in the company of memories
He looks at me and asks what I’m thinking about. We’re parked at an old boat dock, a place pulled from one of his childhood memories and I’m gazing out at the black water as he watches me from across the car. “Nothing,” I say. I add a smile at the end to try and sound more convincing, but looking over at his face, I can tell it didn’t work. He says, “Are you sure?”
Do you want to know? Really? Because how am I supposed to tell you I’m thinking about someone else? I’m thinking about the countless moonlit nights with him and wondering how I’m in this strange car, in a strange place, with someone different, with you. What happened? Do you want to know that? And suddenly, I realize hot tears are forming in my eyes and there’s a suspicious knot in my throat.
“Mhm,” I nod. And he brings his hand up to my face to caress my cheek. I internally grimace but retain a smile while turning my head to look away from him. “Let’s get out of the car,” I say as I begin opening my door. And I run down to the dock, planting my feet firmly at its edge, above the black darkness swimming beneath me, trying to escape to a different reality. And suddenly, after my attempted escape, he comes up behind me and pretends to push me in only to catch my full body before I drop under. I scream out in agitation and fear and discomfort.
He wouldn't have done that. He would’ve just come up behind me, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed my cheek. Ugh, stop comparing! Stop it!
And I realize, somehow, my entire evening has been occupied by the ghost of him. Sitting at dinner, a couple sat down beside us and I found myself searching for him in this other random man, and I wondered what we would be talking about if he were here, and what he would order, and what silly things we would be laughing at, and blah blah blah. And I’m disassociating more than I’m participating. Can this really even be good for me?
It was such an overwhelming feeling at a certain point that I considered asking to go home. I wanted to leave, to remove myself from the situation before I had to confront the uncomfortable truth that I wasn’t entirely enjoying myself. But we’d already ordered our food and I knew it would end everything and its potential if I did this (although, probably really not because there seems to be no end to his affections) so my internal debate ended in denial of my momentary feelings. And so I swallowed the discomfort, offered another smile, and returned my attention to the person sitting across from me. And light suddenly came back into my bleak eyes, and I nodded along, tuning back into his voice, carefully folding up the memories of my not-so-distant past.
But I realize through all these small moments how perfectly I felt with him. And how imperfect and preoccupied I feel with someone different. And maybe it has to do with my actions and the circumstances of that particular day but I never quite feel… right. It just doesn’t feel good. And I question why, because everything seems so good. And I wonder if anything ever will feel good. And will it feel the same, and should I even be searching for something that feels the same? Because, ultimately, that good ended. So why not search for something different?