I find my life interesting enough to write about. So I assume there exists a set of people who might find it interesting enough to read about. As should become blatantly obvious, I believe that revising grammar, spelling, style and the like would co...
Whatever happens next is bound to interesting. For the sake of meta-awareness, I am typing this now because I think I will alter these memories once they become hindsight. I might be somewhat resistant to this, but also, I might not. This then is meant as a tool to recalibrate after hindsight kicks in.
I'll skip the pretext, given that it is already in 'hindsight' so I can amend it on later.
We watched "Treasure Planet" last night. R insisted I should see, and I suggested we watch that night. I was hoping we would watch it in R's room. I think I've grown attached to the coach after the weekend his brother spent here. R wanted to watch it in our room. It was the sensible thing to do, we have a living room, he doesn't.
I had been letting slip some obvious 'indicators'. Lingering eye contact, standing inside 'the bubble' and the like.
After the movie, before R left T started "Hoodwinked". Apparently, R liked the movie so we kept watching. T and R started discussing one of the voice actors, and T looked him up. T made the comment that the voice actor was married to another male upon which R, after a delay, commented (paraphrased) "Ooh but I actually liked him in that show..." That show, being Frasier. I got the immediate impression that it was a forced/faked comment. Given my bias, though, take it with a grain.
During the movie, I typed the following text, which I then sent at 2 something AM after T had woken me up.
The following exchange took place today:
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I had to go get T's blanket in R's room right when I got back from 221 lab at 7(ish). R's was there gave me the blanket, everything was very happy. I started off with the blanket and was out of sight when he, in a noticeably more serious (lower meta level) tone called after me. I stopped. He called again. I turned around I went back. When I could see him, in a high meta level I said: "I was hoping we could just forget this conversation." And in the moment it was true. He asked "Do you want to talk about it sometime tonight" and I said "Yes" That was true for a long time now "let me know when you're done with your stuff" referring to him cleaning his room.
So here I am typing. and for dramatic effect. whatever happens next. is bound to be interesting.
This all happened that night, I'm typing it the next day at noon. I was taking a walk in the nearby park, it's an amazing place to clear your mind, especially at night, when he texted me to come over.
What Happened Next: [link to audio of conversation omitted]
Whatever excuses I come up with later, and am tempted to come up with now, the point is: I didn't follow through. I walked right up to the ledge, I thought looking down was scary. Looking down wasn't scary, the thought of letting go of the railing, the only means of pulling myself back if I didn't like what I saw when I leaned over the edge for a clearer view. That was terrifying. What if I fell? What if I fell and he didn't jump after me? I would reach the bottom, and I would survive the fall... some bones might break, but bones regrow. But I would be down there at the bottom... and he would not, and there would be a ledge between us. I'd be staring back up as he clings to railing a while longer, watching me writhe in lonely pain. Until reason triumphs and he climbs back over the rails to safety. He climbs slowly, never breaking eye contact, never turning his back to me. But slowly he backs away. Until the ledge, not him, the ledge, breaks our eye-contact. And then I'm there, and my bones are healing, and they're stronger now, but I'm alone. And I'm still looking at the ledge, wishing he would run back and jump down, but I hope he never does. I don't want to see his broken bones. I don't want to know he broke them for me. So I don't let go of the rails, I don't jump, I don't fall, I don't break my bones, I don't watch him watching me. I stand on the ledge. Hands firmly on the rails. I peer over, daring him to look down. But he doesn't. I think he must have already looked down. Maybe before he ever showed me the ledge. He must have not liked what he saw. I don't think anybody does. So I climb back over the rails. I fold my arms on the rails. I lean my head on my arms on the rails. He says we should never forget about the ledge, I say I agree, I don't know if I do. And we just stay there for a while. Me considering him, him considering the rails, or the ledge, or broken bones, or... maybe nothing at all. But he's here, and I'm here and I'm not alone. I'm just lonely.
The above metaphor wasn't intended to work as well as it did. But it does. And writing it helped me better understand my cowardly reluctance to follow through and "jump". I don't know if it's actually true, but I feel as though, if he was leaning off the edge with me, I could have let go. I know for a fact that if he fell, I would jump after him.
