08.22.01
The colours mix together to gray
Last night I drove down to Pictou, telling my stomach it was all alright, that there was no reason to get nervous. And it listened to me. Until I was about five minutes away from the campground. I told him to meet me on the road, he said just drive to the cottage with the most people. I said, no meet me at the road, or else I'll turn around and go home. He said he'd try. But he was there. Which made me smile.
So he got into my car and directed me to the cottage where he's staying. He asked if it was ok that we went in there for a while, because there were too many relatives around. So we sat down at the kitchen table. He offered me a beer, which I turned down. He smiled and said he was trying to get me drunk. We sat at the table for about an hour and talked. Not about what I had wanted to say, but about the summer, rugy, school, concerts. I did most of the listening, as is usually the case with him now, and he told me about his job, how it stimulates him, makes him want to change the way things are, help more people.
I was watching him as he talked, told me his tales, and he looked into my eyes. We didn't say anything, I just tried to read him. And I looked at his lips and wanted to kiss him. I wanted to kiss him to see if it still felt the same. I wanted to put my hands on his cheeks, I wanted to run my fingers through his hair. But I just looked away.
Eventually we walked up to where the rest of his huge Catholic family was eating and drinking. Mullans from BC to Ireland to France to New Jersey had come to Pictou to be reunited with each other. To sit and drink and play golf and know family. I saw his parents, they each gave me a hug, said, "It's been so long, you look wonderful." We small talked, regular parent questions. Christine and her friend came down and the environment changed. He was no longer mine, he wasn't my sweet memories. He changed into who he is now. They all talked about people I've never met, we talked about taking a year off, classes, parties, what we've heard about people we haven't seen in years.
I left around eleven o'clock. He said, I'd like to see you again, I said me too. I got into my car and drove down the gravel road into Pictou. As I drove down the causeway, taking myself closer and closer back to this part of my life, tears welled in my eyes. I thought of what used to be, I let myself admit that I missed that. I let myself daydream for a few minutes, but knew in my heart that wasn't what I wanted.
Once I was home, I changed into my pyjamas and crawled into bed. I laid there for a while until I reached over for a pen and some paper. With tears dripping down smeaing the ink, I wrote him a letter. Another love letter spawned from my tears. I don't know if I'll give it to him. I think I want to, think I need to. The way he is, I might not see him for another six months.
Now I'm not sure if I should call him tonight and tell him I want to see him again, or if I should wait til tomorrow and risk losing him to his world.
wunderwuman at