Tonight I was jolted by a thought, maybe even a memory. You always have to be wary of the shuffle feature on whatever your music player of choice may be. If you are not careful, it might just throw you that third strike, curve ball you were sure you were going to take...downtown. While engaged in the many pursuit of purchasing hygiene products from the body shop, (screw you, I like to smell nicey) Dar William's, "If I wrote you" came up. I have heard this song a dozen or so times over the past few months, it must have been on as background music, or maybe I was engaged in writing or whatever, but I don't think I actually heard the song.
Tonight...I heard the song. It was a kin to something like a sucker punch. It brought back memories of college, more specifically of Heidi, the one who got away. Why Heidi got away is debatable, but for now I am choosing to place the blame on myself and fear. Fuck fear. For what it's worth, Heidi was one of the few people who I could honestly be me with. I'm sure I've crafted many a tale of lament about Heidi in previous posts, so if there is anything anyone wants to know, email me, otherwise I will try to put this one to bed. What is most ironic about tonight, the song title, my memories of Heidi and about a million other things, is we used to email all the time. The messages were something I'm sure we both checked our inboxes frequently for. I know I did.
After we last saw each other, after my heart was broken and after the last of my money had been spent on a fucking bus ticket, there were no more emails. There were no more phone calls, no more care packages, nothing. Maybe a better way to look at it would be to say, "there were no more lies." Heidi told me she had never said certain things to me because she was thinking about my feelings (and deep down inside I honestly believe that.) So tonight when Ms. Williams asked if she wrote the object of her affection, the breaker of her heart, the recipient of her letter, and answered her own question with, "you will not write me again" I started doing what I do best and deconstructing any defense I might have developed in regard to this matter.
The, "what-ifs" and "just one emails" bandied about in my head and in the end I said, "fuck it." Nothing good would come of it. I would write, she would respond and tell me how fucking great her married life is even though it's everything she told me she never wanted. I would fake happiness for her and maybe the emails would continue for a few weeks, but in the end what would I have accomplished beyond opening wounds I have done a good job of healing?
Even more funny, and I think, "the fates" have it out for me tonight, I wrote this post whilst listening to David Gray, the concert I went to at Madison Square Garden. The concert I emptied out my bank account for to buy tickets for both Heidi and I. The concert I attended alone, cause someone couldn't get out of work. Mr. Gray helped me through a rough time before and has done so again. For that I'm grateful. Slainte, Mr. Gray!!!
I hope you all are well.