Mental Entrails

He put his arm around Sarah and his lips tugged themselves up into an involuntary smile. An eerie calm spread through him. It all finally made perfect sense to him: none of them really wanted to be doing the things that they did. Sarah didn’t really like him, she was just spending time with him until she got used to him enough to date him. They’d probably find a few minutes between classes to spend together, hang out during free time in the evenings. She’d pretend to be colder than she really was so he could make a show of giving her his jacket, he’d buy her things she'd dropped hints about desiring. Eventually, Sarah would get drunk at a party and make out with someone they know, or maybe Danielle would finally come onto him and he’d take her up on the offer, and Sarah and he would break up in a drawn-out series of public arguments until one of them sealed the deal in a fit of forced frustration.

It was all intentional, he mused; every single decision to feel a certain way or to react a certain way. All of them chose to be the way they were. You just say all of these things and make all of these choices over and over again until revulsion turns to discomfort, and discomfort turns to indifference, and then you maybe even become convinced it’s better this way, that maybe this was the right thing to do after all. No one really enjoys it, but this is just how things are, and everyone had come to an understanding of this but him. Yes, everyone else had already thought this through. It was evident in the way they gave in to each other so quickly, putting on little shows of resistance or embarrassment. They were all just getting used to things being this way, acquiring the taste of being an adult.

His smile still firmly tucking the corners of his mouth into his cheeks, he squeezed Sarah against him and took a long pull from his beer. The bitter, malty flavor on his tongue made his jaw tense, but he managed to force out a sigh of feigned refreshment, in turn making his smile harden. Eventually he would be used to the taste, and be able to drink it as easily as Sam. He would get over his mild repulsion of how cruel Sarah was to her friends and be able to kiss her easily, put his lips on the same mouth that had just minutes earlier been slinging all kinds of lies at Danielle. Yes, yes. Other people are an acquired taste.

Sarah tilted her head up at him and stood on her toes to murmur into his ear. "Do you want to go somewhere else?"

"Yes," he said. Do it, something told him. The choice has been made. Do it and don’t look back. "Let’s go over there."

Pouring Out

In much the same way that remembering something alters the memory itself, looking for equivalencies between a person or relationship situation that is known and external persons/relationships alters the memory structure of the known person or situation. It is a mistake to go looking for similarities in this way; it clouds what is known with information that has no place being associated with the subject in question, yet this method of relating how one relates with other people to how the rest of the world relates with other people is so far-reaching that it's become entrenched in how people get to know each other. Relationships are formed off relations with fake pretenses. Even worse is relating real people and situations to fake ones, or snippets of a perceived person or relationship without knowing the whole story. If all else has fallen away and the truth stands alone, then the person, the relationship is its own microcosm, and cannot be touched. To tie it down with the weight of anything else is a fool's game I refuse to play.

I had the pleasure of listening to someone play their violin for me. They chose Kreisler's Prelude & Allegro, and from the moment bow touched string, that hot feeling like butterflies in my chest rose inside me and nearly made me cry. When he finished the final bars, my cheeks were burning like a shy little girl surprised with a kiss. He entrusted some sheet music to me, stuff I can't imagine being able to play yet, but reading it is slowly becoming easier. I'll be tackling some of this while I'm at camp later next week.

How grateful I am to be strong enough to peel away all of the excesses and stab right into the core of music, let alone everything else. I am able to feel again in my own bright, beautiful way. The writing comes as well, in its own time, and with its own expertly enunciated melody. Another story forthcoming, before the next session of camp starts.