels tainted, especially with him. He and I are different now, and he keeps trying to forget. To let go. And that's...well, not completely unforgivable. But he glosses over everything, trying to keep up a slick façade like the past can't touch him. Maybe it doesn't drag him down. Maybe that's why I don't like him anymore.

It might be more than that though. Maybe I can't handle the lies hidden just beneath the surface, sitting between us like a knife. Ready to cut me open.

The rest doesn't matter I suppose. I gave noncommittal answers until he got bored and abandoned me for more rewarding activities.

I'm being ridiculous, I know. She's gone and we exist. But it feels like acknowledging that is actively forgetting her. It makes my head spin, and I've got nothing to hang onto except what has been. What is doesn't seem to be enough and reaching out to Nick certainly doesn't seem to be enough.

I think I'll get sick if I sit in my own head for too long though. That's why I have you.

So maybe I'll forgo the green tea and shadowy booth. Maybe I'll go grab a coffee with Nick.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.