I found out something last night, quite by accident, and quite unexpectedly, that kind of made me freak out.
And that is: Jake is really, truly, in love with me.
For some reason, this kind of baffles me... For some reason, it seems like a lot to digest...
According to popular rumor, the town of Lacey, WA, was created and incorporated by people who didn't like Olympia, WA. Lacey got built right next to Olympia. It's not exactly like putting the Black Panthers next door to the KKK, but Lacey's probably got the world's highest concentration of shitty fast-food places and aggressive drivers; and Olympia probably has the world record for tofu-concentration and largest per capita number of bicyclists. Jake and I are like Lacey and Olympia. We NEVER should have liked each other. We're too damned different. We should have looked at each other, flirted with each other, and never spoken to each other again. We should have had a one-night stand, and we never should have seen each other again. There was NO reason for Jake and I to EVER like each other.
From the first minute I saw him, I decided that, yeah, Jake was the best-looking dude in the bar, but his friend was being a slobbering asshole, so I decided right away that Jake must also be an asshole. I decided, immediately, before even TALKING to Jake, that we were incompatible, and should maybe flirt, have a fight, have some sex, and never see each other again. Certainly, the sex part was the most questionable part of my plans for Jake. Nope: I looked at that boy and decided that we OUGHT to hate each other. Not that we would, but that we really OUGHT to...
Louise was talking today about some dinner party, where the theme was: dress up as the opposite of yourself. If Jake and I went to such a dinner party, we'd have to dress as each other. Really. How opposite can you get, really?
We never should have liked each other. I should have been put off by the fact that he was wearing a baseball cap and could flirt as well as any creepy frat-guy. He should have been put off by the patched jeans and the bandanna. Oh, dammit, he should have walked up to me and picked a fight, not asked if I went there often...
But he asked if I went there often, and he asked what I was writing, and he tried to buy me a drink, but I just asked for water... He insisted, if I wouldn't let him buy me a real drink, then the water had to have lemon in it. I told him I was a lemon kind of girl. We grinned at each other. And then, even though I thought we SHOULD hate each other, it was too late for any such thing...
I thought he was kidding when he told me he wrote scripts. I thought he was just trying to impress me. I thought he must be an asshole in secret. I thought: I'll never email him. Why? Because he was sexy, and I liked him, and I suspected it would be a very bad idea to like him. We're too different for that, Jake and I... Liking him was a temptation.
He emailed me. Silly little old Helena: I emailed him back.
Our first "date" lasted all night. From seven in the evening until we watched the sun rise over Mount Rainier. We talked all night. We had coffee at the Spar. We talked about reincarnation and told horror stories until the place closed. We smoked cigarettes. He lit mine for me to be a gentleman. I lit his for him to try to prove something; I'm not sure what. We had clam chowder at the Oyster House. We agreed that Manhattan Clam Chowder isn't REAL clam chowder. He told me about why we should go to war with Iraq. I told him why we shouldn't. His argument was better than mine, regardless of who was right. I decided that, despite the fact that we REALLY ought to hate each other, I REALLY liked Jake.
He kissed me on my rooftop at five in the morning. It made me tingle. He stayed the night. We woke up at the same moment. We looked at each other. And all hope of actually hating each other, like we really, really should have, went out the window.
Within about three days, we had stupid nicknames for each other.
The first fucken week he knew me, Jake took me to dinner and then to the doctor's office when I started feeling really sick, and told him I thought I had a really bad bladder infection. The first fucken week he KNEW me, he took me to the damn doctor's office. And sat in the waiting room, even though he was late for his class. And drove me to the pharmacy to pick up my antibiotics. And kissed me. And made me tingle. DAMMIT, I WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO LIKE JAKE!
We decided that, since neither one of us wanted to be in a relationship, we shouldn't be in one. We decided that if either of us wanted out, or anything, that was fine. It was just a casual thing. Just friends. Friends, plus.
That didn't work. But it really was the intention for awhile.
All the girls at work wondered what my problem was: why I was always humming stupid songs and milling about the parking lot, smoking and grinning. I told them it was gas. Yeah, like I could really explain about Jake... The Evergreen student who's dating the boy who wants to bomb Iraq?
One day, we decided that we were in love with each other. We decided it was probably just gas or something, probably just temporary. Probably, it wouldn't last another five minutes. Or maybe it would. We decided we couldn't REALLY be in love. It was just temporary. Just hormones or something. Just ineffable crushes. Meanwhile, we stared into each other's eyes until we tingled. And, quite bravely, declared that, however temporarily, we were in love.
So fucking ridiculous. We never should have even LIKED each other.
Some nights, he held me. Other nights, I held him. Every night, we fought over the pillow. Most nights, I won.
