It Is What It Is

I went to bed thinking of him, I awoke thinking of him. A week without whiskey, without boy-toy distractions, without transient travels from one good time to the next, was confronting and real and left me exposed to all of the pain I'd unwittingly been avoiding. It was eleven in the morning. The need to see Joseph became too intense to bear. I couldn't think clearly, couldn't stop my fingers from pressing "9" on the speed dial of my phone. It rang and rang and rang and I hung up before the voicemail answered.

I left my apartment and strode up the sidewalk to Santa Monica Boulevard. The smell of Mexican food wafted through the late morning air. I didn't meet the eyes of the people I passed, shielded behind the lenses of the Ray Bans Joseph had given me earlier this year. Could these strangers sense my distress? Or were they too caught up in their own thoughts to be affected by my anxious energy?

When I was three blocks from his apartment, I stopped, glancing wildly at my surroundings, not wanting to repeat old patterns, too proud to throw myself at his feet for the millionth time. I turned around, rerouting the course of events, retracing my footsteps with resignation. My phone rang from within my palm, a low tone that I'd assigned specifically for his number. I was surprised by how normal my voice sounded when I answered.

He had to leave for work in two hours.

Did he want to join me for a walk?

Yes, he did.

Shocking.

I went home and changed my clothing, smoked a cigarette, regrouped, then set off for Take Two. I saw him at the same moment he saw me. We both smiled. I waited for him to cross the street, my insides bouncing impatiently like a child in desperate need of urinating. My outsides remained still. When he reached me, I flung my arms around his neck, our bodies crushing together in a tight hug. My heels left the ground as he lifted me, pulling me as close to him as humanly possible.

Time. Quality time. Depressing time. Time spent talking about music and plans and money and life while cleanly avoiding the topic of "us." What was the point?

It felt like old times, times when he held back from physical touch for fear that he would lose all control. Him and his control. Me and mine. We both wanted the same thing, but our walk was a reminder that he was still too scared to allow himself the luxury of loosening his leash. As a result, he kept me on a short one, as well. If we could only have that afternoon again, the one we spent together before New York...if we could have that afternoon every time we met, all smiles and laughter and touching and talking and loving...if we could enjoy each other exactly in that context and call it a "relationship" and unclip the leashes from our collars and unfasten the collars from our necks and bound across endless fields of clover side by side, grinning ear to ear, euphoric hearts fit to burst...I would be the happiest woman alive.

As Jacob used to say, though, there's no "what if," there's only "what is." And in the case of Joseph and I, "it is what it is."

Pretentious Indie Song of the Day: