Today - when we were driving through downtown on our way back from Beaverton, enjoying a break from the rain and hail, pointing out the trees that had bloomed since last weekend and listening to NO - we talked about how far we’ve come in the last two years. In March of ‘11, we had twenty-thousand dollars of combined car and credit card debt; this morning, we paid down both of those balances to zero. We were a month into living in Colorado and trying to recover from a year that almost broke us (while already hating our decision to move); this morning, I went to Burgerville and you went to work at Nike because we live in Oregon (now, finally, again). It baffles me to think that we came so close to trading in our king mattress for two twins and heading in opposite directions when nowadays I get to lock my ankles around yours every night in the same apartment building where we fell in love. I’m truly grateful to be home, with you, again.
10 March 2013
Had to get out of the house for a little while today. Had to.
The words we giggled to each other behind our Antony & Cleopatra programs, while my ankle was hooked around his and we were a little bit too high and the snooty mustached fellow on the other side of the shoebox was giving us I hope they get this out of their system before the lights go down eyes, are exactly why I still find myself falling for him after seven and a half years. We met when I didn’t have a family, and the time we’ve spent together has been the only period of my life when I’ve had a home. How two bull-headed, emotionally vacant college kids could find each other as we did, go through what we did, and survive eight consecutive Februaries as lovers is something I still don’t understand. We did, though, and to this day I have yet to feel bored or apathetic, something I struggle with in honestly every other area of my life. As much as I have aged everywhere else, my heart is still nineteen years old and standing at the base of a waterfall saying yes. Yes to everything. Yes to more.
Sometimes we lay on our backs with my head on your stomach, and I press my ear hard against you to listen to what’s inside. I hear your lungs filling and your heart pumping life through your body; I visualize your intestines, kidneys, colon and spleen writhing about your ribcage in perfect, mortality-sustaining synchronization. It’s then when I’m most grounded, when I’m reminded of how temporary all of this is and how I want to give my love to your every organ before they each dry up and disappear forever.
Loving this column. Thank you for showing it to me.