Minnesota Goodbyes

Entry #53

The truth. I promised to tell it, right? I promised to leave the judgment in your hands, to let you decide my guilt.

Because I'm not that good a person. I can be unkind and unfair and selfish. I can be angry. I know these things. But it's different to see your actions in black and white, to lay them out for someone to weigh on. It's easier to give them to you because I'll never know what you'll land on, but when I reread my words, it makes me think about the little bits of meanness that lie dormant in me. Those things in me that can lash out.

And it isn't just now, though it's probably gotten worse now that Clair can't smooth away my faults. I could be like that then, too.

Like a winter storm. Harsh and cold.

Like a blank day in February, when the sky lies flat over your head, weighing you down almost as much as Clair's absence. (It was one of the few times where you'd split up again to go to class, both of your grades dangerously low. And with that came the parental threat of intervention. So you both went to class.)

"M.! Hey, M.!" Jay catches you outside of Centen, on your way back to your room. There's ice in the air, and your first thought is to pretend you didn't hear him, to duck out of the cool afternoon light.

Since you've moved in with Clair, you don't see him and Sam and Lacy near as much as you used to, and there's a tiny flash of guilt. But the momentary thought of reconnecting with him is chased away by a bigger thought. Time with Jay (and Lacy and Sam and Nick) is time where you aren't with Clair. And even if she came, it wouldn't be quite the same. There's a pang at the idea, but you can't see a time when you won't crave Clair's attention just a little more than theirs. (You'll try though. You'll grab a coffee with Jay if he wants.)

"How've you been?" He grins down at you, smile flashing bright in the gloomy day. "Long time no see."

You shrug. "We've been good." You think about mentioning coffee, but Jay cuts into your thoughts before you can.

"Great. Hey, can I talk to you about something?" There's something sticky in his voice, and the way he glances between you and the door gives you pause.

So instead of brushing him off, you tilt your head, feeling ridiculously like a small dog. "Okay, what's up?" You shrug your backpack into a more comfortable position, so it will shield you from the nipping breeze.

"Well, I was just wondering about you and Clair. I just don't see you guys around anymore, and I was a little worried." His eyes no longer cut to the door. They bore into you, like water cutting through stone. "I was—"

"What do you mean? We're good."

"Are you, M.? You guys seem—" He glances at the sky, thinking. "—Consumed. It seems like you guys might not be great for each other."

He plows forward, and disbelieving, you echo his words, "Bad for each other?" Your words come out strangled and scratchy, like they've been poured over broken glass. "You've got to be kidding me right now."

His eyes stay fixed on yours, a glint of steel in his gaze.

You can't help your reaction; it's visceral. Still, you're torn between the desire to laugh and feeling like you got hit by a truck.

"M., listen—"

"—No, you listen. Bad for each other?" Your voice rises an octave, and you hate it. "There's nothing wrong going on. I know you think you know everything and can fix everyone, but back off. There are no issues here."

He steps back, jaw tightening and hands clenching. You briefly feel sort of sick, but then you think of Clair, and what he's saying. And how dare he?

"Why can't you just be happy for me?" Tears prick the corners of your eyes, sharp as needles.

Jay's gaze holds steady. Up to this point, you've always liked how level he is, but the scales have tipped too far, and his eyes are cold and unfeeling.

"I am, M." He runs a hand over his mouth before letting it drop to his side and balling it into a fist. He picks his words carefully, haltingly, "But there's something wrong if you just shut yourself out of your own life. I think there should just be a little more... Well, a little more space between you two. That's all. That's all I wanted to say. " He scuffs a foot against the sidewalk, waiting.

You're wrong you're jealous why are you doing this you're wrong.

When you wrench your eyes to his, you say two words.

Then you walk inside, leaving him in the cold.

(The words don't leave though. They won't stop nipping at you, like unfed dogs. That's how words work. They've always been able to slip past all the defenses you've built up, coming out after dark when you're too tired to keep them at bay.)

Jay.

You can hear his voice and it makes you sick. It burrows its way under your skin. It jars your teeth. It rattles your senses.

He doesn't know anything, but those accusations eat at you, worming in your veins, in your brain, in your heart. How could he be so wrong? And you threw out some cruel charges yourself (jealousy, arrogance, know-it-all), but his eyes stayed icy while yours brimmed up. Like he'd anticipated that someone would level those things at him at some point. Like maybe he was guilty of them.

His words fester in your gut, boiling over, sour and stinking. But you must bite back your anger. You must.

And it takes time. The next time you see him, you pointedly ignore his pleading eyes, and trade a few jokes with Sam. And the next time, when he knocks on yours and Clair's door, you don't answer, even though you're sure he can see the light beneath the door. His texts go unanswered for a while, (but those words words words. They sit hot in your gut, rolling over and over and over in your mind. Is there a shard of truth in them? Even a sliver? Guilt and anger wrestle for your affection) until you finally relent and apologize for your behavior. You get him fancy coffee beans that you can't really afford, and leave a note (then knock on his door and jog down the hall, so he won't see you and your shame.)

Forgiveness and forgetfulness cost more than anger, but the guilt abates, and you let those things he said slip back into the shadows.

They aren't true, anyway.