All the Things I'll Never Say

Chapter Four

All of a sudden, I was thrown back into the Bridgewater rhythm. I was taking notes again, preparing for exams, and pulling all-nighters. Just as I anticipated, the world returned to order. That's the funny thing about time. There are so many occasions when it feels like it freezes entirely, but that's never the case. With that being said, I don't doubt it's fully capable of transforming into molasses, and it's definitely a friend of the tortoise. However, there will always come a moment when you can look back and realize every second you wished away is indeed in the past. There unavoidably comes a moment when you can think back to every ounce of anguish and realize it is only a memory; it has no power over you anymore. Perhaps time is the only thing genuinely worthy of trust.

Time whittled away, and I found myself back in enemy territory. 21 days ago, Saturday night at Bridgewater University returned yet again to claim another victim. By claim another victim, I mean it arrived to claim me, again. Saturday nights had already injured me so many times, but no matter how many injuries I suffered, I always anticipated Saturday nights with a deep fondness. Being in a room surrounded by more than a hundred people, all of the same mindset, is an amazing phenomenon. There's nothing like letting go of all responsibility in a crowded room of strangers, all making the same stupid decisions. If there could only be one thing I stand by, it's this: idiocy is the ultimate release.

Although a couple weeks had passed since the last time I saw him, I still couldn't shake away my uneasiness at the thought of seeing him again. As I walked into Lion Inn that night, I knew at some point I would have to face my fears. I chugged some beers and, yet again, relied on alcohol as a source of liquid confidence.

It was as if the couple of weeks away had no effect on my sense of reason when he was around. Sure, my brain had healed, and I became very skilled at avoiding thoughts about him. I could even engage in conversation for hours without ever being triggered by a memory of him. However, my stomach and heart were not nearly as skilled at the art of suppressing. As if no time at all had passed, my heart tore a hole through my chest just knowing I was in the same room as him, and my stomach's pH balance was definitely all wrong. Every emotion rushed immediately back before I had any chance of putting my body on lockdown.

Naturally, I spent the beginning of the night playing cat and mouse with him. My best friend whom I always drag to the street with me, Sara, agreed to notify me every time he was near, and I was more than ready to play the game. When I approached the bar to grab another beer, I planned my route carefully. I passed just close enough to him that he noticed my presence but never close enough that he said a word. When he looked my way too frequently, I rushed to the bathroom, so he had a chance to notice my absence. I still wonder if he ever tried searching for me. If there's one part to getting the guy that I have significant experience with, it's the chase, and I love every second of it.

I can't express my obsession with the chase in words, although I truly wish I could. I think it revolves around my competitiveness, and to be completely honest, I hope that's the reasoning. I often wonder if I'm afraid to fully commit. What if the chase is my way of achieving attention, and that's the only reason I pursue men? In the spirit of full disclosure, I have never held a long-term relationship, and I'm infamous for losing interest too rapidly. The longest relationship I've been in lasted three months, and I promptly dove into another relationship after the breakup. More importantly, I've never been in a relationship where my attention hasn't been distracted by the possibility of being with someone else. Morally, I know that is disastrously wrong, but if I'm being honest with myself, that's the truth of the matter.

Okay, let me go all cliché chick-flick on you for just one second. The route of my qualms with relationships must lie in my unspoken expectations for them. More than anything, I want a love that vibrates through my entire being. It doesn't have to be like the movies, because I know that would be catastrophically foolish to assume that's even possible. Still, I don't think it's wrong to say I want a love I can feel in my bone marrow. I want something so certain that my eyes never leave his, even when we're apart. I want fights and makeups and cravings and sex and an all-consuming breathlessness, and I don't hate myself for feeling that way. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I'd much rather bring this optimism to my casket than settle with unanswered questions.