Blog Every Day April: 4/21

"It is always raining in my head. The closest thing I have to order is the way the lines are set on pages."
The Realm of Possibility

David Levithan

The date doesn't creep so much as clunk its way to me, trashcan stuck to one foot and loose change jingling in its pockets. It looms for an entire month; as it grows closer I can see that it wears the slow, syrupy grin of anticipation. When it finally, finally arrives at my doorstep my breath catches and my chest caves in and, inexplicably, I spend part of the day in a haze of anxiety.

I don't initiate physical contact often. I feel most comfortable in the bubble I've constructed for myself. But it is 9:23 am when I text John, the only person outside my internet nest who could understand or consent to my crazy orders. "For future reference, I need a hug today."

9:52 am. "I will keep that in mind."

It was a year ago today that Dobbin asked me to be his girlfriend. I was an emotionally drained, overworked me at the time. Following a bout of homeschooling gone wrong, last year I undertook the task of completing two years' worth of schoolwork in one. I did it, too, and still rock a 3.9 GPA.

What Dobbin gave me was a reason to hope amidst that chaos, and it positively inflated me. He made me smile. He was tall and charming and, though his actions were oft erratic, showed promise. I had taken him on as my NIT (nerdfighter-in-training) earlier in the year with great success.

Despite my own qualms, with time I convinced myself that it could be okay. He gave me every reason to. He told me over and over again that we were fine, that we could go at my pace, that I was Right for him and he for me. He buffered my every doubt with reassurances.

We visit my grandparents for the weekend in June.

"I don't feel safe," I text Dobbin. I lie on a cot in the darkness of my grandparents' living room, uncomfortably tossing and turning as the metal grate prods me in the back. My father is set to arrive tomorrow.

"You're safe with me," he replies.

Two days later he breaks up with me.

When it does happen, it happens via text message. He tells me he loves me and we discuss corny nicknames for one another. Two hours later he throws me ellipses by the handful. I catch them awkwardly; he stutters that he doesn't know how to say something. I tell him he can call me if it would be easier and proceed to sit for thirty minutes, heart in my throat and phone in my lap, waiting for a reply.

And then there are words. We're too different and maybe we're just meant to be friends and I have been thinking about this for a long time and I am so sorry, Katherine... Can we still be friends?

Weeks later, as I muster the calm enough to send him a parting message, he pokes me via Facebook and I proceed to cut all possible ties. (Really, sir? Really?) He was "going through something personal" and obviously couldn't do me the courtesy of telling me why he broke up with me.

In the fall we, in a fit of irony, have a class together. The day-to-day dealing is agony. I keep calm. I do what is right. I never once slap or call him names, and very few know of his existence once crossing paths with mine. On a few occasions the words press against my throat and I let them free. Months later, when he tries to hold a door open for me in the exact location of our first romantic encounter, I reach around him to pop open the other door and stalk off.

He transfers to another school sometime in February; I breathe easier without him around. The problem of it is not so much that I let a boy into my life but that my trust is so very, very tattered. I may wish for words on occasion, but my heart does not ache as it once did.

He doesn't deserve these words, but I do.

Days until mommy comes home: 2