Tenatively, we decided maybe we should "go steady." We grinned. Talking about "going steady" is just so fucken cheesy. I told him we couldn't REALLY be in love, not forever or anything. Because I'd made other plans. And so had he. His were going to take him to Antarctica. Mine were going to take me to Seattle. So if we were going to be in love, then fine, great, whatever. But we'd have to make it good, and we'd have to make it fast, and then we'd have to get the hell over it. For some reason, *I* didn't think this sounded very difficult.
I told Jake that we were just having a really, really good fling. I told him relationships don't REALLY work out. I told him that there is no real way to make love stay. I told him we could be in love, but we'd have to take it day by day, and be prepared to wake up one morning and say, "hey, okay, it's over... see ya. Bye."
Louise used to pretend to retch when she'd see us together. Jake and Louise had a sick-joke-telling marathon one night. I don't know who won. Then Jake and I went back to my apartment -- which we'd both been increasingly calling, "home." We climbed into bed. We grinned at each other. Everything was very, very warm.
One night, we played war games. I think that was the night I went to see Ralph Nader. We invented a game called "Brinksmanship." In the interest of discretion, I'll leave out the details. It was a nice night. I told Jake we should bomb everybody. He grinned. I think he'd decided on negotiating a peace treaty. I grinned back at him.
We never, ever should have even liked each other. I should have forgotten all about him when I left the bar that night. He asked, "come here often?" for fuck's sake! Please! And I said, "yeah, I'm here for the music." Shouldn't that have tipped us both off? That we NEVER should have liked each other? What on EARTH possessed two people like US to like each other?
Jake wrote a journal entry on Hallowe'en, after his arrest. He left it lying in the middle of his room at his parents' house: where, of course, I was never supposed to find it, but I did anyway. He wrote that he loved me. He wrote about me, and about us, and about what we talked about, and what we did -- and in his words, I could HEAR us grinning at each other.
People have written me love letters. People have written me poems. Songs. Fan-mail. People have painted me pictures. Once, Mike bought me an issue of Playboy and a carton of orange juice to express his feelings for me. But these words, on this shitty yellow paper, which I was never supposed to see... These words breathed fire. These words sobbed oceans. They crawled inside me and spun a little cocoon. They howled at the moon. They spoke my name so delicately, so deliberately... These words LOVED me. This person, who wrote this page, was madly in love with me... And somehow, Jake's signature was at the bottom...
Jake and I never should have liked each other. We're too different. It would never REALLY work.
Frankly, I'm astounded. It's pretty rare that I'm really, truly touched. This river, this massive, mighty river, of love -- love for ME -- poured out of this paper...
I folded it up and hugged it and wept. Jake's dad heard me from upstairs and asked if I was okay. I couldn't explain to him: "your son, who shouldn't have ever really liked me to begin with, is in love with me, and I've never done a damned thing to deserve this kind of passion out of ANYBODY..."
I know that there are people in this world who have loved me. Maybe a few who still do. And it's a wonderful feeling, to be loved. But nothing, NOTHING has ever compared to this shitty little yellow paper with all of those beautiful words on it... Nobody has ever loved me like THIS. I don't think I deserve one bit of it. Not like this. Hell, I still haven't REALLY given Jake permission to LIKE me...
I wish, so very much, that I could see him. Even for just a minute.
I took the journal entry with me. I wrote him a letter in "reply," telling him I'd found it, and I'd taken it.
I should have told him how lucky I am.
I should have written him a love letter. A real one. But my head is full of clouds. I can't put a sentence together. I can barely breathe.
I'm very frightened. I'm in love with Jake, too. And I've lost any ability to distinguish what "temporary" means. I lost all control over having the authority to say, "I'm not going to let you break my heart." Fuck it. I lost those things before Jake's arrest, and never really got to tell him... It's all fucken over; I admit defeat. Whether we ever should have liked each other, whether we ever should have spoken to each other -- it doesn't matter. It appears very much that we are in love, and quite completely vulnerable.
How the fuck did you KNOW, Jake? Why did you ever decide to like me, when you knew we shouldn't like each other? After my wimpy argument for peace, why didn't you just roll your eyes and go find somebody who understood war? Why did you ever email me after that first night? Why did you grin at me like you knew what was going on the entire time? Ohhh, DAMMIT, Jake, look at the mess we're in. I love you. I wish you were here.
Talked to the lawyers today. Things are not looking good. But of course, it would be pretty difficult for things to actually look GOOD. Things are, however, looking much, much, MUCH better... They're looking at a plea bargain deal that would not automatically wreck Jake's life forever. That will be nice. VERY nice.
Jake's dad bonded with the prosecuting lawyer. They grinned and shook hands. They were born in the same hospital in Virginia, it seemed. I'm going to take that as a further sign of good fortune. Insert eyes rolling here.
The pre-trial hearing was supposed to be today. But the lawyers were too busy talking. There was no hearing. Jake is back in jail. And probably wondering why there was no hearing. We're not allowed to speak to each other, but at hearings, we can be in the same room, and look at each other. And grin.
I have to go. I think I missed my bus, so I'm going to go hitch.
~Helena*