27 March 1999 Sometimes I walk alone at night while everybody else is sleeping...

Shortly after writing my last entry, I had a near-near-death experience... Ever hear the expression "bored to death"? Yeah. Well, I was about five minutes away from the tunnel of bright light. Seriously.

I pulled on my sandals and Peter's grey cardigan (which he gave me way the hell back in 1996, but it's still my favorite article of clothing...), and went for a little walk. It had been raining (it NEVER rains in Santa Fe - it was one of those freaky nature things...), and the ground was really muddy, but I paid no attention. I like mud. I like puddles. I'm one of those freaky girls who used to make mudpies as a kid and played with rocks and sticks and grass instead of Barbies... Anyway, I walked through the soft earth over to the theater - I just like the theater; it has a good aura around it. Nothing seemed to be going on, so I walked over to the moving image arts building. Of course, it's a pretty intimidating building, so I walked around behind it where there's a little field behind the college. Of course, I forgot what happens to grass-less fields after it rains, and I was covered in mud up to about my knees. But it was a nice little walk, all in all. I liked the familiar feeling of water in the air and the shimmer of puddles on the pavement...

["In the rain, the pavement shines like silver..."]

That song started running through my head: "On My Own," from Les Misérables. I used to sing it to myself whenever I was walking alone someplace at night -- which was often until I moved to Santa Fe, where there are killers and bad drivers and no interesting places to go... I really loved that song; it's about this chick who's wandering alone at night, thinking about her guy, wondering about her status in his life, all that... Every teenaged girl in the universe can relate to this song, or will relate to it at some point in their lives. I even remember one episode of Dawson's Creek where Joey sang that song, obviously aimed at her belovèd Dawson. Guess I'm not alone in the world, huh? Not when Joey's on my side...

I hummed to myself as I walked, not really concentrating on anything, just free-associating and enjoying the mud squishing between my toes. Clouds obscured the sky, but three stars and a chunk of moon hung low enough to be visible. I made my wish, of course, and a gust of wind blew through the cardigan. I thought about my religion class, where the instructor had been talking about translations and things, and how "pneuma" is the Greek word for both "spirit" and "wind." I thought about wind being a pretty powerful element in that case.

I fell in a prairie dog hole on my way back to the college, which snapped me awake and out of my weird thoughts.

I thought about Brian. He had promised to stop by my room, but hadn't shown up. I'm still too shy to stop by HIS room - I don't want to look like a stalker or anything. I guess you could say I was disappointed about the whole thing. And angry. He'd commented in passing that he was going to stop by, and I think he may have been plastered at the time, but I'd spent QUITE awhile agonizing over what to be wearing when he did come over (my GAP sweatpants and a tank top), and what music I'd be playing (Portishead; that or maybe Björk), and what conversations I'd initiate, etc... But no, he didn't show, and if I'd seen him while I was out walking, I might have shouted at him or been really sarcastic and bitchy. That's one fault I have that I cannot get rid of: placing too much emphasis on something no one else really thinks about, and looking like a moron when things don't go exactly the way I wanted them to. So I was a little hurt and a little angry as I walked, but I reminded myself that Brian didn't deliberately set out to hurt me or make me wait for him, and I was probably over-reacting by being pissed off. Still, I abandonned all hope of seeing him that evening; he probably had better things to do.

I thought about Peter. He signed the guestbook at my "non-drama" page: "Carebear... I love you. That's all..." and I was really touched. It's stuff like that that makes me feel all warm and cuddly inside. I realized a couple of days ago that a major milestone has passed for me and Peter. We were officially introduced five years ago. FIVE years. And about two weeks. Basically, if a child was born the day we met, the child would now be in kindergarten. If someone tried crack that day for the first time, he'd likely be dead three years ago.

THAT revelation got me thinking too... I think a lot about Peter. I wonder at odd hours of the day what he's doing and if he misses me. I think about where we've been. Sometimes I even dare to think about where we're going. The future scares me a lot, because I don't think Peter spends a lot of time including me in his plans for the rest of his life. For the rest of my life, I will probably have to be the one who forces my way back in and who apologizes first after fights, even knowing I'm partially right. And you want to know the really pathetic part? The part that would make Ken scream at me? The part that makes me sound like one of those dumb teenaged girls who walks around at night humming "On My Own"? I don't mind. I can hear a dozen of my friends whining, "Helena, he doesn't fucken love you, he's gay, he's an asshole, now wouldja please just move on? There are other fish in the sea..." But... I can't. It's been five years. You could argue that there is no such thing as a Soul Mate, and maybe I've imagined all those amazing feelings. But even if that's true, I've known Peter since I was 13 years old. And, love or not, he's the only person in the universe whose eyes I can look into without getting nervous. He's the only person in the world who has seen me completely vulnerable. He's the only person I've opened myself completely to. And I know for certain I'm the only one who's ever stuck around trying to figure Peter out and not ended up denying his existence out of self-preservation. (Funny, David, that I always considered YOU the courageous one...)

Five years have passed, and they can't be undone. For all of the frustration and all the pain and all the endless doubt, Peter and I know each other like people know their favorite books. And to me, that's worth fighting for. There's a certain bond you share with someone who falls asleep next to you watching SNL, and who sees you have hysterics over some horrible crisis, and who can remember you before you had breasts but doesn't hold your awkward stage against you... Peter has made my heart race, and I have let him hold me close enough to feel it. Peter is the only person on the planet I would ever wear high heels and a prom dress for. Peter is the only person I've ever shared an intimate moment with from miles away (ie - my instant-messanger thingy bleeping and me happily clicking open my list, knowing it was Peter who just signed on; me describing his room in Texas to him, never having seen it...). You know how you always hear about those little old couples who've been together so long they've started to look alike? Peter and I decided years ago that that would probably happen to us. And Peter might be moving to Florida soon, but somehow, some way, I'm going to make sure we don't lose one little tiny bit of what we have.

I thought about all of this as I was walking across campus. I got back to my room, stuck my sandals in the sink and threw my sweatpants in the wash. I cleaned the mud off my feet and turned on the computer to check my email and wait an hour for my laundry. It was 1.30 in the morning when Brian wandered into my room. I was wearing a nasty pair of corduroys and Peter's horribly nasty wife-beater t'shirt with stains all over it instead of the GAP sweatpants. I was playing an old Thompson Twins song instead of Portishead. My eyes felt red and tired. By the time Brian arrived to say hello, all I wanted was my laundry and a good night's rest. I didn't ask where he'd been or why he'd arrived so late, but I couldn't quite muster up much excitement over his presence. I realized I don't want to give myself a chance to maybe fall in love with Brian - it isn't worth the emotional exhaustion. It isn't worth waiting in my room hour after hour. It isn't worth wondering if I'm a rebound, doubting myself, doubting him, agonizing, wanting, waiting, NEVER KNOWING... Oh, I still like him - I REALLY like him. But there are some things worth actively fighting for and some things that are only worth keeping a door open to.

We shared a beer and talked about random things for a little while. And then he left because we were both tired. I got my laundry and lay in bed for a little while. I couldn't sleep. I wanted a hug goodnight. No, more than that - I wanted familiarity. There's something tempting about Brian's foreign grin and his teasing eyes. But there's something eternal about seeing your soul reflected in someone's eyes and knowing you're worth Knowing instead of just playing with. There's something perfect about knowing I've been worth five years - even if I have had to fight for it occasionally.

I closed my eyes, imagining Peter sleeping, thousands of miles away. I mentally tickled his arm and imagined him slapping at me through his dream and mumbling something that sounded vaguely like, "fuck off." I smiled, almost certain I was really touching him, someplace deeper than the skin of his arm. I opened my eyes, looked around, and felt lonely. So I slid under the covers and mentally snuggled into my best friend's arms, feeling just a little less alone as I hummed myself to sleep with "On My Own."

Love,
Helena*

"On my own, pretending he's beside me... All alone, I walk with him till morning. Without him, I feel his arms around me, and when I lose my way I close my eyes and he has found me... In the rain, the pavement shines like silver. All the lights are misty in the river. In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight, and all I see is him and me for ever and forever... And I know it's only in my mind - that I'm talking to myself and not to him... And although I know that he is blind, still I say there's a way for us..." --"On My Own," from "Les Misérables."

*Goodnight, schnookums... I love you.*